Chapter 22The Devil’s Tomb
The Devil’s Tomb
Isabella
The drive home is silent.
Sawyer doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t press, doesn’t pry, but I can feel his eyes flick to me through the rearview mirror, quick and sharp, before returning to the road. He heard it all.
The snow outside has thickened, swallowing the streets in a slow, creeping blanket of white. The headlights cut through the dark, casting long, ghostly shadows across the pavement.
Ada sits beside me in the backseat, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She hasn’t spoken since we left the clinic, and I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves, thick enough to choke on.
Her knee bounces, a tell. She’s trying to keep herself from unraveling, but I know better.
Ada doesn’t fall apart, not where anyone can see.
The air inside the car feels too small, too tight. My body still hums with adrenaline, fingers twitching in my lap as I replay the night over and over again in my head.
The man. His words.
Diable.
I swallow hard, staring out the window at the city rushing past. The neon lights of passing signs flicker in the reflection, stretching and twisting like specters in the glass. My pulse hasn’t slowed, my heart still hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out.
I don’t even realize we’ve stopped until Sawyer kills the engine.
“We’re here,” he says, voice low.
Neither Ada nor I move right away.
The house looms before us, dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside my chest. The cold is the first thing that hits me as we step out of the car, sharp and biting, curling against my skin like a warning. My hoodie does little to stop the chill from seeping in, but I don’t care.
Sawyer follows us inside.
It’s not surprising. He’s always had a way of knowing when something’s wrong, even when we don’t say a word. Especially then.
The door clicks shut behind us, and I let out a slow breath. The hallway is dim, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside, casting long streaks of gold across the floor. Everything feels… off. Like the walls are too close, the air too thick.
Sawyer leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching. Waiting.
Ada moves first, tossing her bag onto the table with a little too much force. She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair before turning to me, eyes flashing.
“Don’t.”
I blink. “What?”
She shakes her head. “I know what you’re thinking. I see it all over your face. And the answer is no.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“I do,” she snaps. “You want to dig. You want to go looking for answers. And I’m telling you, Isabella, don’t.”
Sawyer straightens. His eyes flick between us, his brows pulling together in that way they do when he’s piecing things together. “Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Ada is quiet.
I meet Sawyer’s gaze, feeling the weight of the words before I even speak them. “Something’s going on,” I say finally. “We don’t know what, or who it exactly concerns, but… we need your help.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods. “I’m listening.”
I hesitate, glancing at Ada. She’s stiff, jaw tight, but she doesn’t stop me when I turn back to Sawyer.
“I can’t explain everything,” I admit. “Not yet.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“I know.” I exhale. “But it’s real. And it’s dangerous.”
Ada scoffs. “That’s an understatement.”
Sawyer doesn’t react. He just watches us, the weight of his silence heavy in the room. “What do you need from me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Help. Protection. Eyes on the ground. If something comes up, if something shifts, I need to know.”
Sawyer exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t need to.
He nods again, slower this time, as if making some unspoken decision. “Alright.”
Ada groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re both insane.”
I turn to her, something sharp curling in my chest. “You don’t have to be a part of this.”
Ada’s head snaps up. “Oh, so you’re just going to do this on your own, again?”
I shrug. “If I have to.”
“Jesus Christ, Isabella.” She lets out a harsh breath, pacing away before spinning back. “You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into, I have investigated these men for years. Just because you got close to one doesn’t mean you know a single ounce of their world and work field.”
“I know enough.”
“You know nothing, you were always under his protection.”
“Then I’ll find out what it’s like on my own.”
Sawyer sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘‘Alright, let’s slow down for a second. What exactly are you walking into, Isabella?’’
I press my lips together, pulse pounding in my ears. ‘‘I can’t tell you everything. But I know enough to know that he’s not gone.’’
Ada’s eyes darken, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. ‘‘You don’t know that for sure, it’s just a known nickname. You’re grasping at ghosts.’’
‘‘It’s not.’’ My voice is steady, certain. The weight in my chest is unbearable, but beneath it, something sharp digs deeper, something like conviction, like fury. ‘‘You heard what he said, Ada. You saw what happened.’’
She shakes her head. ‘‘It doesn’t mean what you think it means.’’
‘‘Then what does it mean?’’ I challenge, stepping forward. ‘‘Because if you have another explanation, I’d love to hear it.’’
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. She has no idea, she knows just as little as I do. She knows something is wrong too.
Sawyer watches the exchange, jaw set, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s giving Ada the space to argue, to push back—but she doesn’t. Not yet.
Finally, she exhales sharply, turning her back to me. ‘‘I don’t like this, I am supposed to protect you. I took a fucking Omerta vow.’’
‘‘I don’t care,’’ I say, voice harsher now, but no less determined.
