Page 91 of Stalk Me

“Say it again,” I demand against her mouth.

“I love you.” She breathes the words between kisses. “God help me, but I do.”

“I love you too,malishka.” The words come easier now than the first time I spoke them. Her body relaxes against mine, and I pull her closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.

Sofia’s fingers sketch delicate patterns on my chest as she settles into the crook of my arm. The silk sheets whisper beneath us with each small movement. Her breathing starts to even out, but I can tell she’s fighting sleep.

“Rest.” My lips brush her temple as she settles against me.

“I’m not tired,” she mumbles, even as her eyes drift closed. The stubborn set of her jaw makes me smile.

I run my fingers through her hair, remembering how many nights I watched her through cameras, longing to touch her like this. Now she’s in my arms, claiming me as completely as I’ve claimed her.

Her leg hooks over mine as she burrows closer. The weight of her, the warmth of her skin against mine—it grounds me in ways I never expected to need. The mighty Nikolai Ivanov, undone by this woman who matches me in every way.

“Sleep,malishka.” I adjust the sheets around us, cocooning her in warmth. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

She makes a soft sound of contentment, her body growing heavier against mine as exhaustion finally claims her. I stay awake, memorizing every detail of this moment—the flutter of her eyelashes, the way she breathes, and her hand rests possessively over my heart.

35

SOFIA

Ipace across the marble floors of our suite, my heels clicking with each step. Papers and photos scattered across the antique desk, including surveillance shots and financial records—all evidence exposing my father’s manipulation.

“They wanted to force my hand,” I say, trailing my fingers over a particularly damning document. “Make me return, make me embrace my heritage.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.

Nikolai’s arms slide around my waist, his solid chest pressing against my back. His presence anchors me and keeps the rage from consuming me entirely. “Let’s show them exactly what that heritage means,malishka.” His dark chuckle resonates through me, matching the darkness in my chest.

I lean into him, studying the photos spread before us. “They never expected me to have resources of my own. To be able to fight back.” My finger taps a photo of Antonio meeting with known art forgers. “They thought I’d be helpless, easily controlled.”

“A fatal mistake.” Nikolai’s lips brush my ear. “You’re anything but helpless.”

We spend hours strategizing, our minds working in perfect sync. He suggests angles I hadn’t considered while I point out vulnerabilities in the Castellano empire that only someone with insider knowledge would spot.

But we both know that the confrontation with Antonio needs to be mine alone. This is my battle. Nikolai understands without me saying it, offering support without trying to take control.

“I’ll destroy everything he values,” I murmur, organizing the evidence into precise piles. “Not with violence, as that’s too quick, too easy. I want him to watch it all crumble, piece by piece.”

Nikolai’s arms tighten around me. “That’s my girl.”

I find my father in his study, sunlight streaming through tall windows. No sign of the illness he’s been performing so convincingly. My heart aches even as anger burns through my veins. “Your treatments seem to be working well,” I say, letting ice creep into my voice. He stills, pen hovering over papers. The silence stretches between us as understanding dawns in his eyes. I think of Nikolai waiting in our suite, having given me space for this moment while ensuring security cameras catch everything - not for surveillance this time, but for protection.

“Sofia...” Antonio sets down his pen, composure cracking momentarily before his mask slides back into place. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” I approach his desk. “Explain faking an illness to manipulate your daughter? The one you claim to love so much?”

He rises, spreading his hands. “Everything I did was to protect you?—”

“No.” I slam my palm on his desk. “Everything you did was to control me. To force me into this life.” I sweep my hand across his pristine papers, scattering them. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I’d just play the dutiful daughter while you pulled my strings?”

“You belong here,” he insists, but his voice wavers. “With family.”

“Family doesn’t lie.” I lean forward, meeting those eyes so like my own. “Family doesn’t orchestrate elaborate schemes to trap their children. But then again, you gave me up once before, didn’t you?”

The color drains from his face. “That was different?—”

“Was it?” I straighten, smoothing my skirt. “Or was it just another manipulation? Another chess move in your grand game?”

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