Chapter 21 #4
Now I didn’t even know if he was the reason they died. The man I’d let own every inch of me might’ve been the one who pulled the trigger. Or stood behind the man who did.
My grip on the gun tightened. I stared ahead, wind biting into my skin like it wanted to peel me open.
And then—I heard it. Tires on gravel. Crunching. Slow. Deliberate. Headlights bathed me in harsh white. I didn’t move.
The engine cut. Silence followed. Heavy. Thick. Like even the night was holding its breath.
I didn’t turn around. I stood at the edge, gun still clutched to my chest, my spine burning with tension. My throat ached from holding back everything I wanted to scream.
I knew it was him. Of course it was him. I could feel him before he even stepped out. Like his presence warped the air. Like the earth shifted beneath him.
And then— The door opened. Footsteps. Measured. Controlled. Then a voice. Low. Familiar. That voice I knew in the dark, in the quiet, in the heat of a breathless night.
“Isabella.”
His voice hit me like a wave I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t move. Not at first. I kept my eyes forward, watching the horizon bleed into nothing, my chest rising and falling too fast. My throat burned. My hands trembled around the gun pressed to my ribs.
But then I felt it— him —moving closer. His footsteps were quiet. Careful. Measured like he thought I’d shatter if he made the wrong sound.
He didn’t get to do that. He didn’t get to approach me like I was some fragile thing he’d just discovered. Not after everything.
I turned. Fast. Fury burning through my skin, my eyes locking on his, and the second I saw that face—calm, unreadable, his —the scream ripped from my throat.
“You should’ve told me!”
My voice cracked.
He stilled.
“I heard the tape,” I snapped. “I heard it, Rafael. Your name. Romanov approves. You—your people—your family—they killed my parents!”
He opened his mouth, but I wasn’t finished. I took a step closer, the wind whipping between us, tears blurring my vision even as I glared at him.
“And even after that… even after everything … I didn’t find out from you that you were engaged.” The words sliced out of me, sharp as the wind. “I had to find the contract in your office like some dirty little secret—like I was just something to fuck while you planned a life with someone else.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. Not yet.
“Say something,” I hissed. “Lie to me. Deny it. Tell me you didn’t know who I was, tell me you weren’t behind it, tell me I wasn’t just part of some deal or war or whatever the fuck this has been to you. ”
He finally stepped forward. I raised the gun. Right between us.
My arm didn’t shake, but my heart did. My fingers curled tighter around the grip, the safety still off. The metal felt hot in my hand, even against the cold.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. He kept walking. Until the barrel pressed against his chest.
He reached up… and slowly wrapped his hand around mine. Around the gun. And without a word, he pressed it harder into his heart.
“Then pull the trigger,” he said quietly. “If you think I’m the reason you lost them—if you really believe that—then end it right now, Isa. I won’t stop you.”
The sound of my breath caught. He looked at me. Not with cold detachment, not with fury. But with something heavier. Something cracked and open .
“But know this—if I’d wanted you gone, you wouldn’t be standing here. You would’ve never made it to New York. You would’ve never stepped foot in my house. And I would’ve never looked at you the way I do now, with every goddamn breath in my body fighting the instinct to burn the world for you.”
Tears slid down my face without permission. I hated them. I hated that his words hit me where it still hurt. Where it always would.
“You kept me in the dark,” I said, voice hollow. “You shut me out and vanished and let me unravel alone.”
“Because if I told you everything,” he breathed, “I knew I’d lose you.”
“You already did.”
Silence fell between us. The gun was still pressed to his chest. His hand was still wrapped around mine. And my whole body was shaking. Not with fear. But with the weight of what I didn’t want to believe.
The wind curled around us like it knew something I didn’t. The gun was still between us.
My arm was stiff, jaw clenched so tight I could barely speak. But my thoughts— God , they wouldn’t stop screaming.
Every memory. Every kiss. Every word I wanted to believe, tangled up with the ones I heard on that goddamn USB. And he just stood there. Still. Steady. Eyes locked on mine like he was daring me to see him.
Not the man I built in my head. Not the one I wanted him to be. But the man who was standing here now. Unmoving. Unarmed. Unafraid.
He could’ve grabbed the gun. He could’ve lied. But instead…
“I’m not behind your family’s death,” he said, voice low. Steady. “And neither is anyone with my name. Not my father. Not the Bratva. Not my men.”
