Chapter 21 #2
I climbed out, locked the door, and headed for the elevator, hugging my jacket tighter around myself even though the garage was warm.
The elevator groaned as it descended. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked pale. Wide-eyed. Like I wasn’t entirely here.
Like I already knew whatever was on that USB would ruin something I hadn’t even begun to understand.
The doors opened. I stepped into the hallway, keys rattling in my hand. Each step felt heavier, like my body already knew what my mind was trying to deny.
When I reached my apartment, I unlocked the door and shut it behind me harder than I meant to, flipping the lock with shaking fingers.
I didn’t even bother to take off my shoes. I dropped the keys, the bag, and the weight I’d been carrying since I left Anna’s, and then I stood in the middle of the living room… pacing .
Back and forth. Breathing too fast.
The USB was still in my hand. I looked at it. I wanted to throw it. I wanted to crush it under my heel and pretend none of this was happening. Pretend Anna was just tired. That Rafael’s silence meant nothing.
But pretending had never protected anyone. Not in my world.
I moved toward the kitchen table where my laptop sat and dropped the USB down next to it, then stared at it for a second like it might explode.
Then I opened the laptop. The screen blinked to life. One folder appeared the second I plugged it in. No label. Just one file. A sound file.
I hesitated—hovered my finger over the trackpad—then clicked it. At first, it was just static. Then… voices. Muffled. Male. Speaking Russian. Low. Abrupt. Clipped.
And then… English. Translated words, distorted just enough to feel wrong :
“It’s done. The girl is marked. We move on the parents.”
“Leave her alive. She’s more useful that way.”
“No mistakes. Clean. Fast.”
“Romanov approves. It came from the top.”
My heart stopped. My skin went ice cold. Romanov. Rafael’s name.
No—no, it couldn’t?—
The voices bled back into Russian, skipping, crackling. A splice. A stutter.
“One shot. Through the windshield. The father first.”
“What about the girl?”
“She’s a child. She won’t remember.”
And then— Silence. Abrupt. Final.
My hands were shaking. I closed the laptop, stumbled backward like the words were still playing in the room. The USB was still sticking out of the port like a weapon. Small. Sharp. Deadly.
My vision blurred. My pulse roared in my ears. They had something to do with it. The Russians. Him.
Rafael.
Had he known?
Had he been in on it ?
I staggered to the counter and gripped the edge with both hands like it could hold me together, but nothing was working. My thoughts weren’t lining up anymore. They were frayed wires. Sharp. Sparking.
Had he known who I was the entire time?
Was that why he found me?
Was that why Anna had looked at me like that?
I backed away from the table like the USB might come alive and bite me. I didn’t even know what I was feeling anymore. Rage. Fear. Betrayal. All of it. Too much. Too fast.
And all I knew, all I could feel—deep in my gut—was that I wasn’t safe here anymore. Not with what I knew now. And definitely not with him.
I didn’t even realize I was moving until I felt the floor under my bare feet. Cold. Solid. Too real. My body moved on instinct while my mind spiraled somewhere else—still replaying the voices. The clipped words. The name.
Romanov approves.
I could still hear it, over and over, like it was burned into the air around me.
I walked to my bedroom with hands that didn’t feel like mine and opened the top drawer of my nightstand. The gun was right where I left it.
I’d forgotten I even had it until now—one of those things you keep for emergencies, locked in a drawer, hoping you never have to touch it. But tonight?
This was the emergency.
I picked it up. Cold metal. Heavy. It didn’t feel strange in my hand. That scared me more than anything else.
I checked the clip. Loaded. Clean. Safety on. I shoved it into the side pocket of my bag and zipped it halfway, just enough to keep it hidden, but easy to reach.
My keys were on the kitchen counter. I grabbed them without a second thought, the familiar jingle sounding far too normal in the quiet of the apartment that no longer felt like mine.
I didn’t turn off the lights. Didn’t leave a note. Didn’t second guess myself. I walked out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator without stopping.
The doors closed. I watched my reflection in the mirror as the numbers ticked down. My face was pale. Tired. But not weak. Not anymore.
The garage was almost empty when I stepped out, my footsteps echoing off the concrete like the world had cleared a path for me. I walked to my car and slid inside, gripping the steering wheel so hard my fingers ached.
I didn’t waste time. I started the engine and pulled out.
