Page 79 of Stalk Me

Alexi glances up from his screen. “Plus, she’s actually interesting. Not like those vapid social climbers who usually throw themselves at you.”

“We protect our own,” Dmitri says firmly. “And whether she knows it or not, Sofia’s family now.”

Their words pierce through my doubt and fear, replacing it with steel determination. My brothers have my back, as they always have. We’ve faced worse odds and come out stronger.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, knowing they understand the depth of meaning in those simple words.

30

SOFIA

Ipace the marble floors of my gilded prison. As I scroll through news articles on the tablet Emma left me, my breath catches. There it is, splashed across every major art publication and society page: “Lost Castellano Heiress Found - Sofia Henley Revealed as Granddaughter of Italian Art Dynasty.”

My throat tightens. Photos from this afternoon’s press conference fill the screen of Mario standing at the podium, his silver hair gleaming under the lights as he announced who I really am to the world. While my father was getting chemo treatments, he was unable to stop this circus.

“Fuck.” I hurl the tablet onto a nearby chair.

This revelation now taints my carefully constructed life, independence, and gallery. I’ll never just be Sofia Henley again. I’m Sofia Castellano, a lost princess of an Italian crime family masquerading as art world royalty.

The weight of it crushes my chest. I sink to the floor, pressing my forehead against my knees as I try to breathe. The marble is cool against my bare legs, grounding me somewhat.

“You had no right,” I whisper to the empty room, thinking of Mario’s satisfied smile as he dropped this bomb on my life. “No fucking right.”

My phone buzzes again, probably with another reporter trying to get a statement. I’ve already received dozens of calls from art world contacts, each more probing than the last. Even Tash has been bombarded with questions about me.

The only person who hasn’t tried to contact me is Nikolai. He must have seen the news by now.

I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars, trying to hold back tears. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about my life, has been twisted into something unrecognizable. And I don’t know how to get it back.

I’m still pacing when I hear a soft scrape against the stone that shouldn’t be there. My steps falter as every nerve ending comes alive. The guards changed rotation five minutes ago. No one should be moving outside my window.

Another sound, barely perceptible.

I don’t think. I just move.

As I dive behind the massive oak dresser, the window explodes inward in a glass shower. Two figures in black tactical gear roll through the opening, weapons drawn. My heart pounds, but my mind is eerily calm, crystal-clearly processing details. Their movements are too precise, too practiced. These aren’t common thugs.

“Clear left,” one whispers in Italian.

I grab the heavy crystal vase from the dresser top and hurl it at the closer attacker’s head. He drops with a grunt, and the glass shatters. The second man swings toward the sound, but I’m already moving.

My leg sweeps out, catching his knee. As he stumbles, I drive my elbow up into his throat. His gun clatters to the floor. I kick it away, following up with a palm strike to his nose. Blood sprays.

The first man is recovering, reaching for his sidearm. I snatch the letter opener from the writing desk and drive it through his hand into the wooden floor. His scream is cut short as I slam his head against the baseboard.

Shouts and gunfire erupt from the hallway. The villa’s security team storms in, weapons raised.

“Miss Castellano!” The head of security rushes to my side. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, staring at the unconscious men at my feet. My hands aren’t even trembling.

“They’re Lucia’s,” one guard says, noticing a logo on their gear.

My father’s wife. The one who doesn’t want me found alive.

“Get Miss Castellano somewhere secure,” the security chief barks. “Now!”

I’m hustled through dark corridors, the security team surrounding me in a tight formation. My bare feet slip against the marble floors as we descend a hidden stairwell I didn’t even know existed. The chief punches a code into a keypad, and steel doors slide open to reveal a panic room.

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