XII.
With the utmost toil, Sophia had managed to evade her private handler and his ever-watchful eye the following afternoon. She had snuck away from the grand estate and had walked the exclusive Brentwood neighborhoods discretely, under the faux-pretense that she required fresh air— in the event that she was noticed.
The weather was warm and pleasant, so she had chosen to wear a light-blue sundress and a pair of kitten-toe heels. She needn't walk far, having called a public cab and instructing them of her arrival.
As she waited near a neighboring row of iron fence and hedges, she noted the presence of the men who served under the Romanovs. They remained at a distance, circling the cobblestone-paved streets briefly.
Sophia was flustered at their lack of subtlety. It was as though they did not care to conceal themselves; but, rather, intended themselves to be seen.
As her public transport arrived, she paid the driver handsomely and instructed them to drive quickly. The cab arrived at the girls' flat promptly and Sophia waited upon the firm seat, hoping to see her flat-mate's car.
Maeve's white Hummer-Jeep was absent; as she had likely been occupied in serving Giovanni. Lacy's humble Volvo was present, however, and the bit of good fortune was celebrated by Sophia.
She paid the driver once more and they obliged, waiting in the gated parking lot with little question.
In a mere two hours, Lacy exited the flat. She strutted towards her car, new designer purse in hand, and Sophia's heart thudded wildly.
"Please! Follow that girl!" she instructed the driver quite frenziedly.
Having been provided with an ample amount of payment, the driver swiftly obeyed and the cab tailed the car closely.
Sophia did not pay notice to the Romanov's associates as they followed her, also. Concerned with her flat-mate, she fled from her cab. Lacy had parked near a small alley of downtown and had disappeared into the back door of a discreet, yet furbished, brick building.
There was a slight familiarity to the underground hotel, though Sophia did not recognize it as the haven in which she had been delivered to following the violent night near the purling waters of the fountain.
She attempted to enter through the front entrance, though the door was fastened shut. Walking towards the back door, as Lacy had, she found it to open easily. Once inside, she descended into an empty, decorative lounge. No one occupied the reception and Sophia thought it to be strange, considering the time of day. In addition to the lack of active staff, no guests lingered the halls or travelled from their rooms.
Sophia was quite baffled; for surely her flat-mate's excuse as a waitress could not have been true, especially given the state of the establishment.
"Hi there, sweetheart. Are you here for some company?"
Sophia grew startled; as a young woman had approached her wearing a thin set of lace lingerie.
"I can grab us some shots. Or do you prefer champagne?"
The woman before her had bright, lavender hair cut stylishly in a small and tidy bob. She appeared much younger than Sophia and the blonde was shocked at her girlishness.
"Oh, no," Sophia told her, "I am not here for that."
"Aw, are you sure? It would honestly be so fun to play with another girl for once," she pouted.
Sophia laughed nervously. "I am actually here to see my friend. Do you know where I may find her?"
"What's her name?" the escort questioned.
"Lacy," Sophia answered hurriedly, "Lacy Perring."
The girl frowned slightly, having detested the brunette greatly ever since she had begun to frequent the hotel. "She's probably in one of the main suites. They have penthouse rooms at the top floor with access to the pool and gated balconies."
As Sophia listened to the woman's sweet and candied tone, it occurred to her that she may have known the prostitute she had witnessed outside the Luxe. "Thank you. I have another question I'd like to ask."
The escort eyed her pleasantly.
"There was this young girl— an escort or a dancer at the Luxe. She was in trouble with these men when I saw her out in the streets. I was hoping to find out if she was alright."
The woman gave her a charming faux-smile. "I'm not sure what you mean. Did she work for Dmitry?"
Sophia nodded, the apprehension from the mention of the bartender's name quickly grasping her. "She did, but I don't know her name."
"The girls here come and go quite frequently, but there's only one that I know of that had gotten in any trouble. She went by 'Fawn'."
Sophia listened worriedly.
"You won't find her here," the escort told her.
Sophia felt her cheeks wetten. "She wasn't killed, was she?"
The escort's former girlishness hardened. "What was your name again, honey?"
The blonde shook her head. "I shouldn't say," she answered, pulling at the strap of her sundress.
