Page 70 of Stalk Me

“They’ll take her to their compound in Providence,” I say, already knowing their play. “It’s the only facility they have within range that’s secure enough.”

“Nikolai,” Dmitri grabs my arm. “The Chinese situation?—”

“Can wait.” I shake him off. “Everything else is secondary right now.”

Nothing else matters. Not business, not territory, not even our empire. Only getting to Sofia before they can poison her mind against me or worse. Before they take her away forever.

26

SOFIA

Iblink against the soft morning light filtering through gauzy curtains. My head throbs with a dull ache as I try to piece together how I got here.

The last thing I remember is being at the gallery cataloging new acquisitions. Then... nothing. It was a black hole where memories should be.

I push myself up slowly, fighting a wave of dizziness. The room is massive, decorated in cream and gold tones with ornate moldings along the ceiling. A crystal chandelier hangs above, catching prismatic light. It’s beautiful but completely unfamiliar.

“Hello?” My voice comes out raspy. No answer.

Testing my limbs, I find I’m still in my gallery clothes—a black pencil skirt and silk blouse, though they’re wrinkled now. My shoes are neatly placed by an antique armchair.

The bedside table holds a crystal water carafe and glass. Despite my parched throat, I don’t dare drink it. Not until I know where I am and how I got here.

Moving to the window, I peer through the curtains. We’re high up, maybe fifteen floors, with a view of manicured gardens below. The architecture looks Mediterranean—terra cotta roof tiles and white stucco walls. Palm trees sway in a gentle breeze.

This isn’t Boston. This isn’t anywhere near Boston.

My pulse quickens as panic starts to set in. I check my pockets, but my phone is gone. The door is heavy wood with ornate brass hardware. I rush over to it and try the handle, only to find it locked.

A wave of nausea hits, and I collapse onto the bed, pressing my fingers to my temples. Think, Sofia. What happened at the gallery? There were voices, unfamiliar men... then nothing.

I’ve been taken. Kidnapped. But by whom? And why?

The lock clicks and I freeze as the door begins to open.

The door swings open, and an elderly man enters. His silver hair and expensive suit speak of wealth, but his eyes catch my attention because they’re a green-gold shade that mirrors mine.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I take backward steps away until my legs hit the bed.

He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “I'm Mario Castellano.”

My cultivated poise fractures as the familiar name pierces my defenses. Castellano. The family Nikolai warned me about. The ones who killed my foster parents. My birth family.

“Stay back.” I grab the water carafe, ready to use it as a weapon. My hands shake, but my grip remains firm.

“Please, Sofia. I mean, you no harm. I’m your grandfather.” Mario’s accent carries a gentle Italian lilt, but I remember what Nikolai told me about them—their violence, their ruthlessness.

“You murdered them.” My voice cracks. “My foster parents. They were innocent.”

Mario’s face falls, genuine pain crossing his features. “That was not my order. Your father’s wife...” He shakes his head. “I would never have harmed them. You were safe with them, protected.”

“Protected?” I bark out a harsh laugh. “They died in a staged car accident. Because of me. Because of who I am.”

“Sofia,piccolina...” He takes a step forward.

“Don’t!” I raise the carafe higher. “Don’t call me that. You lost any right to family terms when your organization killed the only parents I’ve known.”

His shoulders slump, but his eyes, which are so eerily like my own, remain fixed on me. “I understand your anger. But there are things you need to know about your heritage, about who you really are.”

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