Chapter 2 Two

Sophia POV

"I should have warned you that Damian loves playing mind games with his evaluators," Agent Thompson said, rubbing his forehead.

"How about mentioning that he had them killed? You sent me on a suicide mission and expected results? I should consider myself lucky," I retorted. Thompson tried to speak, but I was already on my feet, heading for the exit.

Once outside, I made my way to the car and took a seat, waiting for Thompson.

"Look, I know I should have disclosed every detail. I'm sorry. The fact that he didn't use harsh words with you suggests he's willing to talk," Thompson said as he got into the car.

"I want nothing more to do with him," I declared firmly. Seeing my resolve, Thompson started the engine and drove us away from the prison towards the airport.

After a long flight, I was back at my apartment. I noticed an unfamiliar car parked nearby, arousing my curiosity and suspicion. Whoever owned that car must have come to see me.

As I entered my living room, I caught a whiff of masculine cologne, putting me on high alert. Someone had definitely invaded my space.

Dropping my bag on the couch, I heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. I looked around for a potential weapon, settling for a remote control.

Cautiously, I crept towards the kitchen, my heart racing. I tried to stay calm despite the intrusive thoughts swirling in my head.

Stepping into the kitchen, I found no one there, just broken plates on the floor.

"Damn it," I muttered, bending down to pick up the pieces.

"Sorry for the disturbance." I jumped up, turning to face an imposing man, nearly seven feet tall. "A remote, really?" He questioned, eyeing my makeshift weapon.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" I demanded.

"You should cook more often. I'm tired of takeout, knowing the boss has a girl who can cook," he said cryptically.

"What are you talking about? I'm calling the police," I declared, reaching for my phone. To my shock, it wasn't in my purse.

"Looking for this?" He waved my phone tauntingly.

"Give that back!" I tried to grab it, but he held it out of reach. "Who are you? Why are you stalking me?"

"Let's discuss this in the living room," he suggested, gesturing for me to follow.

I sat on the couch, watching him make himself comfortable and helping himself to cookies from my fridge.

"Are you going to explain yourself, or should I call the police?" I asked, irritated by his nonchalance.

"Relax, Dr. Carter. If I meant you harm, you wouldn't have known I was here," he said, rolling his eyes and propping his feet on the table.

"Then speak!" I snapped, losing patience.

"I'm here to offer protection," he replied simply.

"I don't need protection. Get out of my house!" I was furious at this stranger's audacity.

"You might not think you need it, but I've been watching your place for days. Someone would have my head if I didn't do my job."

What was he talking about? I distinctly remembered leaving for Chicago with no strange cars outside my apartment.

"You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?" I pressed.

He leaned forward, considering his words carefully. "I don't usually break protocol, but I'll make an exception... I'm Marco, Damian Russo's right-hand man."

His revelation stunned me. How could Damian have sent someone while he was in prison?

"Do you think I'm naive? Damian is in prison. He couldn't have given you orders from there," I argued.

"You underestimate Damian, doctor. There's a lot you don't know about him," Marco stated.

I studied him, trying to discern the truth. "If Damian sent you, why?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" He smirked, pulling out a phone. "A call from Damian might convince you I'm telling the truth."

I watched as he dialed a number and put it on speaker. When the call connected, he held the phone towards me.

"I take it you've met Marco," Damian's familiar voice came through, catching me off guard.

"This is impossible. You can't make calls from prison," I said, disbelieving.

"I make calls because I'm Damian Russo. I advise you to keep quiet about this, or you might find yourself in trouble," his voice deepened, the threat evident in his tone.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"I want to see you again, Sophia. You've had your first session; I'm looking forward to the next." With that, he hung up, leaving me more confused and unsettled than ever.