Chapter Forty-Two
Sabrina
The living room had never felt fuller.
Every sofa, armchair and empty stretch of wall was occupied.
Nonna sat beside Nonno, her rosary wrapped tightly around her trembling fingers, while my aunts and uncles filled the rest of the room alongside my cousins.
Their usual conversations had been replaced by an unbearable silence, and my brothers remained standing as though none of them could bear to sit.
Sean leaned against the wall beside Asher, while Mario stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his expression unreadable. Lillian sat quietly between them, offering me the same reassuring smile she'd given me countless times over the years.
The four of them already knew this story. They hadn't just heard it; they'd lived parts of it with me. They were here because they knew I couldn't survive telling it alone.
Dario was asleep in the other room, close enough that we'd hear him if he woke, but far enough away not to hear what I was about to say.
No one spoke. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the steady ticking of the grandfather clock down the hallway.
Dad finally broke the silence.
“You don't have to do this tonight.”
His voice was gentle, careful.
“If you're not ready...”
“I'll never be ready,” I admitted. “I've just decided I'm done running from it.”
Silence settled over the room again.
I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath. It didn't calm the storm inside me, but it steadied me enough to begin.
“My earliest memories aren't happy ones.”
My voice sounded distant, as though someone else were telling the story while I simply listened.
“I spent most of my childhood moving from one foster home to another. Every time I started learning people's names, it was time to leave again. Different houses. Different schools. Different promises that were never kept.”
A humourless smile tugged at my lips.
“After a while, I stopped believing anywhere could actually be home.”
The room remained silent, but I could feel every pair of eyes fixed on me.
“Eventually, I was placed with Jacqueline and Joseph. They were no different from the others. They didn't care about me; they only cared about the money that came with keeping me alive.”
I looked down at my hands, forcing myself to continue.
“When I was eleven, I was walking home from school because Jackeline had forgotten to pick me up. A black van pulled alongside me, and before I could react, a group of men jumped out.”
My throat tightened as the memory dragged me backwards.
“I fought. God, I fought so hard.”
The words caught in my throat.
“But it wasn't enough. They drugged me, threw me into the van, and everything went black.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks, but I let them fall.
“When I woke up, I didn't know where I was. I remember opening my eyes and seeing nothing but concrete. Bare walls. A freezing floor beneath me. The only way in or out was a heavy metal door.”
I paused, staring into the fire.
“I knew I'd been kidnapped. I knew whoever had taken me hadn't made a mistake. But I was eleven, and some part of me still believed someone would realise I was gone and come looking for me.”
I swallowed hard.
“No one came.”
The words settled over the room like a weight. I could hear uneven breathing somewhere to my left, but no one interrupted.
“I don't know how many days passed before the door finally opened. Time didn't exist in that basement. There was no sunlight to mark the hours, no clock on the wall, nothing except silence.”
I drew a shaky breath.
“The first thing I heard was footsteps. Slow, steady footsteps echoing through the corridor outside. Whoever was walking towards me wasn't in a hurry. They already knew there was nowhere I could run.”
My heart pounded against my ribs as though I were eleven again.
“The lock turned, and the door swung open.”
I lifted my eyes.
“And the first person I saw was Ivan Volkov.”
Even now, after all these years, saying his name aloud made my stomach twist.
“He wasn't shouting. He wasn't angry.” I shook my head slowly, my eyes fixed on the floor. “He smiled.”
A chill ran through me at the memory.
“I've met monsters who screamed while they tortured people. Ivan was different. He smiled at children. He spoke softly. He made you think he was kind until you realised every word that came out of his mouth was another knife.”
The room remained deathly quiet.
“He crouched until we were the same height and just... looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled again and told me I was going to become something beautiful.”
My fingers curled tighter together.
“He said he was going to turn me into a monster.”
I could still hear every word as clearly as if he'd whispered them in my ear yesterday.
“He told me to mourn my old life while I still remembered it because, sooner or later, I wouldn't remember being Sabrina anymore.”
A hollow laugh escaped me, though there wasn't a trace of amusement in it.
