Chapter 39
MARIYA
Iwatch Sophia settle onto the edge of the guest bed, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
She looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and her shoulders hunched like she's carrying the weight of the world.
I know what it feels like to have a father abandon you.
True, my experience is completely different.
My father left to keep me safe while Sophia's kicked her out because she didn't get the deal he'd wanted.
It still hurts, though, no matter the reason, when a father abandons or rejects you.
"Thank you," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For letting me stay."
"You don't have to thank me." I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "You're safe here. That's what matters."
She nods, but I can see the tension still coiled tightly in her body. Her fingers won't stop moving, picking at invisible threads on her jeans. I recognize that nervous energy. I've felt it myself more times than I can count.
"I heard my father talking," Sophia says suddenly, her green eyes meeting mine. "About you. About the bratva families."
My stomach tightens. "What did you hear?"
"They're split." She takes a shaky breath. "Some of them want to follow the old rules, the ones that say you don't attack a Pakhan’s wife. But others…" She trails off, her gaze dropping to her hands.
"Others what?" I press gently.
"They're arguing that they need access to you. To find out where your father is." Her voice cracks slightly. "They think you know something. That you're hiding information."
Ice slides down my spine. I knew the bratva families were restless, knew that my presence here complicated things for Andrey. But hearing it confirmed, knowing that some of them are actively pushing to break the rules that protect me, makes it real in a way that terrifies me.
"How many?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
Sophia shakes her head. "I don't know exactly. But enough that my father thinks he can use it. He's been making calls, trying to build support."
Fuck. This is worse than I thought.
I stand and move to the window, looking out over the estate grounds. Guards patrol the perimeter, their movements precise and coordinated. Andrey has tripled security since the attack, but will it be enough if half the bratva families decide I'm fair game?
"I'm sorry," Sophia whispers behind me. "I should have told you sooner. I just… I didn't know how."
I turn back to face her, seeing the guilt written across her features. "You're telling me now. That's what matters."
She nods, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. I cross back to the bed and sit beside her again, this time taking her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly.
"Have you ever had a good friend?" I ask. The question surprises even me.
Sophia blinks, clearly caught off guard by the change in subject. "I… not really. My father kept me pretty isolated. Said it was safer that way."
"Same," I admit. "I've been on the run for so long, protecting myself, that I never took the chance. Never let anyone get close enough."
Her eyes search mine, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering there. "Do you think… could we be friends?"
The question makes my chest ache. I've been so focused on survival, on staying one step ahead of the people hunting me, that I forgot what it feels like to want connection, to want someone who understands.
"Yeah," I say, squeezing her hand. "I think we could."
A small smile breaks across her face, the first genuine one I've seen since she arrived.
It transforms her features, making her look younger, less burdened.
We sit like that for a while, just talking.
She tells me about growing up in her father's house, the constant pressure to be perfect and never show weakness.
I tell her about the years spent moving from place to place, always looking over my shoulder.
It feels good. Normal, even. Like for just a few minutes, we're not caught in the middle of a Bratva war. We're just two women who've been through hell and found each other on the other side.
Eventually, Sophia's eyes start to droop, exhaustion finally catching up with her. I help her get settled under the covers, making sure she has everything she needs before slipping out of the room.
The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs. Most of the guards are outside, and the few I pass nod respectfully as I head toward Andrey's office. I find him behind his desk, his phone pressed to his ear and his expression hard.
"Enough is enough," he says in Russian, his voice sharp with authority. "Set up a meeting with all the Pakhans. I don't care what it takes. Make it happen."
He listens for a moment, then nods. "Tomorrow. I want this handled before it gets worse."
He ends the call and sets the phone down, his eyes finding mine immediately. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly when he sees me, but the hard edge doesn't leave his expression.
I move around the desk, my gaze dropping to his shoulder. The bandage is visible beneath his shirt, a stark reminder of how close I came to losing him. "How's your shoulder?"