Ada turns, her gaze locking onto mine, something fierce burning behind her eyes. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to throw yourself into something you don’t understand just because you’re grieving.”
I flinch, but I don’t back down.
‘‘I’m not grieving,’’ I say, voice low, steady. ‘‘I’m hunting.’’
Sawyer lets out a slow breath, crossing his arms. ‘‘Alright,’’ he says finally, breaking the silence. ‘‘So let’s start there. Who are we hunting?’’
Ada groans. ‘‘Goddamn it, Sawyer—’’
I stare at Sawyer, nervously twisting the ring on my middle finger, ‘‘A member of the Bratva.’’ I swallow acid down as his name rolls of my tongue for the first time in a long time, ‘‘Aslanov Ivanov Karamazov.’’
Ada freezes. Her breath catches for just a second, but it’s enough.
Sawyer, however, doesn’t react right away. He just watches me, his expression unreadable, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly. He knows that name carries weight. He knows what it means.
‘‘The Bratva,’’ he repeats, his voice careful, measured. I purse my lips together before I add, ‘‘And not just anyone; the head of the organization.’’
Sawyer exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. ‘‘Shit.’’
Ada still hasn’t moved. She’s just standing there, staring at me like she’s waiting for me to take it back, to say I misspoke. But I don’t. I won’t.
‘‘You’re out of your goddamn mind,’’ she finally says, voice quiet but seething. ‘‘Do you hear yourself? You don’t go after a man like that, not again. Not without his protection in his world. You’re just a naive young woman, a target to them. You don’t touch that world and walk away breathing.’’
I hold her gaze, unwavering. ‘‘I already have.’’
Ada lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘‘Because you were under his protection, Isabella. You weren’t walking through fire, you were being carried through it. There’s a difference.’’
A muscle in my jaw ticks. ‘‘Then I’ll walk through it on my own.’’
Ada steps forward, closing the space between us in one swift, angry motion. ‘‘No, you won’t,’’ she hisses. ‘‘Because you’ll end up in a grave before you even get close. Hell, you don’t even know what you are trying to get close to.’’
‘‘Then help me, you vowed it,’’ I counter.
Silence.
Ada clenches her jaw, glancing at Sawyer, who has yet to speak. He’s still watching me, but this time, there’s something in his eyes, something calculating.
‘‘You think he’s not gone,’’ Sawyer says carefully. ‘‘Explain.’’
I hesitate, just for a moment. The words sit heavy in my throat, thick and suffocating. But I force them out.
‘‘There are rumors,’’ I say. ‘‘Whispers in places where his name was supposed to have died out. I’ve seen things that don’t add up.
News articles. Movements. Men who should be buried acting like they’re still taking orders.
’’ I swallow. ‘‘And then there’s what he said. What the dying man said before he flatlined.’’
‘‘Hell is empty. Diable is here.’’
Sawyer exhales, shaking his head slightly. ‘‘You really believe it’s him?’’
I don’t hesitate. ‘‘Yes, his name runs like poison through the organization and Moscow. It’s about him. I don’t know what is happening, but something is wrong.’’
Ada closes her eyes for a second like she’s trying to will herself into patience. When she opens them again, they’re harder, colder.
‘‘This is a suicide mission,’’ she says.
‘‘Then I’ll die trying,’’ I answer.
Something in Ada snaps. ‘‘Goddamn it, Isabella!’’ She shoves past me, pacing, running a hand through her hair. I let the silence stretch between us. Then, slowly, I lift my chin.
‘‘I have been dying the past weeks, months. I can’t move on, I will not move on unless I know what truly happened.’’
Ada stares at me for a long moment. Then, finally—finally—she exhales, sharp and resigned.
‘‘Fine,’’ she mutters. ‘‘But if we do this, we do it my way. No reckless bullshit. No running off on your own.’’ She levels a glare at me. ‘‘I mean it, Isabella.’’
A slow smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
‘‘Deal.’’
Sawyer sighs, shaking his head. ‘‘Jesus. I must be out of my damn mind for agreeing to this.’’
‘‘Welcome to the club,’’ Ada mutters.
He shakes his head, pushing off the counter. “Fine. Whatever this is, I’m in. But if I’m in, I need more than cryptic warnings and half-truths.”
I nod. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
He doesn’t look entirely satisfied, but he doesn’t argue.
Sawyer rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he grabs a chair. Ada exhales sharply, rubbing at her temples like she already regrets agreeing to this.
I just sit back, the weight in my chest shifting, twisting into something steadier.
Something colder.
The weight in my chest settles, the cold finally sinking in, wrapping around my ribs like an embrace. I welcome it. I let it in.
Because I know now, this isn’t about revenge.
This is about retribution.
And when the Devil finally comes to collect—
I’ll be waiting.