He offers a cold smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘‘Exactly. And don’t forget, you’re not the only one with something to lose here.’’
I swallow and nod, exchanging one last glance with him before I turn on my heel, my movements deliberate as I stride toward the door.
The heavy door clicks shut behind me, and I exhale, thetension in my shoulders easing—just slightly. One thing is clear. Tsepov isn’t just handing me an opportunity; he’s pulling me into a game where every move has consequences.
I’ve been carrying mountains, but now I’m going to climb them.
Chapter 31
Silent Treatment
Isabella
By the time I step through the door, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin.
The conversation with Tsepov still echoes in my mind, his words replaying over and over like a warning bell I can’t ignore. Climb the ranks. Don’t trust anyone. Not even me.
I barely have time to take a breath before I hear movement. Then—
“Oh, thank god.”
Ada is the first to reach me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders in a quick but firm hug. “I was about ten minutes away from grabbing a gun and coming after you,” she mutters before pulling back, giving me a once-over. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, even though the tension in my shoulders says otherwise.
Sawyer, who has been watching from the couch, lets out a slow breath. “You took longer than expected.” His voice is steady, but the slight clench of his jaw gives him away.
“I had to make sure I left in one piece,” I say dryly, attempting a smirk. It doesn’t quite land.
Sawyer exhales, then gestures toward the coffee table. “Well, you’re back, so you might as well join us. Ice cream’s melting, and we’ve been drowning in paperwork waiting for you.”
The house smells like vanilla ice cream with a hint ofchocolate. Ada walks back to the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a spoon in one hand and a file in the other. Sawyer is sprawled out across the other side, eating straight from the carton, the table between them covered in papers, reports, and photos.
As I step further in, the tension in the air shifts, concern fading into something more familiar.
Sawyer eyes me as I drop onto the armchair. “You look like shit.”
I huff out a laugh. “Good to see you too.”
Ada flips through a file without looking up. “She always looks like that after meeting men who could kill her in under thirty seconds.” Then, finally, she peeks up, arching a brow. “Tsepov?”
I nod, tossing a thin folder onto the table. “Tsepov.”
Sawyer sets his spoon down, his full attention on me now. “And?”
I exhale slowly. “And we have our next lead.” I nod toward the folder. “Monya Kuznetsov. Mid-level Bratva. Tsepov says he’s the bridge between the lower ranks and the ones up top.”
Ada reaches for the folder immediately, flipping it open. “So, we go after him?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We go through him. He’s expecting me.”
Sawyer leans back, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “So Tsepov just handed you a key to the next level?” His voice is skeptical, and rightfully so. “Why?”
“Because he wants power.” I shrug, watching their reactions carefully. “If I climb, I bring his name with me. He wants to control the system before it implodes. He thinks something is going on, too.”
Ada frowns. “Something like what?”
I exhale sharply. “He told me he’s an old friend of Aslanov. That he wants to know what’s going on just as much as we do. Says he’s being framed, that someone is setting him up.”I gesture toward the folder. “People are disappearing from the lower ranks—entire groups. Like the Odessa crew.”
