Novels by Sofia

The warehouse reeked of gasoline, sweat, and something more sinister—fear.Marcus kicked down the reinforced door just as the last of his six men gunned down a guard in the hallway. The silence that followed was not peace, but a lull before the storm. They moved like shadows—swift, precise, unrelenting.Marcus trailed at the rear, his jaw tight, pulse pounding in his ears. He wasn’t just here on a mission. He was here for Erik. No more delays. No more mercy. “Lower east room,” Caleb's voice crackled through the comms. “Thermal scan shows one heat signature—still.” Marcus didn’t respond. He was already moving. The corridors were a blur, each footstep a hammer to the cold concrete. His grip tightened around his weapon. Every second Erik remained in that place was an insult Marcus could not forgive. He reached the door. One hard kick. It crashed open. There—slumped in a chair, wrists bound, shirt bloodied and torn—was Erik. Bruises darkened his ribs, and his face was

2:09 PM – Emergency Recovery Unit. The room was quiet again. Too quiet. Jason sat stiffly on the edge of the hospital bed, sterile sheets twisted around his legs like chains. One hand pressed against the blood-soaked gauze on his side, the other trembling from more than just pain. It was something deeper. More dangerous. Love. He hadn’t meant to fall for her. In his world, love was a vulnerability—one that could get you killed. It dulled instincts. Blurred lines. Made monsters look human.And yet, the first time he saw her—fragile, scared, defiant—something inside him cracked. He buried it fast. Compartmentalized it. Pretended it was nothing. Because he was too dangerous for someone like her. She deserved peace. He only knew war. But the feeling didn’t die. It waited. Waited through long nights in the war room. Through missions gone sideways. Through cold coffee and heated arguments and moments when her silence said more than words ever could. And somewhere betw

9:04 AM – Undisclosed Location: Blackwell Command Bunker, Milan The silence wasn’t ordinary. It throbbed—alive, almost sentient—twisting through steel panels and every muted pulse of embedded light. There was no comfort here. No warmth. Just cold, calculated control. And Charlotte stood at the center of it all—poised like a queen in exile. Her wrists were bound in silk—a mockery of captivity. A message. To anyone else, she might have looked like a prisoner. But Charlotte was no one’s captive. Not today. Not ever. She was here by design. Every step that had brought her to this moment had been orchestrated with precision. She had studied him—Vincent Blackwell—the way a predator stalks its prey. But unlike the others who had fallen to his shadow, Charlotte hadn’t come to beg, or plead, or run. She had come to end it. The bunker’s reinforced doors hissed open. And with them, the temperature dropped. Vincent Blackwell entered like an omen—silent, dangerous, deliber

4:36 AM – Codename Location: The Quadrilatero NetworkCodename: “Safe House 7 – Via Gesù”The world outside was still in slumber, but inside Safe House 7, war had already begun.The dim overhead lights flickered, casting long, angular shadows across the steel-paneled walls. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was the kind that screamed. Tense. Breathless. Ticking like a bomb on the verge of detonation. Alexander stood at the center of the command room, rigid as stone, eyes fixed on the encrypted message glowing from his tablet screen. The words burned brighter than the harsh white light illuminating them:“He can have his brother back… when I have my son’s loyalty.”No name. No signature. But the venom was unmistakable.Vincent.That name alone could curdle blood. The man didn’t speak threats; he delivered them like verdicts. Always personal. Always precise.Alexander’s fingers curled around the edge of the steel table until the metal groaned under the pressure. His knuckles turned ghost-

3:06 Am The north wing was a graveyard. Smoke thickened with every breath, curling through shattered corridors like ghosts fleeing the blast. Sparks rained from broken fixtures. The scent of molten metal, blood, and burning insulation clung to every surface, choking out reason and hope. Alexander and Isabella moved fast—too fast for the damage around them, too slow for the fear inside them. Each step felt like a betrayal. Each breath, a countdown. Charlotte had been there. Then gone. Isabella’s lungs burned, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Her sister had looked into that camera. Looked at her. And then— Silence. Black smoke. Nothing. Her boots skidded across tiles shattered like glass, dragging her forward until her knees buckled at the edge of a collapsed wall. She couldn’t move. Not one step more. “Charlotte…” Her voice came out cracked, barely there—like the girl herself had already vanished into dust. Alexander caught her from behind, gripping her shoulders as she sa

Milan, 2:13 AM – Rooftop Staging Point The rain had come in sheets—savage and unrelenting—hammering the fuselage of the modified Gulfstream as it cut through the thunder-laced skies over northern Italy. The storm howled with purpose, thunder rolling like a divine warning through the clouds. It was the kind of night that dared fate to blink first. Charlotte never blinked. The plane descended. Altitude dropped. Bay doors yawned open. One by one, the team vanished into the storm. She jumped last. For a heartbeat, gravity clutched her breath—long enough for every failure, every regret to tear through her ribs. Then instinct surged. The wind grabbed at her limbs, and Milan sprawled below—fractured light and jagged shadows spinning into view. A silent SUV waited, its engine purring as its tires kissed rain-slick cobblestones, gliding them deeper into a sleeping city where secrets wore suits and power was currency. Now, six stories above the crumbling outskirts near Blackwell’s Villa