I stayed by the window. Kept the room between us.
"Did you eat?" he asked.
"Some."
"Good." He settled into the chair, relaxed but alert. "Let's continue our conversation."
"I don’t want to."
"I found out a few more things about you," he continued quietly. “Your mother died when you were seven. Cancer. After that, your father raised you alone while working for West Coast bratva operations. He was valuable, but he gambled. Started losing. Started borrowing from people who don't forgive debt." He paused, letting that sink in before delivering the rest. "He also had a photographic memory, didn't he? Could tracknumbers, routes, operations without writing anything down. And you inherited it.
My hands were shaking. I hid them behind my back.
"That's why the Belyaevs want you. You're a walking intelligence database.”
Made him valuable. But he gambled. Started losing. Started borrowing from people who don't forgive debt."
"How do you know all this?" My voice came out rough.
"I told you. I'm very good at research." He said it matter-of-factly, not boasting.
I wanted to sit down. My knee was aching from standing too long. But sitting felt like giving up ground, admitting weakness.
"The Volkovs don't know you exist yet," Nikolai continued. "I haven't told them. Alexei Volkov is the current pakhan—your uncle, technically, though you've never met him. He has two younger brothers. Your cousins, if you want to claim the connection."
"I don't." The words came out sharp. "They exiled my father. They don't want me."
"Perhaps. But blood matters in our world." His grey eyes held mine. "Whether you like it or not, you're a Volkov. That name carries weight. Protection. Obligations."
"I don't want their protection."
"You might not have a choice." He leaned forward slightly. "Here's what I need to know, Sophie. What do you remember? About your family? Your father? His debts?”
I swallowed hard. My breathing was too fast.
“All of it.”
"Every name," he continued. "Every location. Every schedule, every route, every weakness your father ever mentioned while you were in the room. Even casual conversations. Even things he thought you weren't paying attention to. You remember."
"I won't tell them anything." My voice shook. "I won't."
"I believe you." His tone gentled. "But Sophie, torture isn't just physical. There are other ways to break someone. Chemical. Psychological. They would have found a way."
The thought made me want to throw up. The breakfast I'd eaten threatened to come back up.
"But they don't have you," Nikolai continued. "I do. And I'm not going to extract anything from you."
"Why not?" The question burst out. "You paid two million dollars. You have the same information access they wanted. Why wouldn't you use it?"
He was quiet for a long moment. His grey eyes studied me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"Because some things matter more than intelligence," he said finally. "Like keeping promises. Like protecting people who can't protect themselves. Like making sure someone scared and alone has a safe place to sleep at night."
His words hit something deep in my chest. Some buried, desperate part of me that wanted safety. Wanted protection. Wanted someone to make the world feel manageable again.
No. Couldn't want that. Couldn't let myself need that.
"You don't know me," I said. "You don't know anything about me."
