Claimed by My Mafia Alpha King Chapter 48

Irina’s POV

I spun around.

Sofia.

She was standing in the doorway, still in her uniform, a folded towel in both hands. Her hair was slightly damp at the temples, like she’d been sowhere warm. Her eyes were wide. Surprised.

Not bound. Not dragged away.

*Here.*

The breath I’d been holding for the past twenty minutes left all at once. My knees nearly gave.

"Miss Irina?" Her voice was careful. Cautious. She stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind her. "What—you look terrible. What happened?"

I pressed my hand to my chest.

Just breathed for a second.

"You’re here," I said. Stupid. Obvious.

"I’m—yes?" She set the towel down on the dresser. Moved toward . "I was in the laundry room, the boiler’s been acting up and they needed—what’s going on? You’re shaking."

"I thought—" I stopped.

Tried again.

"I went looking for you earlier. Your room was empty. The morning shift girl said you weren’t there."

Sofia blinked. "I switched with Marta. I told her yesterday. She must have forgotten to—" She stopped. Her expression shifted. Catching up. "You went looking for ?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I looked at her face. Her open, round face with the dimples she got when she was confused, the slight furrow between her brows. She had no idea what had just happened on the other side of this palace. She’d been in a laundry room with a broken boiler.

She was standing there completely intact and I’d spent twenty minutes convinced she was on the floor of Nicolas’s office with her wrists tied behind her back.

"Sit down," I said.

"I’m not the one who looks like they’re about to faint."

"Sofia. Sit down."

She sat. On the chair by the window, the sa one she’d sat in yesterday. Folded her hands in her lap. Looked at .

I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Nicolas processed soone this morning," I said carefully. "A girl. She was on the floor of his office when I got there. Bound." I watched Sofia’s face. "She’d been caught moving through the kitchen supply routes with sothing she shouldn’t have had."

Sofia went very still.

"Powder," I said.

The word landed between us.

Sofia didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The color in her face shifted slightly—not gone, just—rearranged. Settled into sothing careful and controlled.

"I thought it was you," I said. My voice ca out quieter than I ant it to. "When I saw her on the floor. I thought—" I pressed my lips together. "It took a mont to see that it wasn’t."

Sofia exhaled slowly. "But it wasn’t."

"No."

A pause.

"She wasn’t working alone," I said. "That’s what he said. He’s going to find out who she was working with."

The silence stretched.

Sofia looked at the window. The morning light was coming in gold and pale, hitting the side of her face. She looked young in it. Too young for any of this.

"Sofia." My voice ca out rougher than I intended. "She’s gone. Whatever he does to people who try to—" I stopped. "She’s gone. That’s what happened to her. You understand what I’m saying?"

"Yes." Quiet. Even.

"That would have been you."

"I know."

"He would have—" I pushed forward, made myself say it, because she needed to hear it in plain words. "He doesn’t just kill them cleanly. He said *make it count.* That’s what he said to the n who took her out. *The usual isn’t enough.* Sofia, I don’t know exactly what that ans but I know it’s not fast and I know it’s not—"

"Irina." She said my na gently. Like I was the one who needed steadying.

I stopped.

She looked at . Her face was calm. That sa calm from yesterday, the calm on the other side of fear, and I hated it. I hated how calm she was. I hated that she’d had ti to make peace with sothing that hadn’t happened yet.

"I understand," she said. "I’ve always understood."

"Then stop." The words ca out harder than I planned. "Stop. Whatever you’re still planning, whatever the next step is—stop. There’s no version of this that doesn’t end with you on that floor."

She smiled.

Small. Sad.

"He promised ," I said. "Last night. He promised no more wars after this one. No more expansion. He said it—just like that, I asked him and he said it."

Sothing moved across Sofia’s face.

She looked at for a long mont.

"He promised you," she repeated.

"Yes."

"And you believed him."

The words didn’t have an edge to them. She wasn’t mocking . She just—said it. Looking at with those clear eyes that had seen three years of this palace.