“I thought he was insane. I genuinely believed he was trying to scare me. I kept telling myself that if I ever got out, I'd tell the police everything. They'd arrest him, and somehow I'd find my way back to the life I'd lost.”
I looked up, meeting Dad's tear-filled eyes.
“I didn't understand that my old life had already ended the moment that van door closed.”
Silence settled over the room once more before I forced myself to continue.
“I tried escaping more times than I can remember. Every opportunity, I took it. I stole keys, climbed fences, squeezed through windows that were far too small, and ran until my legs felt like they were going to give out beneath me.”
I paused, swallowing hard.
“Every single time, I thought I was getting closer to freedom.”
My smile disappeared.
“I wasn't.”
Confusion flickered across several faces.
“Ivan never stopped me because he wanted me to believe I could escape. He wanted me to feel hope. Every locked door I managed to open, every corridor I found, every path I thought I'd discovered had been left there on purpose.”
I could almost hear his laughter.
“It wasn't a security failure. It was entertainment.”
He enjoyed watching me believe I was going home, only to take that hope away again.
I stared into the flames, watching them blur through the tears gathering in my eyes.
“One day, I truly believed I'd done it. I made it out of the compound without anyone seeing me and ran until my lungs burned. I was convinced that if I could just find a police station– or even another adult – everything would finally be over.”
For a moment, I could almost feel it again.
Hope.
“I found a busy street. People walked around me like I didn't exist. I begged them for help. I begged them to call the police.”
I looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes before continuing.
“At first, I thought they were ignoring me. Then I looked up at the shop signs.”
The memory struck with the same force it always had.
“Nothing was written in English. Every road sign, every billboard, every conversation around me was in a language I'd never seen before.”
I slowly shook my head.
“That was the moment I realised I hadn't just been taken from Los Angeles. I'd been taken from my country.”
I swallowed.
“I was thousands of miles from home.”
The words barely left my lips before my voice broke.
“And for the first time in my life... I truly believed no one was ever going to find me.”
For several long moments, I couldn't continue. My eyes remained fixed on the floor as I fought against the memories threatening to pull me back into that basement. Even now, years later, those first weeks in Russia still felt like wounds that had never fully healed.
“When they brought me back after that first escape, I expected Ivan to be furious,” I said quietly. “I thought he'd scream at me or have someone beat me for trying to run away.”
Another humourless smile crossed my face.
“He did neither. Instead, he congratulated me.”
A ripple of confusion spread through the room.
“He smiled and told me I'd done well. He said I had spirit, that most children gave up much sooner, and that breaking someone with a strong will was far more satisfying.”
I took a slow breath, looking down at my hands.
“I kept telling myself that as long as I refused to give in, he couldn't change who I was.”
The words were harder to admit than I expected.
“I was wrong.”
The crackling fire filled the silence, but no one spoke. They were waiting for me to continue, even if every word seemed to hurt them almost as much as it hurt me.
“After that, every day became the same. Someone would unlock my door, take me upstairs and begin my training. Every hour of my day was controlled. Every meal, every conversation and every movement belonged to someone else.”
The memories came so easily that it felt as though I'd never really left those corridors.
“I learned quickly that refusing wasn't an option. If I disobeyed, they beat me until I obeyed. If I cried or begged them to stop, they laughed. It didn't matter how stubborn I was or how much I hated them; they always found a way to remind me they were in control.”
When I looked up again, Dad's face was streaked with tears.
“The worst part wasn't the violence,” I said quietly. “It was what they did to my mind.”
The room seemed to grow even quieter.
“They taught me that hope was dangerous. Every time I believed I was making progress, they destroyed it. Every time I trusted someone, that trust was used against me. Every time I thought I was going home, they proved me wrong.”
I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat before continuing.
“Eventually, I stopped trying to escape. Not because I wanted to stay, but because he'd convinced me there was nowhere left to run.”
My voice grew quieter.
“By then, he'd already started taking away the only thing I had left.”
No one spoke.
“He took my name.”
The words settled over the room with a weight that stole the air from it.
“No one was allowed to call me Sabrina anymore. Anyone who did was punished. The only name I heard was the one Ivan had chosen for me.”