"I don't think you should stay here," the woman advised. She had noted Sophia's expensive dress and jewelry; she thought her to be some a-list cinema star or celebrity.
"I must find my friend still!"
The escort nodded, having reprieved her own guilt by warning her of the dangers of the hotel. "Alright, go upstairs then; but not to the first five floors."
The sound of uniformed men approached and Sophia quickly escaped to the staircase. As she ascended the steps, she heard the lavender-haired prostitute greet the company girlishly. She did not mention her presence and, for that, Sophia was deeply grateful. She continued towards the top floors, her chest heaving terribly.
"Lacy?"
Sophia did not see anyone within the hallways. She tried to open many of the main doors, but all of them were fastened. As she continued on her way, she arrived at a luxurious grand-pool and set of cushioned couches. Her flat-mate sat upon one, perched closely at Dmitry's side.
The familiar young-Romanov puffed at a cigar, two girls upon his lap. "Well, if it isn't the little Stomsvik heiress," he crooned, seeing the blonde's approach.
Sophia was promptly affrighted.
"It seems my brother isn't in your company. How exciting that you've come of your own accord," he continued, shoving the two escorts away from him.
Dmitry shifted from his place beside her flat-mate; for he knew he must restrain Afon, lest he be the subject of Kane's prospective anger. "Let her be, please," he commented dryly, to which Lacy was candidly upset.
Sophia wished to talk to her, though Afon's pending approach caused her to step weakly backwards. She extended her arms guardedly, Afon grasping tautly to the fabric of her dress.
"There's no need to be frightened. If you wanted the attention of men, you should have asked."
"Get your hands off of me!" she told him before looking towards her flat-mate.
The brunette only smiled, sipping delicately at her luxury champagne. "She needn't join us," she told them, "She's always been a bit uptight, anyway."
Dmitry spoke to Afon in Russian, though the man had chosen not to properly acknowledge him. As he clung gruffly to Sophia's dress, he had hoped to help himself to her.
"I am here to take my friend home," the blonde stated, her voice sparce and quiet.
Afon promptly ignored her. Having had enjoyed the resort thoroughly throughout the past three days, he was high from cocaine, as well as thickly drunk. "Your friend stays here; and you, too," he told her, surveying her long, bare legs.
"No!" Sophia sought to escape him, tugging desperately at her sundress.
Afon thought briefly of how the blonde may have been able to locate the exclusive establishment; yet this contemplation quickly waned, the liquor causing his mind to wander. He released her, though he ordered that she should remain within his vicinity.
"Come sit with me," Lacy baited, though the sentiment was that of insincerity. She had been angered at her friend's arrival, eager to capture the attention of Dmitry solely. She had noticed the manner in which both men had regarded the blonde and was privately embittered.
Sophia had not understood, seeing the fair-haired bartender for what he was: a dangerous and lecherous man. "Lacy, please. Come home with me! I have a cab waiting."
The brunette was quick to dismiss her pleas.
"Have a drink, Sophia," Dmitry insisted. He had been entertained at her presence and wished to reason with the girl; for he knew now of her status as a prized asset to the Romanov family. Perhaps if she would comply, Afon would be better appeased and would be less inclined to muddy matters, as he had before.
Sophia remained quiet. The two escorts that had been engaged with Afon were presently tasked with approaching her, as per Dmitry's request. They clung to the blonde, encouraging her to sit by the pool.
Sophia followed them resignedly; as she was unable to justify to herself that she should leave without her friend. She sat with one of the escorts upon a small, tufted stool, in order to avoid the ill-natured Afon.
"Champagne? Vodka?"
"No thank you," Sophia answered crossly. She wished to plead further, though Lacy was intent on avoiding her prompt gaze. If she could only speak with her in private, she could inform her of their cruelties. She would not share with her matters concerning the dead prostitute, but perhaps learning of the drugged drinks and intent to commit assault would persuade her to escape with her to safety.
"A drink would settle you down a little, sweetheart," Dmitry chided darkly.
Sophia looked at the man, thoroughly disgusted. "None of your cocktails are to my tastes," she bit.
As she folded her hands atop her lap haughtily, one of the escorts sent her a cautionary glance. The other was preoccupied in entertaining Afon and petted suggestively at the fabric of his pants. She sought to encourage him to retire to his private suite, though the young man paid her little notice in the company of the heiress.
