Page 204 of Marrying the Savage

Nikolai shifts near the door. I don’t move.

Sergei looks at the armed men in his hall, then back at me. “Yes, I controlled her. Yes, I made decisions for her. Yes, I arranged the Sokolov marriage because that alliance mattered and because Sofia was old enough to be useful to this family. I will not stand here and pretend I raised her softly. I didn’t. But don’t make me a villain because I’m not the only one in this room.”

His eyes hold mine.

“She is my niece,” he says. “I would not have her killed.”

I study his face. He is too practiced to read easily. Sergei has lied at tables with less effort than other men need to tell the truth. He has sold threats as concern and control as duty for most of Sofia’s life. That doesn’t mean every word from his mouth is false.

It also doesn’t make him innocent.

“The man ran to your gate,” I say.

“Then someone wanted you to see him do it.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I ask.

“I expect you to think,” he snaps, and several weapons tighten in several hands.

Brave. Or cornered.

“There are cameras outside my property,” Sergei says. “If I wanted to hide a man who failed to kill Sofia, I would not let him crawl through my side gate in daylight.” His voice is harder now, the fear pushed down under offense. “I don’t know who gave you the information,” he continues, “but it’s not true.”

I take one step toward him. He doesn’t retreat this time.

“Someone has been lying to you,” Sergei says. “Now it’s up to you who you want to believe.”

“The only liar here is you,” I say, through gritted teeth. This man is testing my patience.

He outstretches his arm. “Then kill me and be done with it.”

The gun cocks in my hand. I raise it slightly, and see his pupils. He’s full of shit.

“Not today,” I murmur before turning the safety off and walking away.

Nikolai runs out after him. “You could have done it, you know.”

I slow my step. I know I could have. I could have ended it, but Sofia’s face keeps coming back to me. I would ruin things between us beyond repair if that man died. I know that, he’s her only family left, after all.

“Not yet,” I tell Nikolai. “But don’t mention this to anyone.”

“Of course,” he says. “Where to now?”

I think of Sofia. “Home.”

31

SOFIA

Pregnant.

The word stays with me after the doctor leaves the room.

It doesn’t become less strange with repetition. It doesn’t become easier because Dr. Morozova says it calmly, because Mikhail stands outside the clinic door like a polite wall, because the house keeps moving above us as if my body has not just turned into the center of a disaster.

I sit on the edge of the examination bed with one hand on my abdomen.

There is nothing to feel. I don’t see any signs. There’s no change in me, no proof yet. Just skin, breath, fear, and a truth so new I don’t know where to put it.