Sawyer is off in his own world, pacing back and forth. He’s been a force of nature since this all started, his mind always moving a mile a minute. Whatever task he’s been assigned by Aslanov, he’s attacking it with the kind of precision I’ve come to expect from him. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’s always on the move, always ready to act. His presence is constant, like a storm waiting to unleash.
Karpov, ever the strategist, is buried in his work as well. I am afraid the man might die earlier since the shock that has festered within him since he saw Aslanov. He’s gathering everything he can about Lorenzo’s activities, the infiltration of the Gambino family into the Bratva. He’s methodical, quiet, but there’s a fire in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. He’s been relentless in his pursuit of information, every document, every lead, and every name he’s pulled out of the shadows has been meticulously cataloged. After all, he has been one of the best detectives.
But it’s Dominik who catches my attention again. The silence from him is so thick, it’s almost suffocating. He’s sitting across from me, but I can’t meet his eyes. Every time I glance in his direction, his gaze is pointed anywhere but toward me. It’s as if he’s actively avoiding me, pushing me away with his cold, unreadable expression. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but I can’t find the words. I can’t even look at him without my chest tightening.
I try to focus. My fingers hover over the edge of the desk, but I can’t bring myself to touch anything. I feel disconnected from everything around me, as if I’m watching my life unfold from a distance.
Dominik looks up, his eyes flicking toward me before quickly darting away, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. That’s when I see it; the storm brewing behind his eyes. There’s something darker there, something he’s not saying. His jaw tightens as his hands move to fold in front of him, almost protectively.
Dominik pushes his chair back, the scrape of it on the floor snapping me from my thoughts. He stands and walks toward the kitchen counter, his movements stiff and deliberate. I watch him for a beat too long before deciding I can’t just let him go like this. I can’t let this silence stretch between us any longer.
I push myself up, my legs almost unsteady from the emotions swirling inside me. My heart pounds with the force of a dozen questions I want to ask, but I can’t bring myself to form the words. I just need to know. I need him to talk to me.
I make my way to the coffee machine, trying to keep my steps measured, calm, though everything inside me is a storm. Dominik’s back is to me as he fiddles with the machine, his fingers moving mechanically, like he’s doing it all on autopilot. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, even when I step up beside him, close enough to feel his body heat, close enough to breathe in the scent of him — that familiar, comforting mix of danger and strength.
“Dominik,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. He doesn’t react. His hand pauses over the coffee maker. For a moment, I think he’s going to walk away again.
“What is going on?” My words come out faster than I can stop them. “Why are you avoiding me? Please, talk to me. I already feel so bad… I don’t understand why everything feels... wrong between us. I’m here, but you’re not... You’re not even looking at me.”
He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, and I think he’s going to ignore me, continue to shut me out. But instead, he turns slowly to face me. His eyes are distant, cold even, butthere’s something else lurking there, something deeper, more painful. I feel a sudden vulnerability in the space between us, like I’ve pulled back a veil to reveal the truth.
Without a word, he reaches over and grabs another cup, filling it with coffee, then slides it toward me. His fingers brush mine briefly, and I feel an electric jolt that makes my chest ache. I can’t look away from him, but I’m not sure if I want to. His gaze falls to the floor.
Dominik slides onto the counter, his posture tense but still. I take a sip of the coffee; it’s hot, bitter, and it burns down my throat. I try to steady myself, but I know this conversation is inevitable.
And then, he does something unexpected. He pulls out a small notebook from his jacket pocket, his fingers moving quickly as he begins to write. It’s a moment before I understand what he’s doing. His eyes flicker to me briefly before he looks down at the page, the pen scribbling furiously.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you.”
I set my coffee down, both hands gripping the edge of the counter, fighting the wave of emotions threatening to break.
There’s a heavy pause before he picks up the pen again, writing something else.
“The Gambinos did it.”
I furrow my brow, trying to process the sudden turn. I wait, holding my breath, my pulse quickening as he continues. He reaches his hand and points it at his mouth, opening it- revealing his scarred tongue. Or what’s left of it.
“The information woke it up in me. It’s not you. It’s unfair of me to give you this treatment.”
His gaze flickers up to meet mine, and this time, it’s not cold. It’s something else entirely; a mix of guilt, frustration, and deep-seated hurt.
“Dominik…” My voice falters. I don’t know how to make thisbetter. I can feel the overwhelming sadness rising up in my chest again. “I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a softness in the gesture, like he’s still trying to protect me from the weight of his past. He pulls me closer, his hand brushing against mine in a slow, deliberate movement. His touch is gentle, but there’s an unspoken desperation to it — as if he needs me to understand, to see past the silence.
And then, without a word, he opens his arms, and I step into them. It’s not a sudden, impetuous hug, it’s more like an unspoken understanding, a fragile connection forming in the midst of all the pain. His arms wrap around me, and I feel the warmth of him, the quiet strength that he doesn’t always show. I lean into him, allowing the tears to fall, the ones I’ve been holding back for so long.
I’m not crying for myself. Not for their blood that runs through me. But for him. For what he’s been through, for what I’ve put him through, even without knowing. I never knew what happened, now I know.
He doesn’t say anything. He just holds me, his hand gently rubbing my back, offering silent comfort in the only way he knows how.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again through the tears, my voice barely audible.
I feel him shake his head against my hair, as if telling me there’s nothing to apologize for.
The soft hum of voices fills the space, a murmur of light chatter that slowly fades as the door opens. One by one, they walk into the room, and I feel the atmosphere shift. Their steps fall heavy on the wooden floor, their conversations cutting off as they notice the scene before them.
Ada’s eyes immediately lock with mine. She hesitates for just a fraction of a second before stepping forward, a small smiletugging at her lips. And then, without another word, she moves to join us, her arms slipping around both me and Dominik. The gesture is so unexpectedly warm, so unspoken, that it catches me off guard. I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes me, a sound laced with relief, even with the lingering tears.