My pulse thudded in my ears.
“The voice on that recording was edited. Stitched together. Meant to look real, to sound real. But it wasn’t.” His grip on my hand tightened around the gun. “You’re being played, Isabella. Just like I was once.”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He stepped closer—slowly—and I didn’t stop him.
“And I’m not engaged.” His voice dropped even lower. “I never agreed to that contract. I didn’t sign it. I never intended to. You’re the only thing I’ve wanted since the second you slammed a door in my face and looked at me like you knew I’d burn.”
My throat clenched. I wanted— God , I wanted to believe him. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not just because he said it.
I pulled the gun back just a little. Not lowering it. Just… adjusting. My hand still trembling.
“You expect me to just believe that?” I breathed, eyes burning. “That everything I’ve heard—everything I saw —was a lie?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I expect you to question it. Because that’s what keeps you alive in this world.”
“Then tell me why , Rafael. Why the voice said your name. Why Anna’s hiding. Why I was handed proof— proof —and you disappeared for five days like I didn’t exist.”
The flash of pain in his expression was quick—but I saw it.
“Because I was trying to protect you,” he said. “Because I didn’t know how to tell you that someone is using your past—and mine—as a weapon. That there are pieces moving you can’t see yet. And if you’d known too early, you would’ve walked right into it.”
“And now?”
“Now you already have.”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. Eyes dark, but open. Shoulders squared, but not rigid. He looked… tired. Worn. Frustrated. But not angry. Not scared. And not guilty.
But still— “I want to believe you,” I whispered. “But I can’t.”
“Then don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t believe me because you want to. Believe me when I prove it.”
I swallowed hard, my hands aching from how tightly I was holding the gun. “You better be telling the truth, Rafael.”
“I always have been.”
The gun still pressed to his chest. His hand still curled around mine. And I wanted— God , I wanted—to lower it. But I couldn’t. Because the moment I did, I didn’t know who I’d be anymore.
His words sat heavy in the space between us, thick with conviction. Not begging. Not trying to talk his way out of anything. Just truth , laid bare like it didn’t terrify him to let me decide what came next.
“You’re the only thing I’ve wanted…”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to shoot something— anything —just to feel control in a world that kept tearing it from me.
My breath caught, sharp in my throat, and my finger hovered just beside the trigger. And then I heard it. The first engine. Then another. And another.
Headlights sliced through the trees behind us—bright, blinding beams that moved like searchlights across the gravel. I turned my head sharply, Rafael doing the same, and in seconds… they were everywhere.
SUVs. Four, five, then more. Blacked-out, sleek, tactical. Doors flew open in perfect sync. Men stepped out.
Twenty, maybe thirty of them. Uniformed. Heavy boots. Faces covered in black balaclavas. Rifles locked against their chests, their formation military-perfect—tight and sharp like they’d done this a hundred times before.
My pulse exploded. What the hell ? —
Rafael’s arm slammed in front of me. “Behind me.”
I didn’t move fast enough. They were already closing in. One voice shouted in Russian— short, clipped, authoritative. Guns were raised.
“Rafael—”
“Don’t speak,” he growled, eyes flicking across them like he was counting exits. “Stay still.”
But I couldn’t. I took a step back. My gun still in my hand, though it felt useless now. I didn’t even see where they came from—how they flanked so quickly—but within seconds, three of them had Rafael.
Two grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back. Another jammed a rifle into his spine. “ Klyanysya na koleni! ” — Get on your knees.
“No—” I started, lunging forward.
Someone grabbed me from behind. Rough hands yanked my wrists, twisting them behind my back, forcing me to drop the gun.
I struggled. Hard.
“Get your hands off me!”
But it was no use. They were trained.
I thrashed, teeth clenched, fury burning through my veins—but they dragged me back anyway.
I caught Rafael’s eyes just as they forced him down. His knees hit the gravel. His head was high. Shoulders straight, even as one of the men shoved the muzzle of a rifle to the back of his skull.
His eyes were only on me. Even then .
“Rafael—”
“Don’t fight,” he said, voice calm. Controlled. But I saw it—the tightness in his jaw, the barely restrained rage in his eyes. “Not yet.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
Boots crunched around us as the men formed a wide circle—guns up, formation tight. Not sloppy. Not rushed. This wasn’t an ambush thrown together in panic. This was planned . Organized. Prepared.
They knew we’d be here.