Chapter 7A Dangerous Game with New Allies
A Dangerous Game with New Allies
Aslanov
Something has changed.
The air is thick with it, a shift too subtle for most to notice, but I am not most. I feel it in the way the guards move: tighter, more controlled. Less lazy. More aware. A storm is coming, and they know it.
The food comes late tonight. Hours past when it should have. When the slot in the door screeches open, a tin tray slides through. Gruel. Stale bread. The usual filth. But my stomach clenches at something else. A scent.
Blood.
Not mine.
My hand closes around the bread automatically, but my focus is on the shadows beneath the door, on the tension in the silence outside. A whisper. Footsteps too quick to be routine. Someone is hurt. Someone has spilled blood.
Petrov?
I press my back against the cold wall, listening. The walls between the cells are thick, designed to keep us alone even in captivity, but I know he’s there. I hear his breathing at night, shallow, steady. But tonight, I hear nothing.
I press my knuckles against the damp concrete. A silent signal.
Tap. Tap.
Nothing.
A slow rage burns in my chest. If they killed him, they made a mistake. A man is worth more alive than dead, and Petrov is no different. If he’s not responding, he’s either unconscious, or worse.
The door to my cell opens with a mechanical screech, and the moment is too sudden, too sharp.
My body reacts before my mind catches up, muscles protesting at the strain, chains rattling around my wrists.
They’re heavy, designed to ensure that I’m unable to break free, unable to fight.
I stand slowly, forcing myself to take steady steps, my joints creaking with every movement.
The guards outside are faceless in their black tactical gear, masks covering their features.
They don’t speak, but their presence is like a weight on my chest. One of them motions for me to move forward, and I comply without a word, not wanting to make the mistake of showing weakness.
They drag me through the narrow hall, the smell of iron and sweat in the air, the harsh lights buzzing overhead.
We pass by the other cells, silent, empty, until I stop in front of Petrov’s.
His body is slumped against the wall, barely conscious.
His hands are bound tightly, and blood trickles down from a wound at his temple.
His dark hair sticks to his forehead in damp clumps, the red staining his skin.
His face is a mask of exhaustion and pain, a man broken by whatever torture they’ve subjected him to.
His chest rises and falls unevenly, like every breath is a struggle.
His eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated, but there’s still a flicker of recognition when he sees me.
His gaze sharpens for a brief moment, and then, without a word, he lifts his hand, slow, deliberate.
He forms a quick, discreet sign with his fingers, the shape of the Bratva’s secret gesture.
It’s a signal of solidarity, of alliance. It’s subtle, but it means everything.
I return the sign with a nod, understanding his message. This might be the only time to form an ally with this man ever.
The guards take no notice of the exchange, too busy with their orders to care about the silent communication between us.
They pull Petrov from the floor, dragging him away with no more care than they would a sack of grain.
His head lolls forward, but I see the silent defiance in the curve of his lips, a challenge in the face of certain death.
I stand there for a long moment, the weight of the chains around my wrists grounding me to the cold floor. The guard beside me jostles me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
They lead me down the hallway toward the dimly lit corridor where Nick waits.
I’m barely aware of the movement, too focused on the red haze of rage that’s begun to cloud my vision.
Each step feels heavier, the chains biting into my skin with every movement.
My body feels broken, but my mind is sharp.
They think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to fight.
They think I’ve lost the will to survive.
Nick is standing at the far end of the corridor, his expression unreadable. His sharp, calculating eyes meet mine as I’m dragged forward. His lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, but there’s nothing friendly about it.
“Aslanov,” Nick greets me, his voice smooth, almost mocking.
“A shame about your friend back there. He wasn’t very cooperative.” His head tilts slightly backward, mentioning towards the cellblock where they keep Petrov imprisoned.
I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. He doesn’t deserve an answer.
“You’ve been in here a long time,” Nick continues, his eyes scanning me like I’m a broken machine, something to be studied.
“I would have thought you’d be grateful for the peace, but I can see it’s not enough for you.
” He steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement.
“You’re still a fighter. I can see that in you. ”
I keep my eyes on him, the anger simmering beneath the surface. “You’ve underestimated me,” I say quietly. “I don’t break.”
Nick’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone has a breaking point, Aslanov. Even you.”
He steps back, allowing the guards to move me further into the room. There’s a chair bolted to the floor, and they shove me toward it, forcing me down. The chains rattle against the cold metal.
Nick watches me, his gaze intense. “I’m offering you a chance, Aslanov. You can help me. Help me take everything you’ve built, and I’ll let everything you care about live. Or shall I say everyone .”
I laugh. The sound is low, dark. I am going to fucking veil his skin once I get the smallest chance.
Nick’s smile falters. “I think you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
He stands still for a long moment, his eyes never leaving mine as I stay silent. But then, he simply nods, as if deciding something in his mind. “We’ll see how long this defiance lasts.”
His lips curl into a thin smile, a smile that’s more of a warning than anything else. He knows I’m not broken yet. He knows that whatever he does, whatever he puts me through, I won’t give him what he wants unless I’m forced to.
But Isabella… Isabella is a different story.
Nick leans in, his breath cold on my face. “Aslanov,” he says softly, the weight of my name heavy on his tongue. “You’re a dead man walking. You know that, don’t you? You’re already a ghost. You have no empire left. No army. Just a broken body, chained to a chair, useless.”
I remain silent. I let his words hang in the air, a venomous mix of truth and lies. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of answering.