"Fine."
"Liar." I reach for the buttons of his shirt, my fingers working them open despite his protest. "Let me check it."
"Mariya—"
"Don't argue with me." I carefully push the fabric aside, revealing the bandage underneath. It needs changing. I can see the edges starting to lift, and there's a faint discoloration that makes me nervous.
I disappear into the attached bathroom and return with fresh supplies, setting them on the desk beside him. Andrey watches me with those intense eyes as I carefully peel away the old bandage, checking the wound beneath.
It looks better than I expected. The stitches are holding, and there's no sign of infection. But it's still angry and red, a brutal reminder of the bullet that tore through his flesh.
"You need to be more careful," I murmur, cleaning the area gently before applying a fresh bandage.
"I'm fine."
"You were shot."
"And I'm still here." His hand catches mine, stilling my movements.
The words make my throat tighten. I finish securing the bandage, then reach for the bottle of antibiotics on his desk. "Have you been taking these?"
"Yes."
"When was the last dose?"
He sighs, clearly exasperated by my fussing. "This morning."
I check the label to confirm the timing, then set the bottle back down. "You need to stay on schedule. Infection is—"
Andrey pulls me into his lap before I can finish the sentence, his good arm wrapping around my waist. The movement is sudden enough that I gasp, my hands bracing against his chest.
"Andrey, your shoulder—"
"Is fine," he says firmly, his mouth finding mine.
The kiss is demanding, possessive, and it steals whatever protest I was about to make. His tongue slides against mine, tasting and claiming, and heat floods through me despite my concern for his injury.
I try to pull back, to remind him that he needs to rest, but he won't let me. His hand slides up my spine, tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss. When he finally releases my mouth, we're both breathing hard.
"We can still have sex," he says, his voice rough. "Just watch my shoulder."
"That's a terrible idea."
"Best idea I've had all day." His hand slides down to grip my ass, pulling me tighter against him. I can feel how hard he is through his pants, the evidence of his desire pressing against my core.
"You're impossible," I breathe, but I'm already shifting in his lap, straddling him properly in the office chair.
"And you love it." His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
He's right. God help me, he's right.
He pushes my shirt up and over my head and I reach between us, working the button of his pants. My bra follows quickly, and then his mouth is on my breast, tongue circling my nipple until I'm squirming against him.
I manage to free his cock, wrapping my hand around the thick length. He's already hard, already leaking, and the sight makes my core clench with need. I stroke him slowly, watching his eyes darken with lust.
"Mariya," he warns, his voice strained.
I lift up enough to push my jeans and underwear down my thighs, not bothering to remove them completely. Then I position myself over him, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
"Careful," I remind him, my hand bracing against his good shoulder.
"Always." His hand grips my hip, guiding me down onto him.
The stretch is intense, perfect, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. He fills me completely, every thick inch of him buried deep. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe, adjusting to the sensation.
Then I start to rock my hips, slowly and deliberately, taking him deeper with each movement. Andrey's grip on my hip tightens, his other hand sliding up to cup my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core.
"That's it," he murmurs, his pale eyes locked on mine. "Ride me."
I increase my pace, lifting and dropping onto him with more force. The chair creaks beneath us, but I don't care. All I care about is the feeling of him inside me, the way his cock hits that perfect spot with every thrust.
His hand slides between us, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation makes me gasp, my movements becoming more erratic as pleasure builds.
His fingers press harder, and that's all it takes. My orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure roll through me. I cry out, my nails digging into his good shoulder as I ride out the sensation.
Andrey follows moments later, his hips jerking up as he spills inside me. His grip on my hip is bruising, possessive, and I love every damn second of it.
We stay like that for several minutes, tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Then his phone buzzes on the desk, shattering the moment.
He reaches for it, his expression shifting from satisfied to serious as he reads the message. "It's from Matvey. The meeting with the other Pakhans is set for tomorrow."