Page 108 of Inevitable Endings
Dominik looks at her, his expression calm as always, but I can see the subtle shift in his posture, his focus sharpening. He nods once, the gesture simple but enough to signal she has his attention.
Ada takes a breath, then asks carefully, “You mentioned that some of the men in the bunker had connections to the Gambino mafia family.”
I hold my breath, watching them both. Dominik nods, his face unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he knows more than he’s letting on.
Ada moves quickly, reaching for her phone with precision. She flicks through a few images, then holds one up to Dominik. My heart races in my chest; the images she showed us about an hour ago appear. The shows him the handwritten annotations with the two different names, but the same handwriting.
Ada doesn’t give him a moment to reply before flicking to the next picture, showing the cryptic initials “N.K” and the name ‘Sal’with scribbles drawn through it. She points to it, her finger steady, but her eyes are searching him, waiting.
I feel my pulse quicken as I watch Dominik lean in, squinting at the phone screen. The subtle shift in his expression catches my attention; the way his brow furrows, the tightness in his lips. He’s processing it, I can tell, but I don’t know what he’s seeing or thinking yet.
Ada’s voice cuts through the tension, direct and clear. “Do you know who these men are?” she asks. “N.K. is Nick King, he worked in the maximum-security prison as the security head. He was Isabella’s boss, he arrested Aslanov before he disappeared. His handwriting is the same as the handwriting of this man named Lorenzo, and does the abbreviation of ‘Sal’ring any bells?”
I can feel the weight of the silence pressing in on all of us. The room feels still, too still, as Dominik looks from the photos to Ada, then back to the screen. There’s no immediate answer, no quick response. But something shifts in his gaze. Something in the way he takes in the details tells me that he knows.
The silence in the room grows thicker as Dominik leans over the notepad, his fingers gripping the pen with a deliberate calmness. He writes, his hand steady but purposeful as he carefully forms the words, as though he’s giving weight to every single letter. I can see the concentration etched into his face, the way his eyes flick from the notepad to the phone and back again. It’s like he’s putting together the last pieces of a puzzle,one he’s been working on for far longer than any of us could have imagined.
His pen scratches across the paper as he writes, and I lean in just a bit, barely able to keep my breath steady as I wait for him to finish.
“This is very secretive information, you obtained it before me. This is a crack in the case. Lorenzo is Antonio Lorenzo, the current heir of the Gambino family. The Bratva and the Gambino’s have been rivals ever since existence. He hid, most likely, under the fake name Nick King. He got close to Aslanov by being a rat in the police force. Then that didn’t go as planned, and once he found Aslanov again, he took matters in his own hands.”
The words are deliberate, measured, as if he’s trying to make sense of something that has taken months to understand.
“I have been searching for months for him,”he writes,“but more and more men were unworthy of trust. More things happened that gained my attention. We had no lead, or rats made sure we had none. The bodies of the men with Bratva marks proof that there are plenty of rats—traitors.”
He takes another pause, his pen resting against the paper. I nod at him, ever so slightly.
“In the beginning, I felt nothing of the trembling and shifts in the organization,”he continues, each word more deliberate than the last,“I was mourning. I didn’t accept my position as pakhan immediately after hearing the news.”
The pen stops moving, and the room feels heavy, suffocating. Dominik leans back, his expression unreadable as he watches me, waiting for my reaction. The silence is thick between us now, filled with all the things unsaid. My mind races, trying to piece together the chaos, the secrets, the lies.
‘‘You... didn’t accept your position right away?’’ I ask, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. There’s a tightnessin my chest, like my heart is clenching at the thought of him, of what he’s been through. Of how much he’s had to carry alone. I always had a feeling Dominik wouldn’t want the position.
He shakes his head slightly, a subtle gesture, but it confirms everything I had already suspected. Dominik never wanted this. He never asked for this burden. And yet, here he is, shouldering it all, carrying the weight of an entire organization on his shoulders.
I bite my lip, the words bubbling up before I can stop them. ‘‘I know the name of a traitor,’’ I say quietly, my voice steady but with an edge of uncertainty.
His eyes flicker, a spark of interest, though the confusion still lingers in the furrow of his brow. ‘‘Tsepov,’’ I continue, watching him closely, ‘‘and possibly Monya. Two men I encountered on my way to get into the organization.’’
Dominik’s brow furrows deeper as he processes the names, his mind working quickly, trying to place them.
I take a breath, holding his gaze. ‘‘I was planning to get to you through them,’’ I explain slowly, feeling the weight of my own words. ‘‘To talk to you, praying you would help me and would know more about Aslanov. So, I had to start somewhere. And these men... they were my first clues.’’
I pause, letting the tension hang in the air for a moment, before adding, ‘‘That didn’t end so well though.’’
Dominik shakes his head, a faint flicker of disbelief crossing his features. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to understand the weight of his disapproval. The way his lips press into a thin line, the subtle tightening of his jaw—it’s clear. He’s frustrated, but it’s not anger. It’s the quiet frustration of someone who’s seen too many reckless moves before.
‘‘I didn’t know what else to do.’’
Dominik doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns to the paper.
He pauses for a moment, the pen hovering, before he finishes the sentence.‘‘Don’t do anything stupid like that anymore without me, okay? Promise me.’’
His eyes flick to me then, holding my gaze firmly, waiting for an answer. There’s no mistaking it. He’s serious. He’s not asking for my promise lightly. It’s a command wrapped in care, a line he’s drawing in the sand that I can’t ignore.
I hesitate for just a second, feeling the full gravity of the request, before I nod. “Okay, I promise.”
“Okay, and now what is that about with youneverlistening to me when I ask you something?” Ada hisses, her words tinged with light irritation.
