I can’t help but let out a soft laugh, more out of nervousness than anything else. It’s almost automatic, but I know Ada doesn’t find it funny. Her eyes narrow slightly as she watches me, the frustration still there but not harsh, just worn.
Ada mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to catch, her slight irritation seeping into the words. “Unbelievable…I love you, but seriously.”
‘‘I’m sorry, I’ll pay more attention to it.’’
As Ada and I banter, Dominik remains silent, his pen moving across the paper with quiet precision. Then, without a word, he slides the paper towards us, his expression unreadable.
The paper lands between us, and Ada glances down at it, her irritation quickly shifting to a serious look with a flash of concern.
“No police force arrested Aslanov, but the Gambino Mafia Family imprisoned him. Faking his death, shifting and tilting the power their way. Using him to get to the heart of the Bratva.”
Chapter 48
What’s Left of Me
Isn’t Human
Aslanov
It feels like I’ve died, and my body hasn’t caught up yet.
Every step grinds bone against bone. My feet are numb, but my legs shake like they’re about to give in. The gravel under me crunches, too loud. It sounds like breaking glass. I freeze. Just a sound. Just gravel. Keep walking.
It’s ice cold, and the adrenaline is wearing off. I’m starting to experience what insanity feels like.
I can’t tell how long I’ve been moving. Time stopped back in that cell, split open and left to rot with everything else. I don’t feel anything except pain, and even that’s starting to feel far away.
Then—I see it.
A flicker. Blue. Sickly, twitching light in the distance like a dying firefly. Neon. Real neon. Civilization. Maybe.
I blink and it’s closer. The letters don’t make sense. Half-dead, humming.T_L, maybe?R_I? The rest is gone, eaten by rust and time. But it’s enough. A motel. A place to disappear.
I drag myself to the door. The office is empty, glass cracked, dust on the counter. No sign of life. No cameras. No people. Just me, the dark, and the constant, low hum of that sign buzzing like flies in my ears.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I’m not even sure how I made it this far. My body is on auto-pilot, pulled by muscle memory or maybe by the same desperate animal instinct that kept me breathing all those weeks, months, trapped in the dark. In that fucking cell. I don’t remember leaving. I barely remember escaping. Just flashes. Hands. Screams. A face too close. Blood.
Their blood. Mine.
Room 7 is the third one down from the office. I don’t check in. No one’s there. The smell hits me first; mildew, rotted wood, old cigarettes soaked into the wallpaper. Everything here is brown. Dusty, greasy brown. I don’t knock. I don’t even look around. I just push the door open like I own the place, like I’ll kill whatever’s on the other side if it isn’t empty.
It is.
The lock barely works, but I throw the bolt anyway and shove the chair under the doorknob. The fan above me turns too slow, each wobbling rotation like it’s counting down to something. The TV is dead-eyed and humming faintly, screen black but alive in a way that unsettles me. It hums like it knows I’m here.
The bed is made, but the blanket’s stained. I don’t want to touch it.
I collapse onto the floor. The bed is too high. The floor is closer. Safer. The air is thick, like it’s been exhaled a thousand times and never inhaled back. I’m crawling out of my own skin. My shirt is soaked, blood stiff in places. The wound on my face is a mix of dried and fresh blood, my head throbs like a second heartbeat. I press my fingers to it, and they come away slick and dark. It’s too much blood.
The shadows in the corners move when I blink.
They move when I don’t blink. The adrenaline is wearing off, I’m going insane.
I lie still, flat on my back, and stare up at the ceiling until itbegins to breathe. It pulses gently, rising and falling like lungs. I feel my fingers twitch. My spine seizes up. Something’s in the room with me. I can feel it. Watching. Not breathing, just… waiting. I snap my head toward the closet. Nothing. I snap it again toward the bathroom. Still nothing. Still everything.
I scream without sound, just this locked-up animal noise that rips up my throat and tears into my teeth. My body remembers pain even when my brain won’t name it. My muscles clench when I hear boots. There are no boots. No boots. No one’s coming.
