Chapter 51 An Accident
An Accident
Roman
Something was fucking wrong. I felt it; I knew it in my heart, refusing to acknowledge the wretched feeling. Isla had never been quiet for this long. I called—no answer, no call back. My text had been unanswered for over two hours.
I dialed my guys in New York, and they reported back with a way more unsettling message than I had anticipated—she was driven home by a friend.
What fucking friend?!
They said they followed the car and saw her walk inside her building, just like they witnessed every night.
Ten minutes later, they were knocking on her front door…but there was no answer.
Just silence.
"Break the door down," I ordered, my nerves on the edge of a cliff. They didn’t hesitate, and I listened to the commotion—the door crashing down, their footsteps inside. And then silence again.
“There’s now one inside, boss. The place is empty.”
The words made my heart stop. Isla wasn’t home.
This was a colossal disaster. My men didn't get the details on the car—didn’t think to follow it. Nothing seemed unusual, they said—it was her walking up the steps into her building. So where the fuck was she, then? She couldn’t have vanished into thin air.
There was no trail, no details, no Isla.
In a complete blind rage, I called Kirill and explained the situation. He listened without interrupting, giving me a smidgeon of hope with his quiet promise. “I’ll call you back in a few hours.”
He did. The woman who walked into Isla's building wasn’t Isla. She was wearing Isla’s jacket and holding Isla’s purse, but the cameras inside the lobby caught small details of the woman’s face—not Isla.
The footage of the front of the building was too choppy, and the license plate of the car that dropped off this mysterious woman wearing Isla’s coat couldn’t be deciphered in the rain.
My blood turned to ice. This was now a fucking emergency. “I’m on my way. Get Sergei.” Kirill woke me with his calm voice, helping me focus on reality.
A few agonizing hours later, Sergei sat in my office, slouching in the chair across from my desk, annoyed as hell that I called such a late meeting.
"Where's Denis? Why am I the only one here?!" he barked while typing furiously on his phone. I watched him, pulling myself back from ripping his tongue out of his throat.
I was going to fucking kill him right after he told me what he did with my Isla. My fingers curled into fists, but I focused on another activity, doing my best to hold it together before Kirill arrived. I walked over to the bar and poured him some vodka. “Drink?”
He refused, still deep in his phone, so I crashed the bottle over his head, rendering him unconscious and littering the whole place in glass.
An hour later, he came to, tied up to a chair. Kirill sat calmly on the couch in front of him while I paced like a caged animal, shaking with rage, with grief, with no information.
"Oh my God,” Sergei groaned, blinking awake. “What the fuck? What the fuck is this?" He had the balls to speak—to ask the fucking question, like he was offended.
"You fucking tell me, cocksucker!” I exploded, my own voice startling me. “Where the fuck is she?!" I turned to him, the violence begging to get out of me.
Sergei stared back, wide-eyed and stunned. "Who? Fucking Christ, what the fuck?!" He thrashed in the chair trying to break free, but it was no use.
"Isla!” I lunged at him, gripping the collar of his shirt. “What the fuck did you do, Seryoga?! I will fucking murder everyone you love if you don't tell me!" I was losing it, ready to rip him apart with my teeth, but Kirill remained motionless on the couch, watching our every move.
To my absolute disappointment, Sergei’s eyes stared back at me with confusion and alarm, genuine surprise written all over his face. Another one of my fears was coming true—he had no fucking clue what I was talking about.
"I…I don't have Isla, Roma. What the fuck?!” he questioned, astounded at the accusation. “She's in New York, I'm here! Did you think I kidnapped your fucking girlfriend? Are you fucking mental?!" he shouted back, and I knew this was it—I’d have to pummel the information out of him.
And I did. I released all my rage, all my fury—onto Sergei’s face and body. My fists landed without mercy, over and over, dismantling his face, breaking his ribs, and ripping his skin. He drooled blood, his cut lips and crooked nose not enough to satisfy me.
I pulled back only when my knuckles were raw and he could no longer open his eyes, his head slumped on his chest, quietly begging me to stop.
