To Dare is to Do
Chapter 13
To Dare is to Do
Diable
“Who do you think I am, Isabella?”
The flicker of amusement in her eyes fades quickly, replaced by hesitation. She doesn’t answer immediately, her lashes fluttering as if the right words might materialize with enough effort. I lean back, watching her squirm. Intrigued. Curious. Does she know who I am? Does she understand the storm she’s caught herself in?
“Answer me, Isabella,” I demand, my voice cool but weighted.
She hesitates too long. Seconds stretch, testing my patience. I thrive on control, yet she tests it effortlessly, her silence grating against the thin thread of composure I’m clinging to.
Her gaze finally snaps to mine. “A kidnapper at least,” she sneers, the bratty tone laced with rebellion. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me, low and humorless, because her audacity both irritates and amuses me. She doesn’t stop there—of course, she doesn’t. “I don’t know, a sadistic man who thrives on other people’s pain, so he doesn’t have to attend to his own.”
The words hit harder than she intended. My jaw clenches as I lean forward, closer to her, so close I can see every line of tension on her pale face. Her green eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking, defiant, as if she thinks she has a weapon in this fight.
She doesn’t.
I study her, taking in her disheveled red hair and the fire burning in her gaze. That fire might be the last thing she clings to before I snuff it out. I reach out, my inked fingers tangling in her hair, pulling it sharply so her head jerks back, exposing her neck to me. She hisses in pain, and for a moment, I savor the sound.
“Stop trying to humanize me,” I growl, my voice low and laced with warning. “That doesn’t work on people like me, solnyshko.” I tighten my grip, forcing her to arch further, making sure she understands just how powerless she is.
“Sorry! Sorry!” she cries out, her voice high-pitched and frantic. Her hands claw weakly at my wrist, a pathetic attempt to free herself.
Her cries should please me, but instead, they frustrate me. She doesn’t understand who she’s dealing with—not really. My hand itches to teach her, to make her understand, but I catch myself. Not yet. My free hand lifts, hovering in the air, a threat hanging heavy between us.
She flinches. It’s instinctual, the kind of reflex you don’t fake, and something in the way her body curls in on itself stops me cold. This isn’t the first time she’s braced for a hit, the first time someone has left their mark on her.
I stare at her for a moment longer, my hand hovering, but the blow never comes. The room is silent except for her ragged breathing and the dull roar of my own thoughts. Slowly, I release her hair, watching as she scrambles back against the cold concrete wall.
I shove the chair back into the corner, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. My back is to her now, but I know she’s still watching, wide-eyed and trembling. I let the silence stretch before speaking, my voice flat, detached. “I am the embodiment of your nightmares.”
I point to the tray of food on the floor. “You better start eating.”
Without waiting for her response, I step out of the room, locking the door behind me. The sound of the metal bolt sliding into place echoes in the narrow corridor. She’s locked away, her every move under my watch. I’ve stripped her of everything—freedom, control, comfort. All she has now are her thoughts, and I know firsthand how cruel those can be.
By the time I reach my bathroom, the anger still clings to me like a second skin. I turn the water on, letting it scald as I step beneath the stream. The heat burns against my skin, but it’s a familiar sting, one I welcome. As I wipe the steam off the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, and for a moment, I hardly recognize the man in the glass.
Some days, I don’t know who I am anymore.
My hand drags across the rough stubble on my jaw. I need a shave. I need focus. There’s work to do—more loose ends to tie up, more people to eliminate. But as I sit behind my desk, the ledger open in front of me, my thoughts refuse to cooperate. They drift back to her, back to that girl in the cage below.
I pull out my phone, staring at the live feed. She’s pressed against the farthest wall, wrapped in a blanket, curled up like a wounded animal. Her defiance is gone, replaced by something smaller, more fragile. Sleep comes easy to her now. It’s the only escape she has left.
I know that feeling.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face. Locked in a cage, 23 hours a day. That was my reality once. I remember the cold, the isolation, the walls that pressed in until I couldn’t breathe. It’s not fair to her. Not really.
But fairness was never my concern.
Just because I know the things I do are bad doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing them. She’s a loose end, a problem of my own making. I was a fool to carry her out of that prison, but I did. She’s alive because I wanted her alive.
And now, she’s a problem I can’t stop thinking about. Turning off my phone, I open my laptop. Work awaits. Moscow awaits. But even as I bury myself in the tasks that keep my empire running, her face lingers in my mind. The fire in her eyes. The crack in her voice. She’s a loose end. But the question I can’t shake is whether I have the strength—or the will—to cut her free.
Isabella
I’m sprinting through a dense, oppressive forest, my bare feet colliding with the cold, muddy earth, each step a reminder of my desperation. The air is thick with the scent of dampness, mixing with the metallic tang of blood that clings to my skin, yet I feel detached, numb to the pain that should be consuming me.
