Page 6

Ivan

The news comes through as I’m pulling up to the warehouse. Maxim’s voice on the other end of the line is as calm as ever, but there’s a note of satisfaction in it that tells me everything I need to know.

“It’s done,” he says simply. “We’ve got her.”

I allow myself a grin, feeling the thrill of victory settle in my chest. Finally, the first move in our plan is complete. Sophia Preston is in our hands, and with her, the leverage we need to bring her father to his knees.

I kill the engine and step out of the car, the cold night air biting at my skin. The warehouse looms ahead, an unassuming building from the outside, but within its walls, it’s anything but. This place has seen countless deals, countless exchanges of power. Tonight, it’s the stage for the beginning of the end for the Prestons.

As I walk toward the entrance, my mind is already working through the next steps. Kace Preston’s empire is vast, but every empire has its weaknesses. Tonight, I’m holding his most precious one.

The metal door creaks as I push it open, the familiar scent of oil and cold steel filling my lungs. I take the stairs down to the basement, each step echoing in the quiet. The air grows colder as I descend, the faint hum of electricity the only sound.

I meet Maxim at the bottom of the stairs. He’s waiting for me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells me he’s pleased with himself. He knows the importance of what we’ve just done, the weight of the prize we now possess.

“Everything go smoothly?” I ask, my voice low but carrying in the confined space.

Maxim nods. “She put up a bit of a fight, but nothing we couldn’t handle. She’s tougher than she looks.”

I smirk, appreciating the irony. “Good. Toughness runs in the family, but it won’t help her here.”

He gestures toward the door at the end of the hallway. “She’s in there. Guarded, as you requested.”

I nod, satisfied. “Let’s see our guest, then.”

Together, we walk toward the door, the sound of our footsteps reverberating off the concrete walls. Two of my men stand at attention outside the room, their faces impassive, but they straighten as I approach.

I push the door open, and the first thing that hits me is the sight of her. Sophia Preston, the golden child, Kace’s precious daughter, now sitting in a cold, dimly lit cell. She’s slumped against the wall, her hands bound in front of her, the light above casting shadows across her pale face. Her hair is disheveled, and there’s a faint bruise on her temple where Maxim must have struck her.

As I step inside, something feels off. She’s unconscious, her body limp against the unforgiving concrete floor. I pause, narrowing my eyes as I take in her appearance. There’s a familiarity to her—she matches the image I’ve studied countless times before, yet… something’s different.

I pull the photo from my pocket, the one I’ve been carrying since we first decided to make our move. In it, Sophia Preston stands confidently, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, the small rose tattoo visible on her waist. There’s a brightness to her, a self-assuredness that’s missing from the woman lying on the floor in front of me.

It might just be because she’s still knocked out, but….

I hold the photo next to her, comparing the two. The resemblance is undeniable—the same delicate features, the same golden hair—but there’s a subtle difference in her face, a slight discrepancy that I can’t quite place.

“Maxim,” I say, my voice low, my eyes still fixed on the woman. “Are you sure this is her?”

Maxim steps forward, his gaze flicking between the picture and the woman on the ground. “It’s her, Ivan. She had the right ID in her bag, along with her things. There’s no doubt.”

I nod slowly, though the unease in my gut doesn’t entirely dissipate. “She looks different,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “Something’s not right.”

Maxim shrugs, unconcerned. “Could be the lighting, or the fact that she’s been knocked out. She’ll look more like herself once she’s awake.”

I study her face again, but the feeling of something being off doesn’t leave me. Maybe it’s just the context, seeing her like this, stripped of the confidence and power she normally exudes. Or maybe it’s something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

I let out a slow breath, slipping the photo back into my pocket. “Keep an eye on her. When she wakes up, I want to know immediately.”

Maxim nods, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Don’t worry. She’s not going anywhere.”

I watch as the woman on the cold concrete floor starts to stir. Her eyelids flutter, a faint groan escaping her lips as she begins to regain consciousness. I take a step back, giving her space as she slowly wakes up, her movements sluggish at first, but growing more purposeful as awareness returns.

