Chapter 13Mirrors of Darkness #2
I shift under the covers, staring down at the soup as I swirl the spoon absently. “Nick ran the place. He was... kind to me. The kind of man who knew everything that happened within those walls before anyone else did. He had this way of looking at you, like he could see straight through you.”
Ada stays quiet, listening.
“I was in a bad place when I started there,” I admit, voice softer now. “Too young, probably. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I needed the job. The money was good, and I figured it would be temporary.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “It was.”
I glance at her, then look away. “The first time I saw Aslanov, he was half-dead.”
Ada tenses beside me.
“They brought him in late one night,” I continue, my voice distant, like I’m not really in this room anymore.
Like I’m back in that prison, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the scent of antiseptic and cold steel thick in the air.
“No records. No reports. No history. Not even a name that would show up in any system. We were understaffed that night, so I was the one who had to attend to his wounds.”
Ada’s grip tightens on the blanket. “What happened to him?”
I shake my head. “Nobody knew. He hadn’t spoken a word. He just sat there, bleeding, staring at me like he was trying to get straight into my soul.”
The memory is sharp, still vivid even after all this time that has passed. The way the other guards avoided looking at him for too long. The way the air felt different around him—charged, like a storm about to break.
“There was something about him,” I murmur. “Something… wrong. Not in a violent way, not like the others. But like he didn’t belong there. Like he didn’t belong anywhere.”
Ada shifts beside me, her fingers brushing against mine under the covers. “You weren’t afraid of him?”
I take a deep breath, considering my answer.
“I was,” I say finally. “But something in me shifted, it was fear mixed with longing.”
Ada studies me for a moment, and I know she’s turning over my words in her head, trying to fit them into whatever picture she has of me, of my past.
“What happened?”
I swallow, shifting the bowl of soup in my lap, suddenly finding it hard to meet her gaze. My mouth feels dry, and my pulse thrums in my ears like a distant drumbeat.
“He broke out,” I say finally. “One night, without warning. Set the entire prison on fire, burned everything with it.”
Ada doesn’t react, but I can feel the way her breathing changes, how she’s holding herself still, waiting for me to continue.
“I thought Nick died that night too,” I admit, my voice quieter now.
“But apparently he didn’t.” I shake my head, exhaling sharply.
“I don’t know who Nick really is. We kept it professional, and I was only there for a month.
I never asked questions. But I ran when I saw Aslanov break out, when I saw what he did. ”
I can still see it if I close my eyes; the thick smoke curling into the freezing air, the way the snowflakes melted before they even hit the ground.
Everyone was lined up in the courtyard, zip-tied, their heads bowed under the weight of something far worse than fear.
I was supposed to be with them.
But I ran.
My feet were freezing, my breath came out in ragged gasps, and I could hear the shouting behind me, the way orders were being barked like gunfire.
Aslanov had ordered his men to bring me to him. But eventually, he came for me himself.
I feel my cheeks heat as I say it, as I let the words out into the stillness of the room.
Ada shifts beside me, her voice careful. “And then?”
I force myself to meet her eyes. “I thought… I thought he was going to leave me there too. Let me burn with the rest of them.” My voice wavers, just slightly. “But my pleas, I don’t know what it was, Ada. Maybe something shifted in him. Or maybe I was just an afterthought.”
“But he didn’t leave me there.” I take a shaky breath. “He carried me out. Put me in his car and…”
I close my eyes, the memory thick and suffocating.
“And he drugged me.”
Ada’s breath catches.
“I woke up in a cell. Somewhere in one of his houses, or hideouts, or whatever the hell it was.” I swallow hard. “I had no idea where I was. No idea what he wanted from me.”
“I spent some time in that cell,” I murmur.
“I don’t know how long. Days, maybe weeks.
It all blurred together.” I exhale sharply.
“I was losing it. Having panic attacks back to back. Sometimes, I’d scream until my throat felt raw.
Other times, I’d just sit there, too numb to move. But he never physically hurt me.”
Ada’s hand slides over mine, grounding me. I glance at her but don’t stop. It’s like a dam that has broken, all the water spilling out from my lips.