"Roma...” he pleaded weakly. "I swear…I swear I didn't take her...” He choked on his own bloody spit, barely able to take a breath in.
I staggered back, soaked in blood and tears, and turned to Kirill in pure shock and disbelief, having no clue how to continue. What to do. How to live.
Kirill shook his head slightly and grabbed a nearby chair to sit closer to Sergei, always as serene as lake water.
I was descending into the deepest pit of hell. Isla was gone, I had no idea where to search for her, and Sergei sounded like he was telling the truth. I took quick strides back and forth, itching to finish off Sergei, but Kirill looked him over as if preparing for a business negotiation.
"Serezha." Kirill spoke Russian, his voice cutting between us like a fucking blade—calm and deadly, his authority unquestionable. "Roma is very angry right now. Because you threatened his girl in the past, and now...she's gone—"
"I didn't take her, I swear!” Sergei interrupted in a panic, barely able to speak. “I swear, I swear I don't know where she is!" he pleaded, sniffling loudly.
Kirill didn’t flinch.
"Okay.” Kirill nodded patiently. “Then tell me…what are we going to do now, hm?" He posed a question while Sergei whimpered from his injuries and huffed, no longer struggling against his restraints.
"You have to believe me." Sergei began lightly crying. "I swear to God, I didn't take her!"
Kirill leaned in, his next question making me trip over my feet. Voice gentle and caring, he dropped the bomb. "Did you take Natasha?"
We all stilled. Sergei stared at Kirill, his shaky breathing turning into quiet sobs.
Kirill waited and then used that tone again, like he was scolding a small child for lying.
"Remember. You can leave here tonight with your life…or in a body bag. It depends on how truthful you are. There’s no more fucking around. "
Out of nowhere, a dagger appeared in Kirill’s hand, and without any hesitation or warning, he rammed it into Sergei’s thigh, plunging it in with all his inhumane strength.
Sergei screamed. Raw and desperate, the sound turned into a loud wail as he tried to breathe through the pain. Kirill leaned back on the chair, giving Sergei the time he needed.
"I'll talk!" Sergei shouted, his words shattering my heart. "God, I'll tell you everything, just don't kill me! Please! I'll help find Isla! Please just don't kill me!" he begged Kirill with his eyes closed, yelling into the void.
"I promise, Serezha.” Kirill tilted his head, his composure never breaking. “If you tell me the truth, I won't kill you.” He reassured him like a doting father.
I stood back, frozen, a spectator to the unfolding horror and nightmare.
Sergei broke down completely. His tears couldn’t be controlled; he couldn’t catch his breath or hold his head up. Blood splattered all over him and the floor as he sobbed, wailed, wept.
"I didn't take Isla, I swear! I swear I don't know where she is, brother! Believe me!” Sergei assured us again, but Kirill’s patience was running out. He spoke louder.
"Tell us about Natasha first." Kirill twisted the dagger lodged in Sergei’s thigh, the blade cutting deeper. Sergei’s scream was sharper than before, but Kirill lifted up his hand, palm out toward me, indicating I should stay back.
I remained in the same spot. Lost.
Sergei was shaking uncontrollably, choking on his own spit and tears. I thought he might pass out, but then…
He said it.
"I killed her!"
The words echoed in the room. Loud. Deafening.
The truth.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! It was an accident! I didn't mean to do it!" Sergei's cries filled up the space between us three, and my mind went offline.
My world was crumbling into pieces.
"I only wanted to fuck her! But she resisted! Like always! And I…I—I'm so sorry, Roma! God, I'm so sorry!" His wails intensified, and I was losing all vision.
"I want you to...” Kirill leaned in closer, his expression serious like never before. “Start from the very beginning, Serezha. Tell me exactly what happened. Don't miss any details." Kirill spoke reassuringly while I was planted to the floor.
Sergei couldn't say any words. He couldn’t calm down, but Kirill waited a second longer before lightly tapping Sergei’s cheek with the barrel of his gun.
"I'm waiting.” The Tsar reminded him. “Start from the very beginning.
