Chapter 4 - Shadows at Lincoln Prep
By Wednesday morning, my world had completely inverted.
I woke up in a guest suite larger than the entire apartment Marco and I had shared in Queens. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, so soft they felt like water against my skin. On the mahogany vanity sat a brand-new smartphone, fully encrypted, accompanied by a black titanium debit card with my name embossed on the front: *SOFIA REYES.*
Beside it lay a note written in sharp, precise calligraphy:
*No limits. Replace what was destroyed in Queens. Damian.*
I stared at the black card for a long time. Forty-three dollars in checking had defined my existence for three years. Every meal, every subway ride, every breath had been calculated against an encroaching wall of debt. Now, a card with no limit sat beside my phone.
I didn't touch it.
I dressed in simple dark slacks and a tailored cream blouse that had been left in the closet—my exact size, another chilling display of Damian’s unnerving attention to detail.
Downstairs, the estate was already humming with activity.
Marco was sitting at a massive teak breakfast table, eating pancakes served by a private chef, his face glowing with disbelief. For the first time in six months, there were no dark circles under his eyes.
“Sofie!” Marco grinned, a mouthful of syrup. “Look at this place! They have an indoor basketball court! And a library with first-edition comic books!”
I smiled, ruffling his hair as I passed, but my eyes were scanning the room.
Damian was not at the table.
Instead, Lev stood near the French doors, checking an earpiece. When he saw me, he nodded curtly.
“Mr. Volkov is in the city,” Lev informed me. “The Vale family called an emergency shareholder meeting at maritime logistics. He left at dawn.”
“And Marco?” I asked, my voice instantly guarded. “He has classes at Lincoln Prep. Finals are in two weeks. He cannot miss school.”
Lev frowned slightly. “Mr. Volkov suggested remote tutoring until the situation stabilizes.”
“No,” I said firmly. “Marco earned his scholarship at Lincoln Prep with blood, sweat, and sleepless nights. If he hides in this fortress, Cassandra wins. I will not let these people steal his education.”
Marco looked up, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “Sofie, it’s okay... if it’s dangerous—”
“It’s not okay,” I cut him off gently. “You worked too hard to let bullies push you into the shadows.” I looked at Lev. “Can you secure him or not?”
Lev stared at me for three long seconds. In his eyes, I saw a flicker of newfound respect.
“Lincoln Prep is in Manhattan. I will drive him personally. Two chase vehicles will flank us. The school security perimeter will be reinforced by our personnel disguised as private guards.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m coming too.”
“Mr. Volkov instructed you to remain with his mother.”
“Mr. Volkov is not my owner,” I countered. “He is my employer. And my brother comes first.”
Lev didn't argue. He simply touched his radio. “Prepare the convoy.”
The drive into Manhattan was tense. Two black SUVs followed our armored car at a strict fifty-yard distance. Marco looked out the window, mesmerized by the flashing lights and the sheer absurdity of being escorted like a foreign diplomat.
When we pulled up to the ornate brick gates of Lincoln Prep on the Upper East Side, the sidewalk was bustling with wealthy students in blazers and pleated skirts.
“Be careful,” I told Marco, adjusting his collar. “Keep your phone on you. If anyone approaches you—anyone at all—you call Lev immediately.”
“I know, Sofie. Stop worrying. I’m fifteen, not five.” Marco gave me a quick, embarrassed hug and climbed out of the car. Lev signaled two undercover men near the gate, who subtly fell into step twenty paces behind Marco.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
“Satisfied, Ms. Reyes?” Lev asked from the front seat.
“Not until he’s home tonight.”
Before Lev could turn the car around, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
My stomach dropped. I swiped the screen.
“I told you that you were finished, waitress,” Cassandra’s voice hissed through the speaker, tight with venomous rage.
“Cassandra,” I said, keeping my voice deadpan. “Did your father finally teach you how to use a washing machine, or is that champagne stain still ruining your week?”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“You think you’re clever because Damian Volkov gave you a bone to chew on? You think you’re untouchable in his cage?” Cassandra laughed—a shrill, unstable sound. “Look out the passenger window, little girl.”