He steps back, pacing in front of me, eyes scanning my battered form.
“But you’re useful, aren’t you?” he continues, his voice laced with mock sympathy.
“You’re a piece of the puzzle I need to complete my empire.
So here’s the deal. You give me the information I need, intel on your organization, the Bratva’s operations, your men, and I’ll let you stay alive.
I’ll let her stay safe. You won’t have to worry about her.
She’ll be untouched. All you have to do is talk. ”
He pauses, as if letting the weight of his words sink in.
His eyes flicker, dark and calculating, watching me closely.
“Tell me where your men are hiding. Tell me about your network. How do your operations run? Where are the shipments? The safe houses? Who’s loyal to you?
You think I don’t know your empire? You think I can’t take it from you? ”
I refuse to look away from him. I know exactly what he wants from me. I know what’s at stake, and I won’t make it easy for him. I won’t give him everything, not without a fight.
Nick steps forward again, the edge of his boots scraping against the concrete floor.
“Don’t be stupid, Aslanov. You think I’ll just let you die?
I need you alive. But Isabella?” He smirks, and the smile is razor-sharp.
“I’ll find her. I’ll make sure she feels every bit of the pain you should have taken for yourself. ”
His words strike a chord, the threat ringing in my chest like a bullet lodged deep inside. But I know he’s bluffing. Nick won’t kill her. Not yet. She’s his bargaining chip. His leverage. She’s the only thing I’ve got left to protect.
I grit my teeth, pushing back the wave of panic that threatens to rise. My voice comes out low, controlled. “You want names? Locations? I can give you some. But I won’t give you everything. You’ll never control the Bratva fully. There’s too much. Too many people.”
Nick’s eyes darken, his lips curling into a sneer.
“I wasn’t asking for ‘everything,’ Aslanov.
I was asking for what matters. The people closest to you.
Your right hand. Your inner circle. The ones who know everything.
Where are your shipments coming from? Your operations.
Who’s running them? You think I’m going to wait around for you to break, or do you want to make this easier for both of us? ”
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. I know I can’t give him everything, but I also know I can’t afford to play his game forever. Isabella’s life hangs in the balance. And every minute I delay gives him more room to destroy her.
“Some of them are already gone,” I mutter, my words clipped, as vague as possible. “Some of them are out. Others... still loyal. But it doesn’t matter. You can’t take it all. The Bratva is more than just men. It’s more than what you can reach.”
Nick’s smile falters, frustration creeping into his expression. He leans in close, his voice a soft, menacing whisper. “I can reach anything, Aslanov. Don’t mistake me for a fool.”
I look at him, my gaze unwavering, calculating. “If you kill me, Nick, you lose everything. You know that. I’m your last thread of connection to the Bratva’s full strength. Without me, it all crumbles.”
Nick’s hand curls into a fist, his patience wearing thin.
“You think I care about your empire?” he sneers.
“I’ve got plans of my own. But first, I need your loyalty.
Your obedience. And that means you’re going to help me.
You’re going to tell me where to strike.
You’re going to tell me where it hurts.”
I remain silent, letting the words settle between us like thick smoke.
Finally, I give in, but just enough. “The shipments… they’re coming in from the docks. Not all of them, but some. My men are hiding out in the old warehouse district in Moscow.”
Nick doesn’t move at first. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment like a predator toying with its prey. I see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, but I also see the flicker of doubt.
He knows this isn’t the full truth. He knows I’m holding back. But for now, it’s enough. And I know he won’t kill me. Not yet. He needs me to finish this game. He needs me alive for his plans to work.
He steps around me, slow, deliberate. “You think you’re holding out for her, don’t you?” he muses. “That your silence is protecting her?” He clicks his tongue, feigning disappointment. “You don’t get it, Aslanov. She’s already breaking. Without you. Because of you.”
My hands flex against the chains, fingers curling into fists. I don’t react, but my body betrays me—the tension in my shoulders, the slight clench of my jaw.
“She’s a ghost of the woman you left behind,” he continues, his voice low, taunting. “It’s almost sad, really. The way she moves through life now. Hollow. Empty. Like she’s waiting for something that’ll never come back. Waiting for someone who is declared dead.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
A sharp, burning sensation coils in my chest, but I force my breathing to stay steady. This is what he wants: to crawl under my skin, to make me weak.
Nick watches me, eyes gleaming with something dark, something satisfied. “She doesn’t eat much either. Lost weight. Doesn’t talk to anyone. She just drifts, like a ghost. She’s already mourning you.” He tilts his head. “She thinks you’re dead, just like the rest of the world.”
I keep my expression cold, unreadable, but the weight of his words settle in my stomach like lead.
“Tell me, Aslanov,” Nick sighs, stepping back. “Is this what you wanted for her? To waste away for a man who doesn’t even exist anymore?” His smirk deepens.
Something inside me snaps.
The chains bite into my wrists as I lurch forward, but the restraints hold me back, the metal cutting into my skin. My breath comes fast and harsh through my nose, and for the first time, Nick’s smirk turns into something closer to delight.
“There he is,” he murmurs. “There’s the feared man I’ve been waiting for.”
He crouches in front of me now, elbows resting on his knees, eyes alight with amusement. “You want to keep her from harm?” he whispers. “Then start talking. The more you give me, the safer she’ll be. Or… you can stay silent. And we’ll see how long it takes before I bring her a visit.”