Without Truth
Chapter 61
Without Truth
Isabella
When I wake, the cabin is quiet, and the first rays of morning light slip through the frosted windows. Aslanov is still asleep beside me, his face softened in a rare moment of peace. The hard edges of his usual expression are absent, leaving him vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen. I quietly slip out of bed, trying not to disturb him, and head to the bathroom. The hot water running over my skin chases away the lingering cold, soothing me as I let my thoughts drift.
It’s strange how quickly I’ve settled into life here with him. The cabin, isolated in the wilderness and surrounded by a blanket of autumn leaves, feels like both a refuge and a prison. The silence is heavy, pressing against me at times. I try not to think about it too much, though. I’ve learned that moments of peace are fleeting—especially with someone like Aslanov. I’ve grown to care about him, more than I thought possible.
I never expected it, but the truth is clear now, only not spoken out loud.
I step out of the shower and glance at the clock. It’s early, but not too early for Aslanov. He’s always up with the dawn, his routines as sharp and practiced as everything else in his life. But when I walk into the main room, it’s not Aslanov who catches my eye first. It’s Dominik. He stands by the window, his broad shoulders tense, his body coiled with an unfamiliar intensity. The table before him is cluttered with papers—some torn, others stacked in uneven piles. The sight of it makes something tighten in my stomach.
Dominik doesn’t notice me at first, his focus is locked on the papers. Finally, he glances up, giving me a brief nod. His face, usually unreadable, carries a subtle trace of unease. I look at the papers on the table, trying to make sense of the chaos.
“Morning,” I say softly. “What’s all this?”
Dominik raises a finger to signal for me to wait, then quickly grabs a pen and scribbles something on a notepad. He slides it across the table to me, his writing sharp and efficient.
Documents. Business matters. Not important for you.
The bluntness of his words stings, and a sense of distance settles between us. Dominik has always been warm and approachable, but now, there’s something about his tone, his posture, that feels almost deliberate—a wall that he’s putting up. I glance at the papers again, but they’re all written in Russian—harsh, angular letters that are far from simple. They’re things I’m not meant to understand, things I’m not supposed to see.
I step closer to the table, my fingers brushing against the edge as I lean in to get a better look at the mess of papers. Dominik shifts slightly, just enough for me to notice, his movements tight and controlled. It’s subtle, but the way his shoulders hunch forward, the way his hand clenches the pen a little too tightly, speaks volumes. The troubles are rising, overbearing them.
The sound of footsteps behind me breaks my train of thought. I turn to see Aslanov stepping into the room, fully awake now, dressed in his usual sharp attire. His eyes fall on Dominik, and I catch the flicker of tension between them, like a conversation had already started before I entered.
Aslanov looks at me then, his gaze softening for just a moment. “You’re up early, solnyshko.”
My heart flutters at the nickname, but I hold my ground.
“I could say the same about you two,” I reply, eyeing the papers scattered across the table. “What’s all this?”
He gives me a tight smile, but his eyes stay locked on Dominik. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
The dismissal hurts more than I want to admit. When he opened up to me about the cracks forming in his empire and the sense of losing control, I thought it was the beginning of understanding more. Yet, he stayed silent afterward, still leaving me partly in the dark about the details.
A part of me wants to ask more, to press harder, but I know better. This is his world, and I’m just an observer. He wants to keep it that way, and perhaps I should want the same.
Dominik rises from his chair, his movements precise, and gestures toward the door, as if excusing himself. But before he leaves, Aslanov catches his eye. The look passes between them—silent, heavy. Dominik hesitates before grabbing the notepad again and scribbling something down, sliding it across the table to Aslanov.
There is concerning news about Petrov.
Aslanov’s jaw tightens as he reads the note, his expression hardening. He crumples the paper in his fist, the sound sharp and final.
“How concerning is it?” I ask quietly, my voice hesitant but laced with concern. I don’t want the gory details; I want to know if he is dancing on the lines of danger. I want to know if he will be alright.
I look between Aslanov and Dominik, sensing the tension thickening in the room. “What’s going on? Something’s very wrong, isn’t it?”