Sophia blinks a few times, her vision clearing. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, wincing as she touches the bruise on her temple. Her eyes, a deep green, scan the room, taking in her surroundings, the cold walls, the men standing guard, and finally landing on me.

Fear flashes across her face, but it’s quickly replaced by a steely resolve. She stands, though unsteadily, pressing her back against the wall as if readying herself for a fight. Despite the fear in her eyes, there’s something else there too—something resilient, unyielding. It’s a look that doesn’t quite match the image I had of Sophia Preston, the sheltered daughter of Kace.

“What do you want from me?” she demands, her voice shaking slightly, though she tries to sound strong. I can see she’s trying to keep her composure, but there’s a tension in her posture that tells me she knows she’s in deep trouble.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I take a step closer, watching her carefully, studying the way her eyes flicker with apprehension. “You aren’t Sophia, are you?” I say, my voice low, almost accusatory.

Her face pales, the color draining from her cheeks as the truth of my words sinks in. She doesn’t answer, her lips pressing into a thin line as she crosses her arms protectively over her chest. The silence that follows is telling, more so than any denial she could offer.

Maxim’s confusion is palpable. He steps forward, glancing between our captive and me. “What do you mean? How is that possible? We found her ID, her things. It has to be her.”

I pull out the photograph of Sophia once more, holding it up next to her. “Sophia Preston has brown eyes,” I say, my tone cold and precise, pointing to the image. “This woman’s eyes are green.”

Maxim stares at her, his brow furrowing as he finally notices the difference. It’s subtle, but undeniable. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, realization dawning on him. “Then who the hell is she?”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I turn my attention back to the woman, my eyes narrowing as I consider my next move. I need to be sure. “Take off your shirt,” I command, my voice leaving no room for argument.

Her reaction is immediate—her eyes widen in shock, and she instinctively pulls her arms tighter around herself, refusing to comply. “I’m not doing that,” she says, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

I expected resistance, but it doesn’t matter. I need to confirm my suspicions, and there’s one unmistakable way to do that. I glance at the men in the room, the guards who have been standing by, ready to intervene if necessary. This isn’t their task.

“Leave us,” I order, my tone brooking no opposition. “All of you.”

Maxim hesitates, his confusion deepening. “Ivan, are you sure—”

“Now,” I cut him off, my voice sharp. This isn’t up for debate.

Maxim sighs, clearly frustrated by this turn of events, but he knows better than to argue. “Tch,” he mutters, shaking his head as he turns to leave, the other men following him out the door. The heavy thud of the door closing behind them leaves us in a tense silence, the room suddenly feeling much smaller.

I turn back to our “guest,” who is now alone with me, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. The fear in her eyes is more evident now, but it’s mingled with that same stubborn resolve. She’s scared, but she’s not going to break easily.

“You can drop the act,” I say, my tone softer now but no less insistent. “I know you’re not Sophia. I just need to know who you are and why you have Sophia’s ID.”

She glares at me, her lips pressed into a tight line. “You think I’m just going to tell you?”

I take a step closer, closing the distance between us, and for a moment, she tenses as if preparing for a blow. I stop just short of her, lowering my voice to a near whisper. “You’re in no position to make demands, but I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to know the truth.”

She looks into my eyes, searching for any sign of deception, but I keep my expression neutral, unreadable. For a moment, I see the struggle in her gaze—the decision of whether to cooperate or continue resisting.

I don’t wait for her answer. My hand moves slowly, reaching for the hem of her shirt. She flinches, her arms tightening, but I stop, waiting for her to make the next move. “This is your last chance to come clean.”

“I am Sophia,” she says, her voice steady, but I catch the slight tremor underneath. She’s trying to sell it, hoping I’ll buy the lie and back off. “If you hurt me, my father will—”

“I said take off your shirt,” I repeat, my tone cold, final. I’m done with the pretense. If she’s not going to tell me the truth willingly, I’ll strip it from her myself.