Suddenly, I collide with a figure, a man cloaked in darkness. His face is hidden beneath a black hood, but in his hand, he grips a belt, taut and menacing. I turn and flee, the echoes of my mother’s voice piercing through the haze as she screams my name. She never believed me, never chose my side. Her love, meant to protect, became a chain of fear that kept her blind to my suffering.
The hooded figure lowers his hood, and it’s my stepfather. His smile is a twisted mockery, sending chills coursing through my veins. I want to scream, to fight back, but my voice catches in my throat. As he reaches for me, I act on instinct and slap his face, the sting a momentary satisfaction before his grip tightens, nails digging into my skin.
I want to run, but I’m anchored to the ground by the mud that wraps around me like a suffocating shroud. Sweat mingles with tears, and as I struggle, the taste of despair fills my mouth. I scream, but the sound is a hollow echo, lost in the shadows of the forest. He looms over me, his presence suffocating, a dark cloud blotting out any hope of escape.
With a swift motion, he unfurls the belt. The leather snaps through the air, striking me repeatedly.
Diable
It’s still dark outside as I trash another paper through the paper shredder. After several calls with my cousin, we have come up with a plan to take our revenge on the man who turned their backs on me, and therefore the entire Bratva . My eyes feel heavy as I sip on another shot of vodka, filling my blood like a poison killing me slowly. I need to rest, but I guess no rest for the wicked.
I open the file on my desk screen leading towards the CCTV cameras, revealing my captive. I turn up the volume as a distressed Isabella lays on the floor thrashing around. Her screams and sobs fill my office walls as I turn the volume up. She is thrashing around on the floor, screaming things like ‘Stop’ and ‘Help me’ . As I observe her, I can’t help but notice something pulling in my chest. Not happening.
I stare at the clock next to the screen, 5 AM. The whole night I have been busy, and I have another meeting tomorrow morning to set a plan in action. Pulling an all-nighter has become normal for me. Getting up from my chair over to my closet I throw on a basic workout shirt and shorts. I grab a towel and make my way over to the gym area of the mansion. I start my workout, clearing my mind. I do the same workout every day, releasing energy and tension. I need to make up my mind and get clear again.
After sweating it out for about an hour it is time to get dressed up in my regular suit. Jewelry hugging my fingers, neck, and arms. I clip my Rolex on my left wrist and adjust it. While tying my tie I look into the mirror, and I cannot help but notice the bags under my eyes. My eyes used to look brighter, but they dimmed down. The black ink runs up my arms and neck, covering most of my body. Opening my black room, I take out my gun, checking the safe. I tuck it in my rifle holder behind my belt.
I crack my neck while making my way down the stairs. It is still dark outside, and I have plenty of time left before I need to leave. I need breakfast, and someone else does too. Starving her would be less—fun. Not bothering to check my phone I walk over to the staircase leading towards the back of the house. Usually, this is the place where no one wants to come, bad things have happened here. Turning the painting to the side, revealing the handle. I open the room, checking my finger on the scan. This room was made to be invisible.
Isabella
I have had the worst night ever, the night terrors I once had are back. I had them as a little girl, but they have continued to plague me. My face feels dry because of the salty tears that stain my cheeks. My mind isn’t a safe place for me and neither is my physical one. My stomach growls, I’m hungry. It must be somewhere in the morning. I don’t know that, because there are no windows and no signs of time. I stare at the tray in the corner with food that is left untouched. I hug my knees, while my back rests against the wall.
Just as I regain some rest back an overwhelming presence fills the room. The room feels ten times tinier, and so do I. His deep, familiar voice now slithers through the room.
“Night terrors?” Briefly, I close my eyes, and the smell of food reaches my nose. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound of his voice is as deep as his black-inked arms. He prowls towards me, placing the tray in front of me. I stay still. I don’t meet his eyes, I don’t give him anything. I don’t want to look into the eyes of the Devil, leading me straight to the gates of hell. I’d rather forget that he exists.
But when he crouches down in front of me, I can’t help but to shiver. Two heartbeats pass. His cold hand slowly slides across my cheek, and a satisfied, villainous look so akin to him touches his lips.
“What happened to the feisty girl from before?” he asks, probably wanting me to bite onto it. But I won’t give him what he wants anymore.
“Don’t give me the easy pleasure of starving yourself, you’ll do me a favor, Isabella.” His voice lingers through the room as he looks over to the untouched tray of food. He shoves a water bottle towards me. I look at it, hesitantly. He notices because he opens the cap and takes a sip of the water.
Okay, so it’s not poisoned.
My hands reach up to grab the bottle of water, but I’m having so much anxiety rise in me that my hands can’t seem to grab anything. A sigh fills the room as he grabs the bottle from me, bringing it up to my dry lips. I grab the bottle with my shaky hands as he steadies it. I cough as I work the water down my throat. I just now realize how thirsty I have been.
Our eyes lock and somehow a voice whispers in the back of my mind, telling me that this man and I are destined to get along far better than I could ever anticipate.