Page 51 of Stalk Me

“Fuck.” I slam the phone down. My heart pounds against my ribs as scenarios flash through my mind. The Italians could have people watching her right now. The wife who ordered her mother’s death could have learned Sofia survived.

I dial Vadim’s number, and he picks up on the second dial tone. “Get me everything on Lucia Castellano,” I bark at Vadim.“Phone records, travel history, current whereabouts. And find out who else has accessed these adoption records.”

I pull up the camera feeds from outside Sofia’s gallery. Nothing unusual. No suspicious vehicles. But that means nothing—professionals know how to stay hidden.

The irony twists in my gut. I installed those cameras to protect her, to keep her safe. Instead, my obsession with uncovering her past may have exposed her to the dangers I wanted to shield her from.

I glance at my wrist. It’s three hours until her gallery closes—three hours during which anything could happen while she’s angry and distracted, not watching her surroundings.

I snatch my jacket from the back of my chair, already moving toward the private elevator. My footsteps echo through the empty corridor as I punch the button for the garage level.

“Get me everything on those records within the hour,” I bark into my phone at Vadim before ending the call.

The elevator doors open to reveal my waiting Bentley. I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat doing nothing to calm my racing thoughts. The engine purrs, and I peel out of the garage, taking the corner sharper than necessary.

My hands-free system connects as I navigate through afternoon traffic. I dial Sofia’s mobile, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Hi, you’ve reached Sofia. Please leave a?—”

I cut off her voicemail with a curse, swerving around a slow-moving sedan. The gallery number is next, but it rings endlessly before hitting the automated message.

“You’ve reached Sofia Henley at?—”

“Damn it.” I end the call, pressing harder on the accelerator.

Traffic crawls at a red light, and I resist running it. My mind cycles through worst-case scenarios—Lucia Castellano’s hitmen, the Italians making a move, and Sofia leaving town to escapeme. Each possibility sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I try her mobile again, straight to voicemail. The gallery line continues to ring unanswered.

A horn blares as I cut through traffic, ignoring the angry gestures from other drivers. Nothing matters except reaching her gallery and seeing her safe with my own eyes. Even if she hates me, even if she runs—I need to know she’s protected.

The ten-minute drive stretches into an eternity. My phone remains silent, with no word from her or my men. The uncertainty claws at my chest, foreign and unwelcome. I’m not used to this loss of control, this fear.

I burst through the gallery doors, making them slam against the walls. The sharp sound echoes through the space as I scan for threats, my heart thundering.

Sofia stands behind the counter, cataloging new pieces. Her head snaps up at my entrance, green-gold eyes widening before narrowing to slits. No signs of danger, no evidence of intruders. Just her, safe and whole and furious.

“Get out.” Her voice could freeze hell itself.

“Sofia—”

“In case you missed the silence from your phone and the blank screens from your little spy cameras, I’m not talking to you.” She turns back to her work, dismissing me like a servant.

The relief at finding her unharmed wars with fresh rage at her defiance. I stalk toward the counter, but she doesn’t flinch or look up.

“We need to discuss?—”

“No, we really don’t.” She slams her catalog shut. “I have nothing to say to someone who violates my privacy and treats me like a possession to be monitored.”

“It’s not that simple.” My fingers curl around the counter’s edge, knuckles white with restraint.

“Actually, it is.” She finally meets my gaze, and the hurt beneath her anger cuts deeper than any blade. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll call the police.”

“You’ll call the police?” My voice falls to a lethal murmur. In two strides, I circle the counter and grab her throat, backing her against the wall. My fingers flex against her pulse point. “Try it.”

Sofia’s breath catches, but she doesn’t struggle. Smart girl. Her eyes blaze with defiance even as her body responds to my touch.

“You think I won’t silence your phone before you can dial? That I don’t own half the force in this city?” I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “You’re going to listen now,malishka. Your life depends on it.”

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