Page 67 of Inevitable Endings
I tilt my head slightly, keeping my expression carefully neutral. “So,” I say, my voice steady, “are we going to keep dancing around this, or are you going to tell me why I’m here?”
Tsepov hums, as if considering whether or not I deserve an answer. He reaches for his glass, swirling the dark liquid before taking a slow sip. Then he sets it down with deliberate ease, his fingers lingering against the rim.
“You’re more trustworthy,” he says suddenly.
The statement catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. I lean back slightly in my chair. “That’s an interesting assumption,” I say. “We’ve known each other for approximately three minutes.”
His eyes glint with something sharp. “And yet, I know more about you than you think.”
I resist the urge to shift in my seat. “Oh?”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk, close enough that I can see the faint scar running along his knuckles. “You were Karamazov’s girl.”
My breath catches.
It’s only for a fraction of a second, just a single misstep, a heartbeat too quick, a flicker of something in my eyes, but Tsepov notices. Of course, he does.
I lean forward slightly trying to get it right again, my eyes narrowing, matching the sharpness of his gaze. ‘‘You know, Tsepov,’’ I say, my voice calm but laced with something colder, ‘‘you’re not exactly the picture of trustworthiness yourself.’’
His brow raises, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh? Enlighten me.”
I don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. “Your name is in the fire case file, relating back to Aslanov. Don’t think I didn’t notice.’’
His expression hardens almost imperceptibly, but the mask doesn’t slip. Not yet. He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes another deliberate sip from his glass, the ice clinkingfaintly as he sets it down. The silence between us grows thick, as if the room itself is waiting for his answer.
Tsepov’s lips curve slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. ‘‘You’re sharp,” he says, his voice low, like he’s trying to decide if that’s a compliment or a warning. ‘‘And you’re right. My name is in that file. But I wasn’t there. None of the men mentioned were. Someone is trying to frame me, and I’m not exactly thrilled about it.”
The words drop into the space between us like a heavy weight. I take a moment to digest the implication of what he’s saying. He isn’t here to threaten me or play games—he’s telling me there’s something bigger at play, something darker that he’s not in control of.
He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and his eyes flicker toward the window, as if he’s already bored with the subject but can’t help himself from revealing more. “I’ve been old friends with Aslanov for years. That’s the kind of friendship that doesn’t just disappear. I’m not here to play politics or games with your investigation. I’m here because I think something’s wrong, and I think you’re on to something.”
I narrow my gaze, trying to process what he’s hinting at. “What do you mean?”
His eyes flicker toward the window for a moment before he turns back to me, voice lowering to a level that feels almost conspiratorial. “A shift is happening in the bottom, and we up here can feel it. People below me are disappearing into thin air. Shipments going wrong. Things are starting to unravel, Isabella. The Odessa group has been targeted. We’re concerned.”
I feel my stomach tighten, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s more than just a missing person or a power struggle going on. This is something deeper, something far more dangerous.
“I’ve been watching,” he continues, leaning forward again, hisvoice now low but steady. “I think you’re right; apakhandoesn’t disappear, especially not like that.”
He is giving me the information I want, just like that.
I take a slow breath, trying to keep my composure. “And where do I come in?”
Tsepov’s gaze hardens. “You want to find him, don’t you? Whether you’re finding a body or a breathing man, I don’t know for sure, but something is wrong. You need to climb the ranks, get closer to the core; theVor v Zakone. And I can help you do that. Don’t trust anyone. Not even me.”
Of course, he knows my plan.
His words land with finality. I know he’s right. I can’t afford to trust anyone completely. Not even him. But I can’t ignore the reality either, if I want to find Aslanov, I need all the help I can get, even if that help comes with strings attached.
“And what’s in it for you?” I ask, the suspicion still lingering in my voice.
Tsepov shrugs slightly, a cold smile playing on his lips. “I’ve spent years watching this system. Now it’s my turn to control it. To make sure it doesn’t implode from the inside. If this power shift isn’t stopped, I’ll lose grip on the power I’ve carefully gained. I need it to be fixed.’’
He wants power.
“I’ll open the door for you, you just have to climb,” he continues, his gaze unwavering. “And you’re going to imply a good word for me once you get up there.”
I nod slowly, the uncertainty swirling inside me. I don’t fully trust him, but right now, I have no other choice.
