Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Kholod
"Andre spilled everything, boss."
Dmitri's voice came through the phone, heavy with post-interrogation exhaustion.
"Clean it up." I crushed out my cigarette.
"Yes, sir."
I hung up and checked my watch—3:45 AM.
Another traitor eliminated.
Since the last incident, we'd been purging the manor's inner circle. Intelligence confirmed Andre had been our leak all along. But according to his confession, there was still a high-level mole buried deeper—someone who'd gone dark these past months, leaving no trace.
I didn't want to suspect anyone close to me, but silence was crucial now. No point in spooking our target.
I stood up, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders. Time to head back.
Strangely, I found myself wanting to see Noelle. I'd taken my anger over her father's betrayal out on her, but looking back now, she was innocent in all this.
Maybe I should tell her the truth about Marco Bellucci's death. Put this to rest. As for the mole situation—until we found them, she was safer at the manor. I was sick of all the constant suspicion.
The car cut through Philadelphia's empty streets, windshield wipers beating a steady rhythm. The storm had hit suddenly, rain hammering the roof like gunfire.
"Boss, the manor's electrical system had a brief failure. Backup generator's running, but we might have a few minutes of surveillance gaps."
I wasn't concerned. The manor's security was solid enough. A short outage posed no threat.
We pulled up to the main house. I pushed open the car door, rain hitting my face, washing away some of the day's irritation.
The power was back on inside, everything quiet. I headed straight for the stairs, but noticed light seeping from under the study door.
Something was off.
I walked over and pushed it open—
The moment I opened the door, I froze.
The study's main lights blazed, illuminating a scene on the oak desk—a silver dagger driven deep into the wood, its sapphire pommel catching the cold light. It was the souvenir Noelle had bought in Iceland, always kept on her vanity.
Papers were pinned beneath the blade.
My heart hammered, legs suddenly heavy as lead.
One step. Two steps. I reached the desk and gripped the handle, yanking hard—the cut was deep. How much force had she used?
I set down the dagger and grabbed the papers.
The top page read: Divorce Agreement.
Those words hit like knives straight to the heart. My hands started shaking, barely able to hold the paper. I forced myself to keep reading—
Party A: Noelle Bellucci
Party B: Kholod Morozov
Both parties voluntarily divorce, property division as follows...
At the bottom was her signature—neat and delicate, but carrying unshakable resolve. Dated tonight.
"No..." The sound that escaped my throat was barely human.
I flipped to the second page. Just one line.
"From this day forward, Noelle Bellucci and Kholod Morozov have no relationship whatsoever."
No relationship whatsoever. She wouldn't even keep the Morozov name.
"Noelle..."
I clutched the agreement and bolted from the room, grasping at straws.
"Noelle!"
Stairs, hallway, master bedroom—I nearly smashed through the door.
"Noelle!"
Empty.
The room was vacant. The fire still burned in the fireplace, the bed made with military precision.
In the walk-in closet, all her gowns hung organized by color. The jewelry box on her vanity held every necklace, earring, and bracelet.
"No... impossible..."
I rushed to the library. Darkness. I shoved open the door—her art supplies sat neatly on the table. Sketchbooks, charcoal pencils, paints.
I opened the sketchbook. Inside were her drawings. Iceland's glaciers, the black sand beach's basalt columns, and... me.
Me sleeping on the plane. Me smiling in front of the blue ice cave. Us embracing under the aurora. Every stroke was tender and detailed.
"Noelle..." My voice cracked. "Why... why..."
If you hate me, why leave these behind? If you wanted to go, why not take everything?
I carried the sketchbook back to the master bedroom and collapsed to my knees.
The polar bear plushie from Iceland sat on the windowsill, the unfinished Norway travel book lay beside the bed, and her orange blossom scent still lingered in the air.
Everything was unchanged, as if she'd just stepped out.
"AHHH—!!"
A roar tore through the night's silence, like a wounded animal's wail. I pounded my fists against the floor, knuckles splitting, blood staining the carpet, but I felt nothing.
"Boss!" Dmitri burst through the door.
"Find her!" I looked up, eyes bloodshot. "Use everything we have. Turn over every stone if you have to, but bring her back!"
"Yes! I'll immediately—"
"Check Zoe, Isabella, Sofia, Lorenzo," my voice was ice-cold. "I want every movement and communication record they have."
"Understood!"
Dmitri rushed out.
I stood in the empty room, taking in the traces she'd left behind.
Only now did I realize—somewhere along the way, this supposed prisoner had become the only queen of my frozen kingdom. Her presence had seeped into every corner, her laughter echoed in every room, her image was burned into every inch of ground I'd walked.
And now she was gone.
"Noelle..." I whispered. "What have I done..."
Savior, family vendettas, betrayals—losing her, it all seemed so ridiculous, so meaningless.
Why had I taken my rage out on her? Why had I hurt her?
"Because you're a bastard," I told my reflection. "Kholod Morozov, you're a complete bastard."
In the days that followed, I barely slept. Two or three hours, maybe. The rest were buried in family business and chasing leads.
"Boss, you need rest," Dmitri said for the tenth time.
"Did you find her?"
"Still searching..."
"Then keep searching. Expand the range to the entire East Coast."
"Yes..."
A week passed. Nothing.
Two weeks. Still nothing.
A month later, Noelle had vanished without a trace.
My condition deteriorated daily. Stubble unkempt, eyes sunken, I'd lost weight—my suits hung loose on my frame.
"Kholod," My mother's face was etched with worry.
"Yes," I responded mechanically.
"You need to eat." Her tone was stern. "You haven't had a proper meal in three days."