My head snapped to the right.
Parked fifty yards down the street, across from the school gates, was a dark gray van with tinted windows. The rear doors were cracked open by two inches.
Through the crack, the black barrel of a high-caliber rifle gleamed in the morning sun.
Aimed straight at the courtyard where Marco was walking toward the front steps.
“Marco!” The scream ripped from my throat before I could think.
“Sofia, stay down!” Lev roared, his hand flying to his sidearm.
I didn't stay down. Adrenaline obliterated every instinct of self-preservation. I threw the heavy door open and launched myself out of the vehicle, sprinting across four lanes of morning traffic. Horns blared. Tires screeched.
Fifty yards away, Marco was turning toward the school steps.
“Marco! Get down!” I screamed.
The van doors swung wide. Two masked men stepped onto the pavement, lifting automatic weapons.
Pandemonium erupted on the school grounds. Students screamed, scattering like pigeons.
Before the gunmen could level their weapons, the air shattered with the deafening roar of a heavy engine.
A black heavy-duty truck smashed into the side of the gray van at forty miles per hour, crushing the front cabin like an accordion and sending the vehicle spinning onto the sidewalk.
Metal screamed against concrete. Glass rained everywhere.
From the truck’s driver side stepped Damian Volkov.
He wasn't wearing a suit jacket. His white shirt was rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos wrapping around his muscular wrists—the mark of the Bratva, ancient and lethal. In his right hand, he held a black tactical pistol.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't issue warnings.
The first gunman raised his weapon. Damian fired two shots with terrifying, mechanical precision. The gunman dropped instantly, clutching his shattered shoulder, howling in agony.
The second gunman panicked, dropping his rifle and raising his hands, trembling violently.
Damian walked toward him. The street had gone dead silent, save for the wailing car alarms.
Damian grabbed the man by the throat with one hand, lifting him until his toes barely scraped the pavement, and slammed him against the crumpled side of the van.
“Who sent you?” Damian’s voice was deathly calm, vibrating with suppressed fury.
“Vale!” the man choked out, eyes bulging with terror. “Vale’s security chief! He told us to take the kid—just scare the girl! We weren't going to shoot the kids, I swear to God!”
Damian looked past the man’s terrified face.
His gray eyes locked onto mine.
I was standing twenty feet away, chest heaving, my hands shaking uncontrollably, with Marco huddled behind me, clinging to my waist.
Damian saw the sheer terror in Marco’s eyes. He saw the wild, defensive fire in mine.
Without looking down, Damian brought the butt of his heavy pistol across the gunman’s temple, knocking him unconscious with a single, sickening crack. The man slumped into a heap on the pavement.
Damian holstered his weapon and walked toward us.
Sirens were wailing in the distance, growing louder with every passing second.
Damian stopped in front of me. His breathing was steady, but a dark, terrifying storm swirled in his eyes. He reached out and gripped the back of my neck, pulling me forward until my forehead rested against his chest.
His heart was beating slow, steady, and invincible beneath his shirt.
“I told you,” Damian whispered against my hair, his arm wrapping around my trembling shoulders with crushing possessiveness, “to stay at the estate.”
“He’s my brother,” I sobbed, the adrenaline finally giving way to raw shock. “They were going to take my brother, Damian!”
“No one takes what is mine to protect,” Damian said, his voice dropping into a promise that felt carved into stone. He looked down at Marco, his hand briefly gripping the boy’s trembling shoulder. “You are safe, Marco. Both of you.”
He looked up as his security convoy swarmed the intersection, blocking off the police cruisers and clearing a path.
“Cassandra’s father just crossed the only line that mattered,” Damian said quietly. “Lev! Clear the street. We are taking them to the penthouse.”
“And the Vales?” Lev asked, stepping forward with his gun drawn.
Damian’s eyes turned to cold, merciless ice.
May you like
“Tell our associates in the port,” Damian said softly. “The Vale family no longer exists in this city.”
***