Page 148 of The Enemy Protector
Nelson is waiting by the front door with six men I recognize from the security rotation. They’re all armed, all watching me with that same careful assessment I’ve gotten used to.
“Ready?” Nelson asks.
“Yes.”
I honestly didn’t think I would ever step foot in his house again. I stare out the window and try to remember the last days with my mother. I wish I would have committed the little details to memory. What did we eat? What did we talk about? Did I tell her I loved her?
My hand keeps drifting to my stomach. I force myself to stop.
Nelson doesn’t try to make conversation. He knows me well enough by now to recognize when I need silence.
When we pull up to the gates, the guards hesitate. They recognize the SUV as Sokolov’s vehicle. But then they see me in the back seat and wave us through.
The compound looks the same as it always has. Cold. Imposing. A fortress designed to keep the world out.
I used to feel safe here.
Now I just feel sick.
Nelson and two of the guards follow me to the front door. The rest stay with the vehicles, eyes scanning the perimeter.
The same butler who’s been here since I was a child opens the door. His eyes widen when he sees me flanked by Sokolov’s men.
“Miss Baranova,” he says carefully. “Your father isn’t expecting you.”
“I don’t care.” I push past him. “Where is he?”
“The study, but?— “
I’m already moving. Nelson stays two steps behind me. The guard stations himself outside the study door.
I don’t knock. I just walk in.
My father is sitting in his chair by the window, oxygen tank beside him, the cannula in his nose. He looks worse than the last time I saw him. Grayer. Thinner. Like death is sitting on his shoulder, waiting. I came here with every intention of driving my blade into his throat. I wanted to watch him take his last breath.
Now, I realize his slow death is the best revenge.
He looks up when I enter. If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it.
“Sofia.” He gasps, struggling to catch his breath. “To what do I owe this visit?”
The door stays open. Nelson follows me in but stays about five feet away, giving me this moment but close enough to intervene if needed.
“Did you do it?” I ask. “Did you kill her?”
He doesn’t ask who I’m talking about. He knows.
His breathing is labored. His entire body jerks with every breath he tries to draw. But his defiance is loud and clear. The evil I see in his eyes shocks me.
How had I never seen it before?
Because I didn’t want to.
“Yes,” he says simply.
The confirmation still hits like a punch to the gut, even though I already knew. Hearing him say it sends fresh nausea flooding through me.
“Why?”
