“Sofia,” I said again, only loud enough for her to hear my voice.
Recognition hit at once. Her trembling lips parted. A cut split one corner. The start of a black eye was puffing up one of her terror-filled eyes.
Anger rolled off me, making me shiver at the force of fury. Seeing her wounded at all incensed me. But her gasp of disbelief kept me in the present.
“You came.”
I nodded.
“And we’re out of here,” I replied.
Gathering her in my arms, I rushed to escape with my men and bring her to the safety I’d failed to give her. The security she deserved.
It was time to get her out of this hellhole for good. And it was time to begin to prove to her—and the rest of the world—that her place wasn’t here as Giovanni’s pawn, but at my side, as my woman, the only one I’d love.
34
SOFIA
He came.
I repeated it like a mantra as Andre carried me out of the cell, through the hall, and up the stairs. Feeling his strong arms around me was physical proof that I wasn’t imagining it. The sway of his body cutting through the smoky chaos of my uncle’s house was a scene that showed my eyes weren’t tricking me.
He came.
He came to save me.
Despite how much he had to hate me, he’d come to get me out of here.
Because he still cared?
Because he had to do the right thing?
Because… hedidlove me?
Too many questions flogged my mind, but I couldn’t slow down time to pick at them all. Details blurred with the speed that heused to extract me. Pressing me against him, he tried to shield me. And because I was still ruled by this need to protect our child, I clung to him and dreaded a stray bullet hitting us.
There was no point worrying about that. Orlov men—dressed in all black and military-like fatigues—flanked him as he ran out the front door. Others were outside, but it wasn’t a full-scale invasion.
They moved as one. Practiced, rehearsed, and trained.
We fled the house, and when no one shot at us, I realized they’d come in and killed any opposition to rescue me.Me, the traitor caught between two worlds.Me, the failure who wanted to be led by love and not war.Me, the pawn who’d been expected to help wound others and not assist them and care.
As I held on to Andre and buried my face against the stiff vest he wore, I didn’t feel an ounce of regret that they couldn’t have killedhim, too.
After my uncle came home and realized Esmeralda was missing, he’d taken his wrath out on me. Whipping at me. Beating me with his pudgy fists. Kicking at me. I’d protected my stomach, and he hadn’t aimed there anyway, since he valued this child as leverage to use later.
I’d hoped that with every hit and strike, he’d overexert himself and keel over. From a heart attack. A stroke. Anything. Instead, he’d stayed in that cell to beat me for defying him and getting Esmeralda away from him. He’d left telling the guards he wanted to go to the club to relax and get his head on straight. It was a damned shame he was gone and not dead from this invasion.
“You got her?” a driver asked as Oleg ushered us into a car idling down the road.
Daring to hope this would work, and that we’d get away, I blinked at the dim light from the interior of the backseat.
“Yes. Go.Go,” Oleg ordered.
Like Andre, he was wearing a mask and was decked out in all black. I recognized his voice, though, and when he tugged off his facial covering, he treated me to a scowl. “Fuck.”
If he was this pissed to have to see me again, why’d he risk helping Andre to get me out of there?
