Page 64 of Savage Reign

SOFIYA

“Wake up, Sofiya.”

Nikolai’s harsh tone slices through the fog of sleep, yanking me awake.

Not this shit again.

I stare up at him, taking in his disheveled appearance. He’s still dressed in today’s clothes, his hair mussed, shadows under his eyes.

What could this be about? Does he know about the phone call to Roman and Liza? A sick knot forms in my stomach.

I push myself into a sitting position, my whole body tense. “What do you want?” I ask warily. “Have you been drinking?”

Nikolai exhales and rakes a hand through his hair. “I haven’t had a drink in hours. This is about lighting a fire under your brother-in-law’s ass. He has to see what his indecision is costing you.”

His words send a chill through me. “Why… why now?” I whisper, my throat tightening.

He grabs my chin and angles my face to meet his stony one. “Because I am sick of waiting, Sofiya. If using you is the only way to get a message to the Syndicate, so be it.”

The edge in his voice sends a tremor through me. Something triggered this, but at least he hasn’t mentioned Valeria’s cell phone. If he knew I stole it, he’d say so.

My thoughts drift back to Igor Bocharov’s visit earlier tonight. Nikolai seemed so tense. Could this have to do with me interrupting his meeting? It was stupid of me to go down to Nikolai’s office wearing a leotard. I only wanted to thank him for the gifts. Roman told me to stay on his good side, after all.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your meeti?—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not looking for apologies. I’m looking for you to come with me.”

His eyes stay locked on mine as he yanks the covers off me. I perch at the edge of the bed but refuse to rise and join him. If he’s going to act like this, he at least has to tell me my fate.

I hug myself tightly, acutely aware of how exposed I am in just a thin nightgown. “What are you going to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond but continues to stand over me, his expression flat. For all he’s trying to block me out, I see his hesitation. It’s like he’s forcing himself to play a role, and all I can do is try to get through to him before he does something terrible.

I push myself onto my knees and trail my fingers over the smattering of dark hair on his chest. His eyes squeeze shut, his body rigid under my touch. “Look at me… Look at me!” I demand, and he does, his eyes wary. “I don’t think you want to hurt me, Nikolai.”

Anyone from the outside might call me insane, but I mean every word. He’s trying to prove something to himself, but it’s costing him. His eyes drop to where my hand lingers, his breath faltering.

Then he blinks, and his expression goes flat once again. He grabs my wrist, pushing my hand away.

“I can carry you downstairs, or you can walk, but either way, you’re coming with me.”

“Don’t do this,” I plead. “It won’t make a difference. The Syndicate will do what’s best for the Syndicate. Roman isn’t the only voice that matters.”

He shakes his head, brushing me off, and moves to pick me up, but I hold up a hand to stop him. Been there, done that, and I’d rather walk on my own, my head held high. Some part of me still hopes I can reach him. He hasn’t crossed a line—yet.

I don’t fight. Sliding off the bed, I follow him down the stairs to the basement. The air feels heavier here, wrapping around me like a warning. Goosebumps ripple over my arms, though I’m not sure whether it’s from the temperature or my nerves.

At the end of a hallway, he pushes open a heavy metal door to reveal a dank, dimly lit room with a single chair in the center, chains dangling from its arms. When he gestures to it, a heavy knot forms in my gut.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misjudged what he’s capable of.

I start to tremble and back away from him until I hit the wall. I scan the room for a weapon, anything to fight him off, but I come up empty, and there’s no way I can overpower him.

“Sit,” he orders.

I swallow hard, my throat like sandpaper, as I shake my head.

“I said sit.” His voice is lower this time, and he wraps a hand around my arm and forces me into the chair. Saying nothing, he crouches before me, his warm fingers brushing over my wrists.

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