I could feel the bile rising in my throat. Start over? How could he even say that? Gabriella, Misha... my family... they were nothing to him but pieces on a chessboard. He had traded them away, like currency, like he always did with everything.
My stomach churned, but I fought to steady myself. The cold, hard realization that my father would never protect us—never protect me—settled in my chest, a hollow emptiness spreading. There was no comfort, no safety to be found in the arms of someone who saw us as mere tools.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
I barely looked up when Nikolai stepped in. His face was grim, his usual confidence replaced with a quiet determination. He could see the devastation in my eyes, but I couldn’t hide it.
“I spoke to Oleg,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the tension that lingered in the room. “We’ve confirmed through our contacts in Colombia—Misha’s been taken there. Our men on the ground have been grounded, and even Gleb’s connectionsare out of play now. The Vargas Cartel is involved. Getting Misha out of there is going to be nearly impossible.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, the hopelessness clawing at my chest. “There has to be something we can do. Please, Nikolai, you have to do something!”
He shook his head, a look of regret in his eyes. “I’ll do everything I can, but if it comes to it... if we can’t get him out in time, I’ll have you moved out of the city. A new identity, a new life.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “No. I won’t leave. I can’t. Not like this.”
Nikolai placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll do everything we can.”
I nodded, but my mind was already somewhere else. I walked to my studio, the one place that kept me from completely unraveling.
I picked up a brush, the colors swirling on the canvas without rhyme or reason. My mind was a blur of chaos, too much to process. I picked up my phone and dialed Chernov’s number.
It rang three times before he answered.
His voice was cold, too. “Luna.”
“Please, don’t do this,” I begged, my voice shaking with the rawness of my fear. “Please don’t hurt Misha. I’ll come to Colombia. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t let him die.”
Chernov was silent for a long, agonizing moment before he spoke, his words like shards of ice. “I’ll bring him back to Yakutsk, then send you an address where you can come alone. But understand this, Luna: I won’t kill him because of you. But I won’t promise I won’t torture him either.”
His voice turned colder, more venomous as he continued, “He didn’t just take the Pakhan position from me. He made me lose my left hand. And on top of that, he has you. I will get everything back, Luna. Everything.”
I closed my eyes, tears burning the back of my lids. The weight of it all felt unbearable, suffocating. “Don’t hurt him... please,” I whispered, my heart breaking into pieces I could never put back together. I knew I was about to lose everything.
His response was a mocking, chilling chuckle. “I can’t promise that, kotyonok.”
“Misha’s always been good at surviving. But he’ll never be good enough for you, Luna. I’ll make sure of that.”
The call ended abruptly. And with it, a part of me died.
I stood there, motionless, the weight of his promises—no, his threats—crushing down on me.
I couldn’t breathe.
The air felt too thick, too heavy to fill my lungs. I stumbled back, my knees buckling beneath me as I collapsed onto the nearest chair.
My hands were trembling so violently, I could hardly hold the phone, now a useless, lifeless object in my grasp.
Misha... Misha was still alive, but for how long?
Chernov had made it clear that he had no intention of letting him live with any shred of dignity. And that hand, that horrific reminder of what Chernov had suffered because of Misha, only made the stakes higher.
My mind screamed in protest, refusing to accept the bitter truth. How could my father have allowed this? How could I let it continue?
My thoughts spiraled in a chaotic, relentless whirl—Misha’s voice, his touch, the way he had held me so fiercely just before everything shattered. The memory of his kiss, so desperate, as if it might be the last time he ever tasted my lips, the way he made love to me with an intensity that felt like a final act of devotion... Would that truly be the last time? Was that our final moment? The last time I’d feel his warmth, his strength, pressed against me?
I could still feel the ghost of his warmth against me, the fierce protection in his embrace. Now, it was as though all of it had been ripped away in an instant, leaving me alone in the cold, heartbroken silence of his absence.
The tears that had been threatening to break free finally spilled over, streaming down my cheeks in a torrent. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. I didn’t care anymore. My entire world was unraveling, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
