1.2 | The Prince of Thieves

Chapter 10

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to @Shuacill 

Their eyes had met only for a second. But in that second, he had recognised her. And in that same second, he had known something was up, understood the peril that was to come, and decided that something had to be done. Instinctively, he had shot an arm out, as if to prevent her from leaving, but the girl had scurried off. Then Val turned to the room that she had just come out of. His father's office. What the hell is he thinking of doing now?, he thought. With his posture straightened, the previous anger in his face under control, Val knocked on the door, then let himself in.

'Otets. What was that?' His tone had been sharp. Demanding. He realised too late that he shouldn't have, but his father hadn't seemed to notice.

Aleks Udinov turned leisurely around. He had been standing by the window, a glass of brandy in one hand. A slow smile appeared.

'Valentino. You've come just in time.'

'Wasn't that – ' He gave the closed door a glance. He found that he was unable to speak her name.

'Yes.' The smile widened. 'Sofiya Sokolov is back from the dead.'

In reality, he had only required seconds to process the fact. In his mind, a deluge of information was piling itself one on top of the other in such a harried fashion, like as if a hailstorm was taking place inside his head. Foremost of his thoughts was something along the line of this can't be real. 

As far as he knew, the mafia involved itself in killing people. Not resurrecting them.

Sofiya Sokolov was Leon's only real girlfriend. All the other's had been passing interests, methods to obtain information, ways to rein in boss's who disobeyed. Sofiya Sokolov, daughter of Yaroslav Sokolov, the traitor who sold out his own boss. Val knew only as much as Leon had told him, and from the rumours and whispers that floated around after his death. 

Yaroslav Sokolov had set off a bomb to kill those who had come to kill him. His daughter had been in the house. The bomb had ripped his body into many tiny pieces. But at the same time, the house had collapsed onto itself, taking his daughter as well. 

Because the bodies had been disfigured beyond recognition, a closed-casket funeral for both father and daughter had been held. Val had attended. He remembered the sobbing mother, clinging desperately onto her daughter's coffin, and who had to be pried away by relatives.

'That person really is Sofiya then?' He had been part of a small delegation sent from the Federov's. The Sokolov family – or what was left of them – hadn't been happy to see them, but there was nothing they could do. Besides, Sofia was not meant to die; her father was.

'Of course.' Aleks Udinov appraised his son. 'Are you concerned?'

'She died in an explosion,' Val stated, ignoring the question. I went to the funeral, followed the coffins to the cemetery and watched them be lowered into the ground!

'Her father died in an explosion. She lived.'

'What?!' His face was twisted up in confusion. The bomb had destroyed the whole house! How could anyone live through that?!

And all these years, Leon thought she was dead! He had been living in guilt for so long...for what?!

'You are concerned,' his father surmised. He retook his seat at the desk, keeping his eyes on his son.

Val shifted to face his father and tried to maintain his composure. He was in turmoil. A death of a person was such a huge thing. How could a living being, who was supposed to be dead, be easily hidden without anyone the wiser? Val knew there were people who specialised in faking deaths of high profile persons. They were costly and required intense planning. But still, why go to such trouble to hide the death of that girl?