Page 81 of Inevitable Endings
Monya’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something there, a flicker of consideration, the briefest pause. He was alreadyaware.
‘‘And?’’ he prompts.
I hold his gaze. ‘‘He said if I want to get information about Aslanov, I have to climb the ranks. That I have to bring the truth to the wolves before the lies consume everything. And he said you’d be my first step up the ladder.’’
Monya watches me in silence.
Then, slowly, he exhales, reaching for a cigarette from a silver case on his desk. He lights it, the end glowing softly as he takes a long drag. The smoke curls between us, thick and hazy.
‘‘So Tsepov wants power,’’ he muses. ‘‘That’s nothing new.’’ He exhales, tapping the ash into a small tray. ‘‘But what about you, Isabella?’’
I don’t blink. ‘‘I want answers.’’
His lips curl slightly. ‘‘About Karamazov?’’
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady but my thoughts shifting. I know what he’s doing. He’s poking at me, trying to unsettle me. But I can’t show him it’s working.
Monya leans back in his chair, his hands folding behind his head, elbows spread wide. His eyes flicker with something darker, like he’s enjoying this—whatever this is. He’s playing a game with me, one I didn’t sign up for. But I’m here now, and I’m not backing down.
‘‘You’re so sure you’ll find him, aren’t you?’’ he muses, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘‘You’re sure you’ll find more than a dead man, Isabella?’’
His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Because the files say Aslanov is dead. Officially. The Bratva believes it. I believe it.” He leans back in his chair, eyes flickering toward the window, as if the very thought of questioning the truth of Aslanov’s death is beneath him. “Until there’s proof to the contrary, it’s our reality.”
I don’t flinch. His skepticism is what I expected. But it’s his next words that hit harder.
“I feel it.” he says, almost to himself, as if testing the air. “The shift in the underworld. It’s crawling its way up, like a sickness, an illness infecting everything it touches. The absence of Karamazov... It’s like a hole in the system, and everything below is fighting to fill it. Rats, Isabella, rats everywhere, scrambling, clawing at anything they can get their hands on. But that doesn’t change the fact that Karamazov is declared dead.”
Pain.
“The men in the Bratva, they’re scared. The lower ranks, the power brokers, they’re all feeling it. They’re scared that someone will take advantage of this power shift. They’re scared of what’s coming.” He glances back at me, his lips curling into a half-smile that’s more a warning than anything else. “But they believe Karamazov is gone, and until someone can prove otherwise,that’s the truth they’ll hold on to. And as far as I’m concerned, you can keep searching for your answers, but you’re not going to find much until you can prove there’s more to the story. Until then... it’s just ghosts.”
The pain stabs deep in my chest, sudden and sharp. He’s right. I have no real proof that Aslanov is still alive, just whispers, just a gut feeling that something isn’t right. The silence that follows presses against me like a weight, suffocating the hope I’ve been clinging to.
A hollow silence falls between us. His words have landed, but I don’t let them settle into my bones. He’s testing me, trying to see if I’ll break under the weight of his certainty. But I won’t let him see that crack. Not now.
I hold his gaze, unblinking, even as the sting of uncertainty lingers.
“You’re right about one thing,” I say, my voice steady but edged with the bite of my challenge. “There’s fear. But the fear isn’t just because of Aslanov’s absence. It’s because someone out there is threatening to take more power than they ever thought possible. They might not even know who yet, but they feel it. They’re scared that if the power shifts any further, they’ll lose everything.”
Monya raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity passing over his face. “And what makes you think someone’s threatening them with more power?” He leans forward slightly, his tone now curious but dangerous, like he’s testing how far I’ll push.
“Because,” I press, “these lower ranks, the ones disappearing, the ones being picked off one by one, how is that happening? The Odessa group, the shipments going wrong. If things were stable, if everything was running as usual, they wouldn’t be infiltrated. They wouldn’t be vanishing. These are stable groups, stable men. Without information about these groups and people, nobody would know their exact identities and locations. Yet,they knew.’’ I challenge him with my words, daring him to question the truth for once.
The files I’ve been hyper-fixating on lately have taught me a lot.
The silence that follows feels heavy. Monya doesn’t move, doesn’t speak right away. He’s studying me, assessing whether I’m just a naive woman grasping at straws or if I’m onto something he hasn’t yet considered.
“I don’t know,” he finally mutters, his voice colder now, more guarded. ‘‘Maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t mean it’s any of your concern. Often, women are left behind by their men in this world. You are no exception.’’
“No, I am indeed not,” I say, my voice soft but unwavering, hurt clinging to my chest like a bloodsucker. “But it’s everyone’s concern. And yours too, Monya. The men at the top are thriving in the chaos, the new power. But if they’re not careful, someone else will climb past them. Someone who’s hungrier. Someone who won’t hesitate to tear it all apart, taking you alongside with it.”
I can feel the air around us growing heavy with something unsaid, something dark.
I don’t break the silence. I watch him, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t shake, the doubt creeping in again.
Finally, he shifts slightly in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as he exhales a deep breath, his face unreadable. “You talk about men at the top, Isabella,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “But you forget something very important. Those at the top don’t lose their place. They make sure they don’t.”
