He knows more.
“Yes,” I manage to say, the word a rasp in my throat. “Yes, I do.What is it that you know?”
For a moment, Dominik doesn’t respond. He just watches me, his eyes steady, but there’s something there, a flicker of doubt that doesn’t quite reach his calm exterior. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to back down, to hesitate, to take the easy way out.
But I can’t. Not now. I can’t walk away from this, not when we’re so close to the truth.
I shove the notepad back toward him, the movement sharp. My hand trembles slightly, but I don’t care. “Please,” I say, my voice a little more desperate than I intend, “just tell me. Tell me what you know.”
Dominik hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking from the notepad to me, and then to the others in the room. His hand hovers above the paper as though he’s debating whether or not to write it down. Finally, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of everything he’s been holding back, he picks up the pen.
His writing is quick, almost urgent, and as he scribbles the words on the notepad, I can feel the tension building again. It’s a lot, a whole damn essay on a paper. I lean in, my breath catching in my chest, as he finishes and slides the paper back to me.
“A few hours ago, we discovered a bunker. Abandoned. Underground. No one would have ever been able to find it, wasn’t for a signal that we intercepted—a faint transmission, something that hadn’t quite been erased, like a ghost in the noise. It led us to it. A dozen bodies, all dead. Petrov among them. No Aslanov. But there are signs. DNA. He’s been there. Weeks, possibly months. Locked in confinement. Undergoing torture. He wasn’t dead... but we don’t know if he’s alive now. There were bodies of Russian men, but also others. Different nationalities. And they just reported to me that these men have ties with the Gambino mafia.”
A tight knot forms in my throat, and for a moment, I can’tbreathe. My mind races back to every sleepless night, every moment of doubt, every time I wondered if I was wrong, if I had miscalculated, if I had been chasing a ghost.
He wasn’t dead.
The words hit me like a wave, crashing into my chest, overwhelming everything I thought I knew. He wasn’t dead. Despite everything, despite the pain and the years, the fear I had buried deep down, he was still out there. Alive… or at least he had been. The not knowing, the uncertainty, is both a relief and a new kind of terror all on its own.
Tears well up in my eyes, unbidden, and before I can stop them, they spill down my cheeks. My throat tightens, and I fight to steady myself, to keep my composure. But it’s too much. I croak out a sob, soft, broken.
It’s relief. It’s pain. It’s so much worry, so much fear, and yet, somehow, it’s hope. I haven’t felt that in months. Haven’t dared to, not since everything went to shit. I’ve kept pushing forward, hoping to find some sliver of truth, but this... this is something else. Something real.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the blur in my vision, and look up at Dominik. His eyes are steady, but there’s something in his gaze—something that tells me he understands. He knows the significance of those words, too. He knows what this means for me, for us both.
It’s overwhelming. Too much. And it hits me so damn hard that I feel like I might suffocate in it.
Dominik shifts slightly, the slightest movement that draws my attention. I meet his gaze once more, and the expression on his face makes my chest ache. His eyes, those calm, calculating eyes, have softened, the steel replaced by something deeper. Something that feels almost vulnerable. There’s a faint tremor in his jaw, something that almost looks like regret, but also pain. And then, almost imperceptibly, a sad smile forms on his lips.
It’s not the kind of smile I’ve seen before, there’s no power in it, no control. It’s raw, almost broken. Like it’s a reflection of something he’s buried deep down, something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years. And in that fleeting moment, I realize—he’s not just showing me he cares. It’s more than that. He’s showing me thatheunderstands.
He knows what it’s like to live in the dark, not knowing whether someone you love is alive or dead. He knows the weight of that uncertainty, that unbearable ache. He’s carried it himself. And somehow, in the shared space between us, there’s an understanding that stretches across everything that’s happened, all the pain, all the loss.
Tears flood my eyes again, but this time, they don’t feel like weakness.
Dominik’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth twitching into that rare, almost broken smile. And before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his arms are around me. It’s not tentative or awkward. It’s firm, deliberate, the kind of hug that grounds you, that lets you know you’re not alone in your pain.
The tension in the room begins to ease, just a little. Ada and Sawyer sigh. Ada rubs her eyes as Sawyer rubs the back of his neck. The air feels less suffocating, less heavy with fear. The walls between us all are crumbling, piece by piece. We’re still soldiers, still survivors, still players in a game far too dangerous for any of us to fully comprehend. But in this moment, there’s no longer a need to be anything other than who we are; human, flawed, scared, and vulnerable.
Dominik lets go of me, and he then leans back in his own seat now.
His hand, still gripping the pen, hovers above the notepad, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
With a quiet hum, he begins writing—‘‘You’re the only fool thatwould care about my cousin.’’
I sniffle as a grin appears on my face.
I watch Ada as she shifts in her seat, her gaze flickering between me and Dominik, her expression softening. She takes a deep breath, and for a moment, I can feel the weight of everything settling between us, things unsaid, questions unanswered, but all of it connecting in this one shared, fragile moment.
‘‘You were right,’’ Ada says, her voice quiet but firm. Her words catch me off guard. “I didn’t want to believe it, but... you were right all along.”
The relief floods me, too, though it comes in waves, tinged with uncertainty. I can’t speak, not yet. My throat is tight, and even though I nod, acknowledging her, I’m still trying to process everything that’s happened—everything that’s been said.
But before I can lose myself in the swell of emotion again, Ada turns her attention back to Dominik. Her voice is steady, respectful, but there’s an edge to it now, a sense of purpose that tells me this question is something she’s been carrying for a while.
“Dominik,” she begins, her tone measured, “may I ask you something?” Ada’s gaze lingers on Dominik for a moment longer than necessary as she quickly bites her lip.