"I'm not hungry."
"I'm not asking," she said. "Kholod Morozov, you're the head of this family. We need a clear-minded leader, not a self-destructive madman."
"I know..."
"You know nothing." She cut me off. "All you know is how to wallow in your own misery. But Kholod, that accomplishes nothing."
"Then what should I do?" I looked up, eyes full of exhaustion and despair. "Tell me, what else can I do?"
"First, take care of yourself." She said. "Only if you stay rational and healthy will you have a chance to find her, a chance to make things right."
She was right.
I took a deep breath, picked up my knife and fork, and forced myself to take a bite of steak.
It tasted like cardboard, but I swallowed it. One bite, two, three...
My mother watched me, her stern gaze gradually softening.
"Also," she continued, "you need to reorganize your thoughts. Start over, go through everything again."
"I've been thinking..."
"Not deeply enough." She shook her head. "Kholod, you need to think from Noelle's perspective. What did she see, what did she experience, why did she make that choice?"
From Noelle's perspective...
I set down my utensils and closed my eyes. In her eyes, I was the killer of her father, the monster who forced her into marriage, the jailer who imprisoned her freedom.
"I hurt her, Mother." I opened my eyes. "I hurt her deeply."
On the fifth night, still with no appetite, I downed two bottles of vodka and continued reviewing new leads.
The study door suddenly burst open.
Anya stormed in, fury written across her face.
"Kholod Morozov!"
"What?" I looked up.
"Look at yourself!" She stepped in front of me, jabbing her finger at my forehead. "Are you planning to destroy yourself like this?"
"Anya..."
"Shut up!" Her eyes were red. "You're going insane over that woman! A whole month! Do you know what you look like right now?"
"I..."
"You don't know anything!" Tears streamed down her face. "All you care about is finding her! But have you thought about me and Mom? If you collapse, what happens to us?"
"I..."
"Have you considered that your investigation has been wrong from the start?"
That stopped me cold.
"What do you mean?"
"Isabella Vance!" Anya was practically screaming. "Kholod, wake up! Ever since she showed up, haven't you and Noelle been having constant misunderstandings?"
"You're saying..."
"I'm saying Isabella has been manipulating you both all along!" She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. "She always acts so innocent, drops those ambiguous hints! And you, you idiot, believed every word!"
I shot to my feet. I'd always felt Isabella was trouble, but that "savior" filter kept me from seeing her true nature.
"Dmitri!"
Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway. "Boss."
"Boss, we're processing it, but it's been so long. Some of the hospital recordings are corrupted—we need data recovery."
"I don't care what it takes!" I cut him off, my voice more urgent than ever. "Double the manpower. I want to hear that recording ASAP!"
"Yes!"
He turned and rushed out.
Anya looked at me, wiping away her tears.
"Kholod, there's something else. When you were investigating the manor's information leaks, I went through the records—have you noticed the leaks started after Isabella arrived? When she left, they stopped." She gave me a meaningful look.
It hit me like lightning—why had I never considered this?
"Kholod, I never liked Noelle before, but I know she's not a bad person."
"I know."
"So you have to find her," Anya said. "And then treat her right."
"I will."
Three days later.
When Dmitri pushed through the door, he clutched an old recording device in his hands.
"Boss, we recovered the data." His voice trembled slightly. "This is the emergency call recording from back then."
My hands shook as I reached for the device.
"Boss," Dmitri pressed down on my hand. "You... should prepare yourself."
"Play it."
He released my hand. I hit play.
After a burst of interference—
"Hello? Hello? Is this emergency services? I'm at... South District, near the narrow alley behind Seventh Street. Someone's been shot."
A young girl's voice came through the speaker.
My breathing stopped.
That was Noelle's voice.
Seventh Street.
That alley.
The exact place where I'd been attacked all those years ago.
"Yes, miss, the ambulance is on its way. Please stay calm and don't hang up. You confirmed the location is Seventh Street? Can you tell me about the injured person's condition?"
"Yes, he's badly hurt... please hurry!"
"Alright, miss. Please stay on the line with me. The ambulance will be there in about five minutes..."
"Over here!"
The recording ended.
I sat frozen, finger still on the play button.
It was her.
Really her.
With trembling hands, I hit replay.
That voice came again.
Young, frightened, but incredibly determined.
For a bleeding stranger, she'd risked staying behind.
Called for help.
Wouldn't abandon him.
That person was Noelle. The "savior" I'd searched for three years, obsessed over for three years. It was Noelle—the one I'd personally dragged to hell, the one I'd hurt the most.
And I'd so easily believed Isabella's false information.
"No..."
My voice shattered.
"No... no..."
The recording kept looping.
"Please hurry..."
"Please hurry..."
...
That was her voice. She'd cried for me, begged for my rescue. And I'd believed Isabella's lies, torturing her again and again, even punishing her in the most brutal ways in that basement.
"Fuck!"
I swept everything off the desk.
Papers scattered, the lamp shattered, glass flying.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
I destroyed everything in the study. Books tumbled from shelves, the liquor cabinet's glass doors smashed, picture frames, vases—anything breakable turned to pieces.
"Boss!" Dmitri rushed in. "Please calm down—"
"Get out!" I roared. "Everyone get the hell out!"
He retreated to the doorway, not daring to approach.
I stood among the wreckage, hands braced against the desk, breathing hard.
Glass shards cut my palms, blood dripping onto the wood, but I felt nothing.
"Noelle..." My voice was raw. "What have I done..."
I'd destroyed the only person who truly cared about me, personally shoved that guiding light into the abyss.
The truth was a blade, and in this moment, it carved me to pieces.