Her eyes widen slightly, the fear and uncertainty finally breaking through her tough exterior. She knows she’s cornered, and for a moment, she hesitates, probably weighing her options. She could keep lying, keep playing the role, but it’s clear she understands that won’t work anymore. If she refuses, I’ll do it myself, and she knows it.

Slowly, with a deep breath, she begins to lift the hem of her shirt. Her movements are reluctant, deliberate, as if she’s stalling for time, hoping for a way out. But there’s no escape. She pulls the fabric over her head and lets it drop to the floor, standing there in just her bra and jeans.

I take a moment to study her, and despite the circumstances, I can’t help but admire her figure. She’s slender but strong, with toned muscles that speak of someone who knows how to take care of herself. But my attention quickly shifts to her waist, where I expect to see the rose tattoo that Sophia Preston is known for.

Except there’s no rose.

My eyes narrow as I take in the absence of the mark, and instead, I find something else—something unexpected. A small, coiled snake tattoo. It’s a symbol I know well, one that’s worn by the men of the American Mafia. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. This girl is no innocent, no sheltered princess. She’s something far more dangerous.

“Interesting,” I murmur, my gaze still fixed on the tattoo. “You’re not Sophia, and yet you’re carrying the mark of the American Mafia. A young girl like you, involved with men like them?” I raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. “What exactly does Kace use you for?”

She stays silent, her jaw clenched, her eyes defiant. I can see the fear there, but she’s not about to show weakness. Not yet. I take a step closer, closing the distance between us, and reach out, gently tilting her chin up so she’s forced to look me in the eye.

“Tell me,” I demand, my voice low but insistent. “What’s your role, miss?”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, but she also doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, and it’s clear she’s not going to give up any information willingly. There’s a strength in her that I didn’t expect, a resolve that makes me respect her even as it frustrates me.

“Stubborn,” I say, almost to myself. “You’d rather stay silent than betray whatever secret you’re hiding. Admirable, but foolish.”

Just as I’m about to press her further, the door swings open, and Maxim steps back into the room. He’s holding a phone in his hand, his expression triumphant. “I think we’ve got the answers you’re looking for,” he says, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

I release the young woman’s chin and turn to face him. “What did you find?”

Maxim tosses the phone onto the small table in the center of the room, the screen lighting up with a series of files. “We went through her phone. She’s not Sophia Preston—her name is Sarah Williams. Get this, she’s the mastermind behind the recent robbery. She’s the one who hacked our accounts.”

I glance down at the phone, then back at her. She’s trying to keep her composure, but I can see the flicker of panic in her eyes. She knows the game is up.

A grin spreads across my face as the pieces fall into place. “Well, well,” I say, my tone laced with mock admiration. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? A hacker, a thief, and a member of the Mafia. You’ve been busy.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not telling you anything.”

I chuckle, genuinely amused by her defiance. “You’ve already told me enough… Sarah. The rest, I’ll figure out on my own.”

Maxim steps closer, still looking at her with a mix of confusion and intrigue. “What do you want to do with her, Ivan? She’s not who we thought, but she’s still valuable.”

I don’t take my eyes off Sarah as I respond. “Oh, she’s more valuable than we could have imagined. Kace Preston’s daughter might have been a good bargaining chip, but Sarah here? She’s the key to dismantling everything he’s built.”

Sarah’s face hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re making a mistake if you think you can use me.”

“Maybe,” I say with a shrug, “but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, it looks like you’re not in a position to negotiate.”

She glares at me, the anger and frustration clear on her face. “You’re a bastard.”

I smirk, unbothered by the insult. “You’re not the first to think so.”

Maxim chuckles beside me, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that.”

I nod, my eyes still locked on Sarah’s. “Indeed. But spirit only gets you so far. Now, tell me, Sarah—what’s your next move?”

She doesn’t answer, but her silence speaks volumes. She’s out of moves, out of options, and she knows it. For now, the game is mine to play. And as I study her, standing there in the dim light of the cell, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of respect for the woman who’s caused so much chaos in my world. She’s not Sophia Preston, but she’s something far more interesting.

I intend to find out just how much more.