Page 18 of Hunter

“I can’t believe I slept through that,” I mutter, shaking my head. I’m usually a light sleeper. That’s how exhausted I must have been.

“When she saw me, she nearly attacked me,” Luca continues, the humor in his voice at odds with the tension hanging between us. “She couldn’t get out of bed, though. Took a few minutes to calm her down, but eventually, I got through to her. Told her everything—the past, how she ended up here. She told me to go fuck myself, said if I thought I’d ever be forgiven, I was delusional.” Luca shrugs, as if none of it surprises him. “But before I left, she asked me to take her home. I told her to talk to you first.”

I’m sure that last part didn’t go over well. I nod, not wanting to dwell on it. “Thanks,” I say, my voice tight.

We walk into the kitchen in silence, Andrei already there, shoveling cereal into his mouth. “Hi, brother,” he says, his voice muffled by food. I grunt in response, pouring myself some coffee, but I’m too distracted to really engage. My thoughts keepcircling back to Sophia, to the chaos surrounding her and the threat we’re facing.

I sit at the kitchen island and pull out my phone. The mountain of emails I’ve ignored these past couple of weeks stares back at me, but I can’t focus on them now. Not with a target on our backs. Whoever we pissed off when we rescued her, they’re not done with us. I know that for certain. From what Luca told me, Sophia didn’t leave without making a scene. They’re not going to let this go. I’m not going to let them get to her again. My mind’s already running the plan—four of my best men are on their way to track Sophia. They’re experts in combat, but more importantly, they’re trained in stealth. She won’t know a thing about it. I won’t be caught in the dark again.

Never again.

Suddenly, my phone beeps with a message from my assistant, Ashley. I open it without thinking, and my stomach drops when I see what it says.

There’s a new chief of police. He’s waiting for you at the dealership. Please hurry. I can’t stall him anymore.

My fist tightens around the coffee mug in my hand. In my mind, I hear the sound of glass cracking before I realize it’s real. Coffee splashes across the counter and onto my pants. I don’t care.

Andrei rushes to grab paper towels, his eyes wide with panic. “Yo, Maxim, what the fuck?”

I don’t respond. I don’t care about the mess. The chief’s visit is the last thing I need. The timing couldn’t be worse.

“There’s a situation we need to handle. Let’s go,” I bark, my frustration bubbling to the surface. I can already feel the weightof the new problem pressing down on me. I’ll explain to Andrei on the way to the dealership.

But right now, I need to trust that the men I’ve assigned to Sophia are doing their jobs. As much as it hurts, I have to focus on the bigger picture. This new chief is going to be a problem. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.

People think I’ve gone soft. I scoff. They’re wrong. I haven’t gone soft. I just haven’t cared about much lately. Sophia has been in my thoughts, pulling me away from my business and the bratva. But that’s going to change. I need to get things back on track for her—and for the future I’ve been planning with her in mind.

And that future? It’s one I’ll do anything to make real.

EIGHT

SOPHIA

No matter how hard I scrub, I can still feel his vile hands on me, the phantom of his touch burned into my skin like a stain that refuses to fade. The water runs scalding hot, but it’s not enough—I scrub harder, desperate, but nothing changes. His ghost is still there, clinging to my arms, my neck, my chest. I can’t escape it. I don’t know if I ever will. How do I move on from something like this? Can I move on? My leg throbs faintly, a cruel reminder. Will I ever regain full control of it? Or will the scars—inside and out—be a constant reminder of what he did to me? Of what I survived? Each unanswered question feels heavier than the last, pressing down on me like the weight of his hands all over again. Every time I close my eyes, I see that room. The smell. His eyes. God, his eyes—those cold, haunting eyes will never leave me. And the smell—that rancid stench will forever be branded in my lungs, choking me with each breath. I know I’m not there anymore. It has been over two months since I escaped, but my brain hasn’t caught up. The nights are the worst. I try to sleep, but the memories chase me into nightmares, and I wake up screaming, my throat raw with fear, screaming for him.

For Maxim.

Tears spill down my face, mixing with the water as I sob. The thought of his name shreds something inside me. It’s as if my heart has been carved out, and someone is pouring salt into the wound. I’ve wanted to call him. So many times. To tell him I need him. But every time I reach for my phone, the thought of him not protecting me as he promised fills me with such anger, it surges through my body, pushing the need for him deep down, locking it away.

I don’t regret leaving that house, the room—the walls caving in on me, the suffocating air, the constant checkups by the nurses. It was breaking me. But more than that, I needed to get away from Maxim. Every time he came into the room, I saw the devastation in his eyes, and it nearly shattered me. He was broken too. I couldn’t handle seeing him like that—someone so put together now so undone. His beard was a mess. His eyes were bloodshot, with deep purple bags under them. I had to say goodbye.

Even though I know it wasn’t his fault, what he did—how he found me, protected me—it doesn’t matter right now. I can’t be with someone like him, someone so possessive, so controlling. He wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace. And if I stayed with him, I’d hate him even more. That anger, that resentment—it would consume me.

If I’m honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever try to fix what we had. His world—it’s not one I’m suited for. Luca told me this happens more than he likes to admit. He keeps his wife locked up tight, with guards around her 24/7. How could she live like that? How could I? I’d suffocate.

I’m not the partying type. I love the quiet things—the bookstores, eating out with family, seeing a movie now and then. I work hard, and I need to relax. But if someone was watching me all the time, I’d lose it. I couldn’t enjoy my life.

I sit in the shower for too long, and the water turns cold around me. The tingling in my legs reminds me I’ve stayed still too long. Slowly, I push myself up, my arms resting on the edge of the tub as I wait for the pins and needles to fade. After drying off, I slip into the same type of clothes I’ve been wearing since I came home—a sweater and sweatpants. Baggy. Comforting. They hide everything. I don’t want to see my body—don’t want to feel the cuts, the stitches. The reminders are always there, but I don’t need to see them.

I reach for the sleeping pills the nurse gave me. This is the first time I’ve had the courage to take one. I’ve been trying to fall asleep on my own, but the nightmares come anyway. Every night. This time, I’m not fighting it. I take one, hoping it works.

I set the bottle back down and turn off the lamp, curling under my comforter. I close my eyes, willing the medication to take hold, hoping for peace, even if it’s just for tonight.

But then, the tingling sensation of someone caressing my cheek jolts me awake. My eyes snap open, my breath catching in my throat. I look around—nothing. But the feeling doesn’t fade. My pulse races, confusion clouding my mind. I sit up, flick the lamp on, and the scent hits me—whiskey, sandalwood. It fills the room, wrapping around me, pulling me into a trance.

Maxim.

Was he here? Or is it just the ghost of him, woven into every corner of this house, every shadow of this room? His presence clings to the air—his scent in the upholstery, his voice lingering like an echo that never truly fades. I can’t escape him, even when he’s not here.

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