Page 55 of The Enemy Protector
She’s my daughter.She’s got my stubbornness and Mikhail’s pride. Did you really think she’d make this easy for you?
No. I didn’t. But I also didn’t think keeping her alive would be a full-time job.
Elena had been soft in ways Sofia never learned to be. Sofia doesn’t bend. She tests every boundary like she was born expecting the world to try to box her in.
When I made that promise eight years ago, I thought it would be simple. Watch from a distance. Keep her protected. Step in only if absolutely necessary.
I had no idea she’d turn into the kind of woman who looks danger in the face and treats it like a dare. She runs the same route twice a week after two assassination attempts. She refuses to hide behind walls and guards like any sane person in her position would.
And now she goes to a club. Of course she does.
She’s just like you,Elena’s voice whispers in my head.That’s why you’re so frustrated.
I push the thought away. I’m nothing like Sofia Baranova. I’m careful. Calculated. I don’t go looking for edges just to prove I can stand on them.
Kirill has to park a block away. The street is chaos—police cars, ambulances, crowds of people being questioned. Crime scene tape has the area blocked off.
“This is going to be complicated,” Kirill mutters.
I spot Detective Morrison near one of the police cars. He’s been on my payroll for three years. Not completely corrupt, but practical enough to know when to look the other way.
I approach him directly. He sees me coming and flinches. His hand moves to the gun in the holster at his side.
“Mr. Sokolov. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I have business inside.”
He visibly relaxes and glances at the club, then back at me. “This is an active crime scene.”
“I’m aware.”
“This you?”
“No. But someone inside is under my protection.”
He looks around, then gestures subtly toward the alley. “Back entrance.”
He turns his back. Kirill and I head for the back door. It’s unlocked. I slip inside with Kirill right behind me.
The club is quiet. I walk to the office. Nelson had texted and let me know where they were.
She’s going to have questions. Nelson texted a simple message:she knows.
She’s going to be angry that I’ve been watching her.
I push open the door. Nelson is leaned against the desk. Sofia is sitting on a leather couch.
Her dress has blood on it. Her hair is slightly disheveled. Her knees are scraped, blood trickling down her shins. I have a visceral reaction to seeing her blood. Fury floods through my veins. I want to find the person that tried to kill her and cut him a thousand times.
But what strikes me most is her face.
She’s shaken. Pale. Wide eyes. But she’s composed. Fighting to maintain control.
“Miss Baranova,” I say.
She looks up at me. Relief? Anger? Fear? Maybe all three.
“Mr. Sokolov.”
