Page 30 of Bratva Prince

“Your father is waiting,” Matteo said.

Sofia thanked her uncle and headed toward the east wing of the house, and to her father’s office.The familiar corridor stretched before her, lined with expensive artwork and polished hardwood floors.As a child, she had hated this hallway.

Being summoned to Emilio Marino’s office rarely meant anything good.The memory surfaced unexpectedly.She was eight years old and standing outside the office door with trembling hands.

Sofia saw herself at twelve years old, and being informed she’d embarrassed the family by losing her temper during a negotiation lesson.Then she pictured herself at fourteen, and being told she needed to work harder, learn more, and be better.

Her father had never gotten physical with her.That had somehow made it worse.Disappointment from Emilio Marino carried more weight than anger ever could.For years, she’d dreaded hearing those words.

Your father wants to see you.

The summons alone had been enough to knot her stomach, but eventually she’d adapted.She learned every lesson the first time.Sofia studied harder and made fewer mistakes.She controlled her emotions and herself.

By the time she was eighteen, there had been very little left for her father to criticize.The reprimands became rarer, then disappeared almost entirely.

He certainly didn’t become easier to please—Sofia had merely learned exactly what was expected of her.Perfection, or as close to it as possible.Sofia stopped outside the office door.For a moment, she stared at it.The old anxiety was gone now.Well, not exactly, but it was diminished.

She wasn’t a frightened little girl anymore.She was Sofia Marino Volkov.Wife to one of the most dangerous men in the city.Survivor of an assassination attempt.A woman who had shot a man to save her husband.Funny how perspective changed things.

Squaring her shoulders, Sofia knocked once before opening the door.

Her father was already waiting inside.Emilio Marino had just finished a phone call.He stood, then stepped forward and examined her carefully, checking for injuries as Matteo did.She imagined him checking for damage, for weakness.Exactly as Sofia expected.

“You look well,” her father finally said, sitting down again.

“I am well,” she told him.

His shoulders relaxed slightly.Perhaps he had worried after all.Sofia quickly dismissed the thought.

“Sit,” he said.

Sofia obeyed.The conversation quickly shifted toward business, the attack, the Volkov response, and the political implications.She explained everything they knew, including Orlov’s involvement.

Her father’s expression darkened immediately.

“Sergei Orlov,” Emilio said darkly.

“Yes.”

“He finally lost what little sense he had,” her father grumbled.

Sofia couldn’t disagree.Her father leaned back.

“If the Volkovs need support, they have it,” he said.

She blinked.“Support?”

“Men.Resources.Intelligence.”

His gaze sharpened.“This alliance benefits both families.”

It was a practical and predictable answer, and yet some small part of her still wondered.Was that all?Or had he genuinely been concerned?The thought lingered longer than she expected.

Eventually the meeting ended.Her father walked her toward the entrance himself.A rare gesture.As she prepared to leave, he paused.

“Sofia.”

She turned.Emilio Marino looked older than usual.For the first time in her life, he seemed more tired and human, then it vanished.