What was Lena doing there that night? Whose car did they all jump into?
How did Natasha die? You have ten seconds to start speaking.
" Kirill calmly cocked his gun and placed it to Sergei's forehead.
The sound clicked through the office like a last warning.
Sergei shot his eyes open, urgently beginning his story.
"Lena helped me.” He nodded quickly. “I’d known her for years.
She was always around; I just never brought her over.
” His voice shook, but there was no holding back now.
“I told her she and some other girls should join me at a hotel and we could all fuck, and she…
she gladly agreed." Sergei gulped, his breaths fast, his panic palpable, the barrel of Kirill’s gun still in between his eyes.
"I told her exactly who to bring. We discussed it. She got Natasha drunk and convinced her and two others to get into the car I arranged.”
Fear radiated off Sergei in a suffocating wave, but he kept talking, killing me with every passing second.
“They all came to my suite, but I didn’t want anyone. I only wanted Natasha. I only ever wanted Natasha…” He sniffled so pitifully, snot and blood glistening on his filthy face.
Kirill didn’t move, watching Sergei intently, and I blended in with the background, convinced that I was already dead.
“But she began sobering up!” he wailed. “I spiked all their drinks and knocked out Lena and the other two, making sure they thought I was taking Natasha down to the lobby so she could go home since she told them she didn't want to be there.
But I didn't..." Fresh tears accosted him, and Kirill nodded, encouraging him on.
"I…I fucked—” he paused suddenly, thinking about his words.
“I raped her,” he whispered instead. “She fought me, so I held her down.
I choked her to keep her in place, but it was—it was too much, and I…
I accidentally strangled her." Sergei swallowed hard, his one open eye staring at Kirill, not believing his own admission.
"It was an accident,” he added weakly. “I was drunk, and I.
..I didn't realize right away what I did. "
I was no longer in the room. I was no longer alive, not breathing, not seeing, not feeling anything around me. It all twisted into a white-hot haze until I felt Kirill’s large hands clamp down on my shoulders, pulling me away from Sergei, who was now on the floor, still tied up to the chair.
"Uspokoisya, uspokoisya.” Kirill spoke quietly in Russian, telling me to calm down and dragging me away from Sergei, my feet desperately trying to kick his face in.
With alarming speed, the contents of my stomach climbed up my esophagus, and I vomited, all the pain and betrayal only more pronounced in my body from the act.
The truth was here now, and it broke me down into nothing.
I lay prostrate on the floor of my office beside my own vomit—Sergei on the other side of it, still tied to the chair, sniffling and crying. Kirill looked down at us, shaking his head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Kirill pick up Sergei and check his restraints. As calmly as ever, he sat back down in front of Sergei and spoke gently again. "Now. Tell us about Isla."
Sergei shook his head frantically. "I swear, I swear I don't know where she is! I swear I didn't touch her! I'm sorry I threatened her, but I'm telling you the truth! I didn't touch her!"
There was…something in his voice, something foreign, something I hadn’t heard before. Sincerity.
Kirill considered it quietly. Then, without a word, he reached down and ripped the dagger out of Sergei’s thigh, promptly driving it into his upper arm with brutal force.
Sergei’s screams bounced off the walls, but they meant nothing to me now.
“Fuck! Roma! I s-swear! I didn’t touch her!” His voice raw, he addressed me in a plea. Kirill watched him. "I didn't take her! I have nothing to gain from it! I'm sorry I killed your sister, Roma! God—I’m s-so sorry—but I didn't touch your girl! You have to b-believe me!"
No one spoke for what felt like hours. I was on the floor, unable to move, Sergei whined and cried in pain, and Kirill still sat in the chair, his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.
Finally, Kirill sighed. "He's telling the truth,” he said flatly. “But that doesn't help us figure out where she is."
"I'll…I'll help, " Sergei croaked out, bleeding and depleted. "I'll help you find her, Roma, please…please just don't kill me,” he begged like a pathetic and dying predator. “Don’t kill me…and don't touch my kids."