"I don’t know," I said honestly. "But he said it."

She was quiet.

"My brother’s na was Pavel," she said. "I told you that."

"I rember."

"He was the third son. He never would have been alpha. Never would have been beta or gamma or anything that mattered. He was just—" She exhaled. "He was just Pavel. He wanted to save up enough to move sowhere quieter. He talked about it all the ti. So city far enough from pack territory that nobody cared who you were or what your rank was." She pressed her lips together. "He was twenty-three. He had a photograph of our mother in his pocket. That’s how I know—soone told . The photograph was still there when they—" She stopped. "When they brought him back."

I didn’t say anything.

"Forty-two packs," she said. "That’s what your alpha controls. Forty-two. Do you know how many n that is? How many Pavels? How many photographs?"

"Sofia—"

"He made you a promise." She t my gaze. "I believe you. I believe he said it. But promises from n like him—" She shook her head. Slowly. "They last until they don’t. Until there’s another territory. Another reason. Another enemy stupid enough to stand beside soone who crossed him." Her voice didn’t waver. "And sowhere out there there’s another girl who’s going to get a phone call about her brother and she’s going to spend three years learning how to fold napkins while the man who sent him to die eats breakfast ten ters away."

My throat felt tight.

"So no," she said quietly. "I’m not going to let it go. I know what you’re going to say next. I know it makes sense. I know it’s the rational thing to do. But—" She looked at the window again. "Pavel deserves better than rational."

I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum.

I thought about what I wanted to say. Argued with it. Tried to find the version of this that fixed sothing.

There wasn’t one.

"You’re going to get yourself killed," I said.

"Maybe."

"Not maybe. Sofia. He *already knows* soone was working with that girl. He’s going to look. He’s going to find everything."

"Then I’ll have to be careful."

"Being careful isn’t—" I stopped. Looked at her face. At the absolute, quiet certainty in it. "You’re not listening to ."

"I’m listening to everything you say." She stood up. Crossed the room toward . Stopped in front of and looked down. "I just already know what I’m going to do."

I reached into my pocket.

Pulled out the vial.

Held it up between us.

"Take it back," I said.

She looked at it. Then at .

"Take it back, Sofia."

She didn’t move.

"I’m not going to use it," I said. "I know that now. I knew it last night. I’m not—I can’t. So take it back and hide it sowhere and stop—just stop."

Sofia looked at the vial for a long mont.

Then she shook her head.

A single, slow movent.

"Then what?" I said. "I just—keep it? It sits in my room? Sofia—"

"You’ll do what you think is right." Her voice was quiet. Steady. "That’s all any of us can do."

I stared at her.

"You’re not afraid that I’ll tell him?" The words ca out thin and sharp. "You’re not worried? I go in there and I tell him everything—the vial, your brother, all of it—and you’re still standing here shaking your head at ?"

Sofia looked at .

Really looked at .

With those eyes that had watched for three weeks. That had noticed every flinch, every careful step, every morning I ca to breakfast looking like I hadn’t slept. That had been in the room when he’d kissed and she’d pretended not to notice, and when I’d eaten half a plate of food and she’d looked relieved.

"No," she said simply.

"No, what?"

"I’m not worried."

"Why not?"

She smiled.

That smile. Quiet and sad and sohow completely certain.

She reached out.

Took my hand—gently, the way she always did, both of hers wrapped around mine.

And pressed the vial back into my palm.

Her fingers closed around my fist. Holding it there.

"You’re not going to tell him," she said softly. "We both know that."

I opened my mouth.

"Keep it," she said. Her voice barely a sound. "You don’t have to use it. You don’t have to do anything. Just—keep it."

She squeezed my hand once.

Let go.

Stepped back.

"I’m not asking you to be brave," she said. "I’m not asking you to do anything that isn’t yours to do." Her eyes found mine. Held. "But if the day ever cos when you change your mind—"

She paused.

"I’ll be here."