The city outside was muted—headlights, shadows, the low hum of music from someone’s open window as I passed. But I didn’t hear it. Not really.
All I could hear was his voice in my head. Every lie. Every look. Every touch.
Was it all a game?
Was I just a piece on his board?
My chest tightened, but I kept my foot steady on the gas.
He’d promised me honesty. He’d looked me in the eye and told me I was his. And I’d believed him.
I’d let myself fall—deep, recklessly, without hesitation. I’d let myself belong to him in ways I’d never belonged to anyone.
And now?
Now I didn’t even know if the man I let into my bed was the one who signed off on my family’s execution.
A chill rippled down my spine. He knew who I was. He had to. That’s why he pulled away. That’s why Anna disappeared. That’s why everything changed the moment we got back from Italy.
He was hiding something. Or everything . And I wasn’t going to wait another second to find out what.
I turned off the main road and headed toward the gate I knew would be guarded, but I didn’t care. If they tried to stop me, they’d fail.
I’d scream, fight, do whatever I had to—but I would see him. And he would give me answers. I didn’t care if it ended in blood. I was done being left in the dark.
The headlights cut through the dark stretch of private road like a blade, illuminating the wrought iron gate looming just ahead.
His gate. The one I’d driven through before. The one I was always allowed past. But tonight? Tonight I wasn’t waiting for permission.
My pulse thundered in my ears. My grip on the steering wheel was bone-deep. Every nerve in me screamed for movement—for confrontation. I needed to see his face. Needed to hear him say it.
That it wasn’t true. That it wasn’t him . That it was all some fucked up mistake. But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed that was possible anymore.
My phone lit up on the dashboard just as I was pulling in front of the gate. Kellan. I stared at the screen for a beat—his name burning through the dark. I hit decline. A second later, it rang again.
Persistent. Just like always.
I declined it again, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. But then a third time—because of course he wouldn’t let it go. I hit accept this time, more out of anger than patience.
“Isabella—” he started.
“Stop calling me,” I snapped, voice sharp, colder than I meant it. “Not now.”
And then I hung up. I didn’t care if he was calling to warn me, to talk me down, to beg me not to do what I was about to do.
He was too late. They all were.
I switched the phone off completely and tossed it onto the passenger seat like I wanted it as far away from me as possible.
Then I parked—right in front of Rafael’s garage—and threw the door open. The air outside was cool, but I barely felt it. Not over the fire burning beneath my skin.
I stalked toward the gate. One of the guards stepped out, hand raised like I was some visitor in need of instruction.
“Ma’am, I need to ask?—”
I pulled the gun out before he even finished the sentence.
He froze.
I didn’t aim it. Didn’t have to. I held it steady, my hand firm, gaze unwavering.
“Move. Now.”
He did. Smart.
I didn’t stop to think what would’ve happened if he hadn’t.
I stormed through the gate, heart pounding with every step, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots sounding like thunder in my ears. The house rose in front of me—sharp, cold, familiar. Once a place that held heat and breath and memory.
Now?
Just a cage of lies.
The doors weren’t locked. I threw them open and stepped inside, every light off, shadows sprawling across marble like secrets.
“Rafael!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the silence. “Where the hell are you?!”
Nothing. Only stillness. The kind that wraps around you like a warning.
I stalked through the foyer, down the hall, past the kitchen and the lounge—nothing. Empty. The anger kept me warm. Kept me focused. Until I reached his office.
I shoved the door open. Dark. But I didn’t hesitate. I flipped the light on and crossed the room in seconds, eyes scanning every surface. Empty whiskey glass. Closed laptop. A faint trace of his scent still in the air—rich, dark, intoxicating. It only made me angrier.
I moved behind the desk and started opening drawers. One by one. Rummaging through files, letters, records. Nothing labeled. Everything tucked away too neatly.
“Come on…” I muttered, yanking the next one open harder than I needed to. I was done being passive. Done waiting for truth to be handed to me like I hadn’t already lost enough.
He didn’t want to talk? Fine. Then I’d tear the answers out of whatever he left behind.
I yanked open another drawer. Files. Notes. Nothing that mattered. The next—just blank envelopes, stationary, some stray bullets tossed in beside a leather-bound journal with no writing inside. All of it neat. Meticulous. Just like him.