Novels by Sofia

Jason sat in the passenger seat, his muscles coiled with tension as Alexander tore through the streets, the car’s tires screeching against the asphalt. The city lights blurred past them in streaks of neon, but neither man was paying attention to the outside world. Inside the car, the air was thick with unspoken accusations, the weight of failure pressing down on them both. Alexander’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles turning white. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with barely restrained fury. The cold glow from the dashboard illuminated the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more dangerous than usual. Jason knew better than to speak first. But Alexander wasn’t the type to let things go. “You want to tell me what the hell happened back there?” His voice was low, deceptively calm, the kind of calm that came before a storm. Jason exhaled through his nose, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I already told you. He escaped.” A muscle ticked in Alexan

Jason sat in the passenger seat, his muscles coiled with tension as Alexander tore through the streets, the car’s tires screeching against the asphalt. The city lights blurred past them in streaks of neon, but neither man was paying attention to the outside world. Inside the car, the air was thick with unspoken accusations, the weight of failure pressing down on them both. Alexander’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles turning white. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with barely restrained fury. The cold glow from the dashboard illuminated the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more dangerous than usual. Jason knew better than to speak first. But Alexander wasn’t the type to let things go. “You want to tell me what the hell happened back there?” His voice was low, deceptively calm, the kind of calm that came before a storm. Jason exhaled through his nose, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I already told you. He escaped.” A muscle ticked in Alexa

The city lay in eerie silence, the glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the empty roads. A convoy of black SUVs moved like specters through the darkness, headlights off, engines humming low. The air inside the lead vehicle was thick with tension, the kind that settled deep in the bones before a storm. Alexander’s hands gripped the steering wheel with quiet intensity, his jaw clenched as he stared ahead. Tonight, it ended. No more chasing shadows, no more whispers leading to dead ends. Vincent was within reach. Jason sat in the passenger seat, methodically checking his gun for the third time in ten minutes. The soft click of the magazine sliding into place barely registered over the pounding in Alexander’s head. “We can’t afford any mistakes,” Jason muttered, eyes scanning the darkened streets. “If Vincent slips away again—” “He won’t.” Alexander’s voice was razor-sharp, his certainty unshaken. He didn’t need to look at Jason to know they shared the same unspoken vow—fa

The night air inside the ruined safe house was suffocating. The metallic scent of blood clung to the walls, seeping into everything like a sickness that refused to fade. The once-secure hideout was now a battlefield marked by bullet holes, shattered glass, and bodies left as a warning. The dim lighting flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows across the destruction. Alexander stood in the center of the wreckage, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His blue eyes, normally alight with sharp intelligence, were cold and unreadable. He surveyed the carnage left in Vincent Blackwell’s wake—the blood staining the wooden floor, the overturned furniture, the unmistakable signs of a struggle that had ended in death. This wasn’t just an attack. It was a message. And Alexander had received it loud and clear. A slow exhale escaped him, controlled but lethal in its quietness. This was an act of war. And he wasn’t going to wait for another ambush. “We’re leaving.” His voice cut

The jet’s wheels screeched against the tarmac, the landing smooth but offering no sense of relief. The silence that had clung to them in the air remained thick even as the engines whined down. The cabin was dimly lit, but there was no mistaking the tension carved into each of their faces. Isabella’s nails dug into her palms as she stared at the floor, willing the unease in her stomach to settle. It didn’t. Something felt off. Alexander was the first to move, his gaze hard and calculating as he glanced at each of them before standing. “We don’t waste time. Get ready.” His voice was calm, but there was a distinct sharpness beneath it—a warning unspoken yet understood. Jason, usually the one to crack a joke, remained uncharacteristically silent, his green eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. He rolled his shoulders, the tension never leaving. Dante was much the same, though his fingers twitched against his knee, a sure sign of restrained frustration. Charlotte, small and fragil

The hum of the jet engines filled the cabin, steady and unbroken, but the silence inside was anything but peaceful. It was heavy. Suffocating. A silence that wasn’t relief, but exhaustion—the kind that followed a battle, not because it was over, but because they knew another one was coming. Isabella sat by the window, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her jacket as if grounding herself, as if she could squeeze out the tension that had wrapped around her spine. She should have felt something. Relief, perhaps. Moretti was dead. Vargas was nothing more than a forgotten corpse in Madrid. Charlotte was safe. And yet, her stomach was twisted in knots, because she knew—some wars didn’t end when the last bullet was fired. Some wars were just beginning. Across from her, Charlotte sat wrapped in a blanket, her pale fingers barely visible beneath the folds. Her face was gaunt, exhaustion clear in the shadows beneath her eyes. She hadn’t spoken much