Aslanov’s eyes narrow as he looks at me, his voice harsher and more controlled. “Isabella, it’s not your concern. I’ll handle it.”
Dominik doesn’t look at me as he grabs the notepad once again, writing something quickly before sliding it back to Aslanov.
Petrov might be captured.
“Please, go back to the bedroom, Isabella,” he says, his voice low and steady.
Before I can respond, he steps closer and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, the warmth of the gesture at odds with the cold atmosphere in the room.
“I need to talk to Dominik,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I nod, the frustration bubbling inside me quelled only slightly by his tenderness. Turning away, I retreat to the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare out the small window at the snow-dusted trees, a knot of unease tightening in my chest.
The situation with Petrov—it’s not just about him going quiet. Something much bigger is unfolding.
Aslanov
The air in the cabin feels suffocating, heavy with an unspoken weight. Dominik’s note is still crumpled in my hand, the words burned into my mind. Petrov hasn’t been seen for weeks now.
A part of me had dismissed it at first. Petrov had been playing dangerous games, undermining my business by sabotaging transport operations, throwing sand in the gears of everything I’ve built. He was breaking the rules and making careless mistakes. I wanted his downfall. I wanted to find the rat that was poisoning my operations alongside him. But now, with his sudden disappearance, the situation is far more complicated than I thought.
Petrov was supposed to be in Sochi, in the North, weeks ago. But another source from the North has denied his presence there. Petrov was supposed to return within a week, but there’s no sign of him. He disappeared like a fog when the sun rose.
And then, Dominik’s note—Petrov’s absence isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a threat. I realize now that I’ve underestimated the situation. What started as an attempt to weed out a single rat in my organization is far more entangled.
This explains the camera feeds not picking up a single thing, it wouldn’t have been possible for Petrov to dodge all of them.
And when I thought one of my trusted lieutenants had supposedly fallen into Petrov’s hands, it had been into someone else’s hands.
Dominik stands near the table, waiting for my response. The tension between us is palpable, a current of urgency and distrust. I crumple the note again, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet.
“Weeks, and my men only now find out?” My voice is low, simmering with barely contained anger.
Dominik doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grabs the notepad and scribbles something down.
They assumed Petrov was lying low, hiding. Didn’t want to act too soon and ruin our chances of confronting him.
“Assumed,” I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. “Assumptions cost lives. Hesitation like this could cost me everything.”
Dominik nods, then writes again.
His safe house in Sochi is empty. They said it looked abandoned. He also hasn’t been at several meetings with his men, an inside source told us.
“Abandoned.” The word hangs in the air like a death sentence. Petrov wouldn’t abandon his safe house unless something had gone terribly wrong. And he for sure would not have left it in the state it had been left. That place is his fallback, his last line of defense. If it’s empty, then something catastrophic has happened.
I stop pacing and face Dominik directly. “Have we checked the secondary location?”
Dominik hesitates before writing again.
Not yet. Last intel said he wasn’t using it regularly.
“He will if he has to disappear,” I snap, then pause, thinking. “Send someone now. Keep it quiet. No more mistakes. If he isn’t there, we are expecting different trouble.”
Dominik nods, taking the notepad again to write something to himself. Then he looks back at me.
“What about the surveillance feeds?” I ask, my voice sharp, my patience thinning.
Dominik writes quickly.
Requested. We’ll have the footage in an hour. But it will most likely be negative.
“Check them anyway.” The words feel hollow, the weight of everything settling into my bones. If Petrov has been compromised, it’s not just a personal blow—it’s a strategic one.
He holds too many secrets and knows too much about the Bratva, about me, and Isabella. If someone has him, they won’t hesitate to bleed him dry, using every piece of information to take us down.
“If someone has him, they’ll use him against us,” I murmur under my breath, my thoughts spinning. “For now, we keep this between us. No one else can know.”
Dominik nods, his body tense, and I feel the same pressure in my chest.
If Petrov is dead, it’s a convenience—but if he’s been taken, then the danger is real. And the question that haunts me now is not just where he is, but who is behind this.
I was convinced Petrov had a rat working with him, but now, it’s clear. There are more rats in the organization than I thought. Someone else is pulling the strings. And if that’s true, then this is far bigger than just Petrov.