“I’m not the only one in this hug?” I say through the laughter, my voice trembling slightly from the emotions swirling within me.
Sawyer doesn’t miss a beat. He strides into the room with his usual calm, his expression softening when he sees the three of us, all caught in a moment of fragile solidarity.
“Well, if you two are doing it, I’m not staying out of it,” he says, with his characteristic grin. He steps forward and extends his arms, adding himself to the growing group. “Come on, Karpov, you’re in this weird gang now too. Don’t be a pussy.”
Karpov, who had been standing back, his ever-cool demeanor almost imperceptible, cracks a smile. “I’ve done some weird things in my career,” he says, shaking his head, “but this… this is the weirdest so far.”
The words are laced with his usual dry humor, but the sentiment is clear. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he steps forward and joins the hug. I find myself wrapped in the arms of the people who have become my family, even if it’s unconventional, even if it’s strange.
The laughter is soft at first, a nervous release, and then it grows, filling the room with warmth. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. I laugh too, despite the tears still lingering on my cheeks. My heart swells with something new, something I didn’t expect to find in a world of chaos and violence. This, this bond, this understanding, is more than anything I could’ve asked for.
Sawyer steps back, his eyes locking onto mine with that determined look he wears when he’s focused on a goal. “We’ll get them back,” he says, his voice low but filled with conviction.“We’ll getyourrevenge. We’ll gethisrevenge.”
The weight of his words settles over me, the promise of justice, of retribution, hanging in the air like a promise made to the stars. A revenge for Aslanov, me, and the entire Bratva. I nod, the resolve in my chest growing stronger. This moment, this unexpected warmth, is everything I need to keep moving forward. I’m not alone anymore.
And as the laughter dies down, leaving only the steady thrum of determination, I find my voice again, steady and sure.
“We will,” I say.
Chapter 63
She Is Me, and I Am Her
Isabella
The last time we were alone like this, I was someone else.
The last time we werehere, he was someone else.
I remember it differently, but the house is still the same.
It’s the house he brought me after abducting me from prison, the cell in the basement confirms it.
We arrived last night, long after dark, the drive long and silent except for the hum of the engine. No one saw us, no one can know he is still breathing.
Dominik didn’t stay long after he dropped us off. He helped Aslanov inside, got him to bed—though that word feels wrong. Laid him down,maybe. As if the weight he carries can ever be light enough to rest. And then I told Dominik to go. We would be fine, I said.
I would be fine, in here, with him.
Ada, Sawyer, and Karpov, they all left the clinic too, after spending nearly two weeks there.
A few days. A few days to rest, to pretend we’re still people and not ghosts walking among the ruins of our own choices. It’s funny, in a sick way. That safety now lives in the same walls where I once lost my mind. That he would bring us here, to the beginning. That he’d bring me backhere, after everything I’ve learned. That we are now two completely different people, as individuals and as a pair.
He never decorated for beauty. He designed for control. The furniture is sleek, masculine, minimal. Nothing has changed. But I have.
My hand trails along the edge of the banister as I pass it, my fingers brushing wood I once gripped in desperation, begging for the door to open, for someone—anyone—to find me. And now, I walk freely past the basement door. It’s shut. Locked, maybe. But the key is mine now. I know that. I could open it. Walk down the steps. Face the cell again. But I don’t.
Not yet.
I have to admit: it’s too fragile a barrier yet.
I can still hear the echo of my own voice down there. Screaming. Cursing him. Pleading, until my throat went dry and I was forced into silence. It wasn’t the cell that broke me. It was the not knowing. Of what he wanted from me. Of what he saw in me. Of why I wasn’t dead.
And now I know.
Now I know exactly who I am.
It wasn’t a coincidence. It was never chance. He didn’t just see me. He recognized me.
