Chapter Nine
Sabrina
The pit in my stomach had been growing all morning. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind buzzing with possibilities, all of them bad. Something felt wrong. I didn't know what it was yet, but the instinct I'd honed over years screamed that I needed to check on Dario.
Just as I swung my legs off the bed, my phone buzzed.
Mario: Seen some people around the orphanage. It's being handled.
I was dressed within minutes, slipping my gun into my waistband before making my way through the quiet streets. When I reached the orphanage, everything looked normal. The streets were empty, disturbed only by the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze.
Inside, Dario was fast asleep in his small bed, his chest rising and falling peacefully beneath the blanket. My heart clenched at the sight. I tucked the blanket around him, smoothing his hair back before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.
He had no idea how close danger had come, and I intended to keep it that way.
Once I was certain he was safe, I slipped back outside and made my way to the Donovan house.
The basement was cold, the concrete walls carrying the muffled sounds of movement and strained breathing. Three people were tied to chairs, their faces bruised and swollen. Asher and Mario had already done most of the work, while Lillian sat nearby, her arms crossed and her expression cold.
I approached her and crouched beside her, taking her hand in mine. Her grip was firm and steady, but I could feel the tension running through her.
“Did you get anything out of them?” I asked.
Asher shook his head. “They refuse to speak. They're not giving up a thing.”
I squeezed Lillian's hand once before turning towards the prisoners.
They sat silently, their eyes fixed anywhere but on me.
“Not going to talk?” I asked.
Nothing.
I crouched in front of the nearest man until we were at eye level.
“Fine. I'll introduce myself.”
I let the silence stretch for another second before speaking.
“You'll know me as Diabola.”
The effect was immediate.
The colour drained from their faces. Their eyes widened, and whatever confidence they'd been holding onto disappeared.
Diabola.
The name had been carved into my life the day Ivan Volkov kidnapped me. I had been eleven years old, a child stripped of everything and moulded into his weapon. After I escaped, everyone believed I had died a year later. I had made sure they believed it.
It was the only way to make Ivan feel safe enough to lower his guard.
I remembered those years too clearly: the long nights of terror, the forced obedience and the violence drilled into me until killing became instinct rather than choice.
Then came the day I returned to him.
A friendly visit, I had called it.
He never walked away from it.
I sent him back to Sergei Volkov in a casket, a final warning from the girl he'd tried to destroy.
I straightened, watching the prisoners struggle to process who was standing in front of them.
“These days, I go by Morana.”
The name made them shift uneasily. I let my gun show at my waist, not needing to raise it to remind them exactly what I was capable of.
“Now you'll tell me why you were at the orphanage, or you'll wish you'd been smart enough to stay home.”
Silence settled over the basement.
I didn't rush them. Silence had always been more effective than threats. Given enough time, fear usually did the work for you.
Eventually, one of them broke.
“Sergei Volkov sent us.” His voice was hoarse, his eyes fixed on the floor. “He told us to sneak in and take the kid.”
Something inside me went cold.
Another man gave a nervous laugh, the sound brittle and uneasy.
“Sergei's just finishing what his father started,” he said. “A kid no one would notice. No one would care about if he vanished.”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
I knew exactly what Sergei wanted.
He wanted to do to Dario what Ivan had done to me. Take a child and turn him into a weapon, stripping away everything innocent until obedience became instinct and violence became as natural as breathing.
My jaw tightened.
My foster parents had made a deal with Ivan. They were desperate enough to sell their own blood. In exchange for the drugs they wanted, they were willing to give him Dario.
A life traded for a high.
Lillian stiffened beside me, her fingers curling into fists. I squeezed her hand once, grounding her before stepping towards the man who had spoken.
I crouched in front of him and met his eyes.
“You came for the wrong kid.”
My voice remained calm.
“And you answered the wrong person.”
That was enough to break them.
Words tumbled from their mouths as they began begging, offering information, loyalty and anything else they thought might save them.
Mercy wasn't something I offered when children were involved.
By the time I was finished, the basement was silent again.
Later, much later, three separate caskets were sent to Sergei.
Each contained a message he couldn't misunderstand.
Pinned to them was a single note written in neat, precise ink:
Touch what is mine again, and I will finish what your father started.
– Morana
I turned away, my thoughts already returning to the orphanage. Dario was asleep in a small bed, completely unaware of how close the world had come to taking him. I would choose violence every time if it meant he got to remain innocent.
Sergei Volkov had just made his choice.