For now, he would watch. Wait. Learn routines. Learn Archer’s blind spots—just in case. Learn how Boris moved when he thought he was in control.
And when the time came?
He wouldn’t miss.
Because the truth had come out. Boris didn’t need the girl alive. He just needed her dead in a way that pointed east. Without the Armenians around, he could take over their territory, their businesses—everything.
So when Maksim Sokolov finally turned his rage on the Armenians—Boris Volkov planned to stand beside him, untouched, indispensable, and trusted.
A crucial mistake on Maksim’s part.
One Arman fully intended to correct.
Chapter 6
Sofia
Kings County Hospital Center — Late Afternoon
Ugh, I hated hospitals.
The smell alone made my stomach twist—antiseptic and fear and something metallic underneath it all. I clutched my coat tighter around myself as Archer walked half a step behind me, eyes scanning every corridor like the walls themselves might sprout guns or decide to turn hostile.
“I told you, I’m fine,” Isabella called from the bed when she saw me hovering in the doorway like I was about to bolt.
Fine was… generous.
She had scrapes along her cheek and a purple bruise blooming up her arm, but she was sitting up, hair in a messy bun, scrolling through her phone like she was killing time at the DMV instead of recovering from getting hit by a damn car.
“You got hit by a car,” I said, my voice climbing an octave. “You don’t get to be fine.”
She sighed as she smiled, soft and a little tired. “It was an accident, Sof. Guy ran a light, clipped me while I was crossing. I bounced. See? Still here.”
“That’s not the least bit comforting,” I grumbled.
With a laugh that ended in a groan, she reached out and squeezed my hand. “I told you that you didn’t need to come all the way here. You’ve got enough going on.”
The words landed heavier than she knew. Like there was a baseball stuck in my throat, I swallowed and forced a smile. “Isabella… you’re my best friend. Of course I came.”
With suddenly narrowing eyes, she studied my face for a heartbeat too long. “You look really pale. Are you eating?”
“Yes,” I lied. Again.
Archer stayed by the door, quiet, respectful, pretending not to hear every word. But I could feel his awareness like a second skin, taut and unyielding. He was still pissed at me. Oh well.
After a nurse came in to fuss and confirm Isabella really was being discharged later that evening, I kissed her forehead carefully.
“Text me when you’re home,” I insisted.
“I will,” she promised. “And Sofia?”
“Yeah?”
The corners of her mouth gently lifted. “Whatever it is you’re dealing with—it doesn’t get to drag you down. Okay?”
As if I had any choice in the matter at this point, I nodded.
The hospital doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, letting in a breath-stealing gust of cold air that carried the scent of snow and car exhaust. Dusk had fallen while we were inside, the sky already darkening to a bruised purple.
