Page 85 of Stalk Me

“Nikolai,” she whispers, her fingers tangling in my hair. “This is... overwhelming.”

A slow smile curves my lips as I cradle her face in my hands. “Just wait until we’re back in Boston. I plan to overwhelm you in every way imaginable.”

The smile slips from Sofia’s lips, and my chest tightens. The question hangs between us, heavy and unspoken. Will she return to Boston? Leave behind this newfound family, this inheritance, this legacy that’s rightfully hers?

I can’t bring myself to ask. The possibility of her saying no would break something in me I’m not ready to face.

Instead, I trace my thumb across her lower lip, memorizing the softness, the slight tremor. Her eyes, those bewitching green-gold pools that first drew me in, search mine. I understand her uncertainty, a war of duty versus desire, all too well.

“Nikolai,” she whispers, but I silence her with a kiss. I’m not ready for whatever words might follow.

My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her close as if I could keep her through sheer force of will. She responds with equal desperation, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body pressing closer.

That same heavy silence fills the space between us when we break apart. For now, this has to be enough. I’ll take what she is willing to give, even as my heart demands more.

Her fingertips dance across my chest, right over my racing heart. The gesture is so intimate and unconsciously possessive that it tightens my throat with emotion.

32

SOFIA

Isit at the ornate conference table in Mario’s study, my fingers white-knuckled around my coffee cup. Morning’s brilliance pours through the panoramic windows, failing to thaw the lethal chill pervading this space.

“Show her.” Antonio’s voice breaks the silence. His face is drawn, pain etched in every line, but his eyes burn with determination.

Mario slides a thick folder across the polished wood. Inside, photographs and documents tell a dark story. Surveillance photos of my foster parents’ car crash. Bank transfers. Coded messages.

“Your mother didn’t die in an accident.” Antonio’s voice cracks. “And neither did the Henleys.”

I flip through paper after damning paper, my hands trembling. “Lucia orchestrated all of it?”

“Yes.” Mario’s face hardens. “We’ve uncovered evidence of her working with a team of professionals. The same team for both hits.”

A knock at the door makes us all turn. Through the glass panels, I catch a glimpse of steel-gray eyes. Nikolai. Mario’s jaw tightens.

“The Russian has no place here,” he growls.

“He stays.” I surprise myself with the steel in my voice. “He’s the one who helped piece this together, right?”

Antonio reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. “Sofia,mi figlia... I should have protected you both. I was blind for so long.”

“Where is she now?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

“Gone.” Mario’s voice is cold. “She fled when she realized we were closing in. But we’ll find her.”

I feel Nikolai’s presence behind me, solid and reassuring. His hand rests on my shoulder, and I don’t miss how Mario’s eyes track the movement.

“You really thought you could keep me away from her?” Nikolai’s accent is thicker than usual, and his words are directed at Mario.

The tension in the room spikes, but I can’t focus on their power play. All I can see are the photos of my mother, of the Henleys, of all the lives Lucia destroyed.

I listen as the men around me debate Lucia’s fate. Each suggestion is more violent than the last.

“A quick death would be too merciful,” Nikolai’s voice cuts through the air like ice. “She needs to suffer for touching what’s mine.”

Mario slams his hand on the table. “This isn’t about your claim on Sofia. She targeted our family first. The Castellanos will handle this.”

“Both of you are wrong,” Antonio interrupts. “As her husband, this is my responsibility. I’ll put the bullet in her head myself.”

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