Page 78 of Stalk Me

“He’s smarter than we gave him credit for,” Dmitri observes quietly.

I turn from the screen, unable to watch anymore.

I sink into a chair, my eyes fixed again on Sofia’s face on the screen. She holds herself, trying to appear confident, but I can see the subtle signs of strain around her eyes. My chest aches with a physical pain I’ve never experienced before.

“Malishka,” I whisper, reaching out to touch her image on the screen. The truth detonates in my chest—this is love. Raw, consuming, dangerous love. Not possession. Not control. Something far more lethal.

My hands shake as I watch Mario parade her around like a prize mare. She’s drawn into ancient feuds, complex alliances, centuries of blood debts, and honor codes that make even the Russian bratva look straightforward. The Italian crime families operate on tradition and vendettas that go back generations.

“They’re positioning her as a pawn,” Dmitri says behind me, but I barely hear him.

I can only focus on the slight tremor in Sofia’s hand as she waves to the cameras, the way she swallows hard when Mario mentions her father’s condition. She’s alone in there, surrounded by strangers who claim to be family, being manipulated into a role she never asked for.

Sofia gives the cameras a practiced smile. It’s not her real smile that usually lights up her whole face when she talks about art. This is the polite gallery owner smile she uses with difficult clients. Knowing she’s forcing herself through this charade makes my heart constrict to see it now.

“I love her,” I say aloud for the first time, tasting the foreign words on my tongue. “And I’ve lost her to this circus of Italian politics and family obligations.”

Dmitri laughs, a rare sound that draws my attention from the screen. “No shit, we all know you love her. She’s got you wrapped around your little finger.”

I whip around to face him, ready to deny it, but the knowing look in his eyes stops me. My brothers are watching me with varying degrees of amusement.

“The great Nikolai Ivanov,” Alexi smirks from behind his laptop. “Brought low by a gallery owner who doesn’t even know her heritage.”

“Shut up,” I growl, but there’s no real heat. They’re right, and we all know it.

Erik sets down his weapon. “You’ve been different since you met her. More human.”

“The way you watch her,” Dmitri adds. “Like she’s some priceless painting you can’t look away from.”

I run my hands through my hair, frustrated by their accuracy. “She makes me forget everything else. When I’m with her, the organization, our enemies, even my own rules—they all fade away.”

“That’s called love, brother.” Dmitri claps my shoulder. “And it’s about damn time you experienced it.”

“She’s making me weak,” I admit.

“No.” Erik’s voice is firm. “She makes you stronger. Because now you have something worth fighting for beyond duty and power.”

The truth of his words hits me hard. Every decision I’ve made since meeting Sofia has been colored by thoughts of her safety and happiness. Even my rage at Mario isn’t just about possession but about protecting her from being forced into a life she didn’t choose.

“You should see your face when you talk about her,” Alexi chuckles. “Like a lovesick teenager.”

I grab the nearest object, which happens to be a pen, and throw it at his head. He dodges, laughing harder.

The laughter dies down as Dmitri’s expression shifts to something more serious. He moves closer, lowering his voice despite us being alone.

“We’ll get her back, Kolya. Whatever it takes.”

“The Castellanos won’t know what hit them,” Alexi adds, his fingers flying over his screen. “Their security may be good, but I’m better.”

Erik checks his weapons with practiced efficiency. “Just say the word, brother. My team is ready.”

I look at each of them in turn. My brothers are my most trusted allies. The weight of their loyalty settles over me like a familiar coat.

“This isn’t just another operation,” I warn them. “Mario’s made it public now. One wrong move could start a war with our families.”

“Then we’ll be smart about it.” Dmitri’s voice carries the cold calculation I recognize from our most dangerous ventures. “We have contacts in Italy. Resources. Ways to apply pressure without leaving fingerprints.”

“Sofia’s worth it,” Erik states simply, meeting my eyes. “She makes you happy. That’s enough for us.”

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