Page 7 of Hunter

My heart rate spikes as we reach the door at the end of the corridor. My palms are sweaty, my breath shallow. I’ve killed dozens of men, tortured even more, and done things most would never even imagined, all without a second thought. But standing here, about to face Sophia, I’m terrified. My selfish obsession put her in this position. If I had cut ties with her weeks ago like I should’ve, she wouldn’t be in this mess. How fucking stupid am I?

I remember thinking she was going to cause problems in my life. It’s funny how life works—look who caused the problems.

Will she ever forgive me?

“Here we are,” Luca says, stopping in front of a white door. I can hear the beeping of the machines inside. I reach for the door handle, but my hand feels like it’s moving in slowly. I stand there for what feels like hours before finally gathering the courage to turn the knob and step inside.

When I see her, my heart shatters into a million pieces. My legs give out, and I drop to my knees. A sob rises from my chest, agonizing and uncontrollable. Tears fall freely. My head hangslow as a hand lands on my shoulder, and I immediately shrug it off. I don’t need his pity.

“Leave me alone,” I manage to rasp through my sobs. I’ve only cried once before in my life—when I found out that bastard killed my mother. But nothing compares to seeing Sophia like this—hooked up to IVs, machines beeping in the background.

Guilt weighs heavily on my chest. I’ve been part of this life since I was born. Most of my years have been spent with blood on my hands—some of it my own doing, some indirect—but I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never cared enough to. But her? She changed everything.

Before Sophia, I was an empty shell of a man, living without purpose. The only time I felt alive was when I watched the life drain from an enemy’s eyes. She made me whole. With her smile, words, touch, and love, she filled the darkest parts of me. She is my lifeline. I am nothing without her. If she dies, I will follow her to the afterlife.

People love to call me a heartless monster, a cruel bastard. They have no idea how much worse I can be. They’ll tell ghost stories about me when I’m done. If I have to, I’ll level this entire city to find the bastard who did this to her. I’ll tear him apart, piece by piece, and keep his head as a reminder for anyone who dares cross me. Whoever did this to her will learn that lesson before they meet their maker.

A dark smile flickers across my face as I imagine someone tied to the trunk of my car as I drive down a gravel road, vengeance burning through my veins. The thought pushes me to my feet, the fire of retribution fueling my steps as I approach Sophia.

She looks so pale, like a ghost of herself, her usual radiance swallowed by shadows that cling to her like a second skin. As I step closer, the bruises come into sharper focus—angry splotches of purple, black, and sickly yellow mottling her arms,her delicate face, her legs. They’re the kind of bruises that tell stories of impact, of violence that left its fingerprints behind. Her left leg is wrapped tightly in a bandage, the white fabric already tinged with faint streaks of crimson, a cruel reminder of the gunshot wound beneath. It makes her look fragile, breakable—but I know better. She’s more iron than glass.

What I feel now is darker, colder, more dangerous than I’ve ever felt before. It’s as if a dam inside me has cracked, releasing the darkest parts of myself.

“The bullet in her abdomen missed the major organs, but it didn’t go straight through. They had to surgically remove it,” Luca says from the doorway. My poor printsessa.

I trail my index finger down her face. This is my fault. I couldn’t find her in time. I couldn’t keep her safe.

Resting my forehead against hers, I let my tears fall, one by one, onto her face. I wipe them away with my thumb, a shaky chuckle escaping me. She would murder me if she knew I thought of her as fragile.

Darkness looms, threatening to swallow me whole, but I refuse to let it consume me now. What if she wakes up? I don’t want her to see me like this.

I close my eyes, replaying the day she told me she loved me. It felt like the sun finally rising after years of living in darkness. How foolish I was to think my sins wouldn’t touch her, that my world wouldn’t destroy her.

I lean in, whispering softly, hoping she can hear me.

“Prostite menya.”Forgive me.I softly kiss her cheek, taking a few seconds to study her, remembering every cut and bruise that marr her body before I turn to face Luca.

“Who the fuck did this to her?” I growl, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Ready to seek vengeance, to become the judge, jury, and executioner.

“That’s what we need to find out,” he says, his attention on his phone, as if our conversation doesn’t matter.

I feel the rush of irritation surge through me. Without thinking, I grab his phone and hurl it against the wall, shattering it.

My voice is low, dangerous. “We? There’s no fucking we, Luca.” I laugh, but it’s humorless as I pace the room. What does he think he can achieve by helping us? Sophia fucking hates him, and I’m no fan of his either.

“If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be alive.” He says it in that smug tone that stops me in my tracks, like a physical blow. He’ll throw that in my face at every turn, won’t he?

“What do you get out of helping us, Luca?” I ask, my voice cold as I approach him, my posture challenging. “You almost fucking destroyed her years ago. She’s still healing from the scars you left her.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. If not for him, she would be dead. He saved her when I couldn’t. I owe him a debt, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay it.

His shoulders sag as his eyes drift to where Sophia lies. I see years of guilt and maybe a hint of something else—admiration? “That’s why I’m helping, Maxim.” His voice is soft, a confession.

He’s trying to atone for what he did to her. I get it. I have my own sins to answer for, but for now, I can’t think of that.

Sighing in defeat, I return to Sophia’s side. I have to accept that I’ll be working with him. He’s not going anywhere, and as part of the Italian mob, he has access to things I don’t. He can get us information, get us closer to finding out who did this.

“She looks so fragile.” Andrei’s voice is heavy with sorrow as he stands next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder.

---