“One night, I was having a severe attack. Couldn’t breathe. Everything was spinning, and I thought I was going to die right there in that cell.” My voice drops lower. “And then… he came in. Carried me out.”
Ada blinks, her expression unreadable.
“He calmed me down,” I continue. “Held me until I stopped shaking.” I shake my head slightly, scoffing at the absurdity of it. “And then he cooked for me.”
A soft, humorless laugh slips out. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Like something a psychopath would do.”
Ada doesn’t laugh. She just studies me carefully, her fingers still curled around mine.
“That’s when I started to piece things together,” I go on. “I found out he had ties to the Bratva. That he wasn’t just some nameless prisoner. But he told me he couldn’t kill me, and he couldn’t keep me locked up forever, either. So eventually…” I swallow. “He let me go.”
Ada tilts her head. “Just like that?”
I nod slowly. “Let me run loose. But under one condition; I couldn’t tell anyone. Not what happened, not what he looked like.” My throat tightens. “But the truth is, at the time, I still didn’t even know his name. I only knew he was dangerous.”
Ada watches me, waiting for the rest.
“I tried to forget about him. To pretend it never happened. But when I started investigating later on… that’s when I found out who he really was.” I wet my lips, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s when I found out he was the head of the Bratva.”
I meet Ada’s gaze, and something unspoken passes between us.
“And we both witnessed it,” I finish. “Everything he’s done. Everything he is. You saw it too, on the news. All while curiosity got the best of me.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and unyielding. Then, finally, Ada squeezes my hand.
“You’re not the same person you were back then,” she says quietly.
I don’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know if that’s entirely true.
Ada’s grip tightens around my hand. “I remember the news flashes,” she says, her voice quiet but steady. “The Bratva asserting dominance in New York. The bloodbaths. The bodies turning up in the streets like warnings.” She exhales sharply. “Everyone in the city was terrified. And rightfully so.”
She turns her head to look at me, searching my face for something. “But you weren’t, Isabella.”
I let out a breath, my chest suddenly feeling too tight.
Ada shakes her head, her voice laced with something close to disbelief. “Why did you ever start that investigation on your own? Why did you even want to stick your nose again into businesses like that?” A pause. “His businesses? Even though you knew damn well this man was horribly dangerous.”
I swallow, staring down at the bowl of soup in my lap. The steam curls in soft tendrils, but I don’t feel its warmth anymore. My hands are cold. My whole body is.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. But that’s not the truth. Not really.
I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “I spent so much time pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending I didn’t wonder why he let me go, why he didn’t kill me when he had the chance.” My fingers curl tighter around the blanket, knuckles white.
“But the truth is, I felt it that night. A fear so raw it burned through me, set every nerve on edge. The kind of fear that tells you to run, to survive, to never look back.” I swallow hard, my throat tight.
“But somewhere beneath that terror… I felt something else too. I felt something different than pain in a long while.”
I drag in a breath, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I felt an emptiness I knew too well. An absence. A hollow space inside me that had been there for as long as I could remember.” I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.
“And for some reason, when I looked at him, it was like he carried the same kind of emptiness. Like I wasn’t the only one who felt it, I resonated with it. ”
Ada doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her watching me, waiting.
I wet my lips, trying to find the right words for something I still barely understand.
“It made me curious. And more than that… I felt drawn to him. Like something deep inside me recognized something deep inside him.” I shake my head, exhaling sharply.
“It didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t.
But it was there—that pull. That terrible, undeniable pull. ”
I glance at Ada, my voice quieter now. “And maybe that’s why I couldn’t let it go. Why I had to know who he really was. Because some part of me, as much as I hated it, as much as I feared it… wanted to.”
“You’re out of your damn mind,” she mutters. But there’s no real bite to her words.
A small, tired smile tugs at my lips. “I know.”
She studies me for a moment longer before sighing. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
I nod. “Believe me, I know that too.”
Ada watches me carefully, her fingers still resting against mine. “And were you right?” she asks.
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, I don’t want to say it out loud. I don’t want to admit that after everything, after all the pain and all the destruction—
I was right.
A few silent tears slip down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying. I don’t wipe them away.
“I was right,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “More than right.”