"It seems my whores like you," Afon stated thickly, cigar smoke veiling his face. The liquor hadn't discouraged his prurient demands and he hoped to encourage her into his bed.
Lacy smiled into her champagne flute, as she enjoyed the blonde's prompt discomfort.
Sophia eyed the decorated escorts meekly. She had tried to maintain her composure whilst the two men eyed her like dogs, though a mild blush reddened her cheeks. Crossing her legs uncomfortably, she looked towards Lacy.
"Will you not leave with me?" she asked her once more, grasping to her wrist. The countless emptied glasses of liquor hadn't helped matters with the Russian men and the blonde hoped to flee the hotel shortly.
Lacy raised her chin. "Dmitry has ensured that I am comfortable here. Perhaps if you aren't enjoying yourself, you should leave on your own," she told her, playing with the strap of her new designer heels.
Sophia noticed that she wore the set of pearls she had hoped to give to Maeve. Biting her lip in frustration, she stood to leave; the understanding that she hadn't the means to persuade her thoroughly established.
The brunette had been fairly insulted by the blonde. She had noted how her worried countenance had been displaced: her manner that of pity, instead, as soon as she'd seen the necklace.
"Take them!" she hissed, ripping the jewelry from her neck and flinging the loose, white pearls towards her.
The two escorts sipped from their drinks; for the act had been gallingly tasteless. The men laughed, however, the prospect of a tiff of great interest. As Sophia sought to leave, Afon yanked at the skirt of her dress roughly.
Meanwhile: Kane Romanov approached. He had been notified of the heiress' presence at the hotel, the stern guard he had enlisted as her new handler having called him an hour prior. He had ignored his prompt welcome from the escorts in the main lounge and had ascended up the stairway in haste.
He found the heiress to be distraught, his unpleasant brother now holding her by her neck. Irate, the brawny man struck him in the stomach, his tolerance well-abandoned. Afon crumpled backwards, falling into the luxury pool. He had taken Sophia with him and he sputtered greatly, the air having been stolen from his lungs.
Kane entered the pool after her, quickly wrapping her in his arms and guiding her towards the steps. Sophia looked once more towards Lacy. She had tried to struggle within Kane's grasp, though she willfully catered and was led away from the rooftop couches.
"Leave her," he had said. "She can play whore if that is what she's decided."
As they stood within the mirrored elevator, Sophia eyed him embarrassedly; for her dress had been soaked and had clung to her frame quite tautly.
He desired to admire her, though her defiance to his close-watch and guards had angered him thoroughly. "You must not care much for your own safety," he told her tersely.
Sophia studied him silently, the water dripping from the pair and pooling at the floor of the elevator. "I won't come here again," she promised.
He had grasped her shoulder firmly, to which she shivered. "Why did you leave the protection of my men? Are you thoughtless?"
"I needed to find Lacy!" she argued; as, even in the event of the brunette's spitefulness, the thought of her safety still troubled her.
Kane scoffed, the defense of little pardon. "Your old man is still absent and the family is looking for him. You have become a prime target within our business— or had you truly not noticed?"
Sophia paled at the statement. "What could he have done to make anyone come after him?"
"Aleksander, amongst other cowardice, is a grand-scale thief," Kane stated.
Sophia was appalled. "My father is an investor and former magistrate!"
The brawny man chuckled grimly, well aware of his involvement with prostitutes, drugs, and weapons trafficking. "You have been around the family and its associates long enough to know our illicit affairs. Our associates are just as ill-disposed. Aleksander, the Moreau and Maxim families— the elite have all dealt in operations with my family and my father."
"That is not true." The blonde was obstinate.
Kane only smiled, grasping to her face and angling her stare to meet his. Her innocence was highly alluring; though, in the facet of shared business matters, he found it to be rather tiresome. "It is just as well that you don't understand." He paused; for, perhaps she'd be safer, the Romanov man thought.
Sophia still stared upon him: his dark hair wettened, well-trimmed face and square jaw unerringly god-like. He had rolled up the sleeves of his dress-shirt, revealing lightly tanned skin and tattoos. "I'd like to go home," she cried, a tear upon her cheek.
The Romanov man laughed brusquely. "No," he stated. "You will come with me."
◊