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warning Whispers of Betrayal contains mature and potentially distressing themes. Please read with care and prioritize your comfort while reading. This story contains: • Organized crime / Bratva • Mafia-related violence • Gun violence • Murder & death • Blood and physical injuries • Kidnapping / abduction • Threats and intimidation • Psychological manipulation • Emotional abuse • Betrayal • Trauma and grief • Stalking / obsessive behaviour • Possessive and toxic relationship dynamics • Strong language • References to drugs / substance use Some themes may be discussed through memories, conversations, or past events rather than depicted directly. Reader discretion is advised.
Table of contents Chapter no 1 Chapter no 2 Chapter no 3 Chapter no 4 Chapter no 5 Chapter no 6 Chapter no 7 Chapter no 8 Chapter no 9 Chapter no 10
Chapter no 1 Run Run. Run. I ran with everything I had, my heart pounding like a hammer in my chest, each breath burning my lungs like they’d caught fire. My feet felt numb like they were barely even mine, yet they kept moving, pushing me forward, faster and faster. The ground beneath me was soft and treacherous, thick mud pulling at my shoes, sucking me down with each step. The icy wind slashed across my face, freezing my skin and numbing my fingers, which I held clenched at my sides. But I couldn’t stop. The sound of footsteps echoed behind me, gaining ground, closer and louder, an unrelenting chase that spurred me to
move faster. I knew who was following me. I’d recognize those faces anywhere. They haunted me, each expression burned into my memory like scars. They were the ones who had broken me, judged me, and tormented me when I was already fragile, already breaking under the weight of my own fears. Images of their faces flickered through my mind, vivid and harsh. I could see them sneering, their eyes hard and unyielding. Every one of them had looked at me as if I were nothing. Less than nothing. My throat closed, a stinging burn rising in my chest, but I forced myself to keep running, even as tears blurred my vision. I had to escape—escape them, escape the past, escape the memories. But then, from somewhere up ahead, a sound cut through the darkness. A woman’s cry, soft and sorrowful, hung in the air like a fog that thickened around me. I froze mid-step, my pulse pounding in my ears. The footsteps behind me stopped, the night falling silent. Only the soft sobs of the woman reached me, a haunting, broken sound that wrapped around me like cold fingers. I looked around, the darkness beginning to dissolve, giving way to a thick, swirling mist. Shadows faded, and suddenly, I wasn’t on that cold, muddy ground anymore. I was at home. Our kitchen stretched out before me, dimly lit and filled with familiar clutter, the worn table, the chipped mug my mother always used, and the half-empty spice rack my brother insisted on organizing. I blinked, disoriented, as I took in the quiet scene. My mother stood by the sink, her back to me, her shoulders hunched as she scrubbed a plate in the running water. The sobbing, her sobbing
filled the room, low and trembling, as if her heart were breaking with every sound. “Anne…” I whispered, my voice barely audible, as if afraid to disturb her. She was crying because of me again. My leaving, my mistakes, she’d been carrying this weight for so long, but I had left it behind me, hadn’t I? I’d left everyone behind, convinced that cutting ties would end the pain. Yet here she was, suffering still. Why, Anne? Why are you still crying?* I wanted to reach out, to tell her everything would be okay, to make her see I was right here. But before I could take a step, another voice broke the silence. “Anne!.…. Anne, where are you?” The voice was familiar, so familiar it stopped me cold. It was my own voice or something close to it. I turned, and for an instant, I thought I was looking at my own reflection. She had my face, my eyes, those same greenish-hazel eyes that were so much like my mother’s. But her gaze didn’t meet mine, it was full of life, and it was just like the old me. Her eyes searched the room, wide and anxious. “There you are, Anne! I was looking everywhere for you.” She smiled. She walked past me, straight to my mother, who quickly wiped her tears and returned to scrubbing the plate, her shoulders tense. The other me moved close to her, leaning over her shoulder and wrapping her arms around her in a gentle embrace. “Look what I brought for you today,” she murmured, her voice tender as she held up a silver bracelet with Anne engraved on it. She lifted it into the dim light, letting it catch the faint gleam from the overhead bulb.
My mother’s shoulders shook harder as she whispered, “Thank you, my beautiful Zeynie .” She turned her face slightly, and in the faint reflection of the kitchen window, I could see the streaks of tears on her cheeks. “Are you crying again, Anne?” the other me whispered, her voice dipping, shifting into something darker, haunted. A shiver ran through my whole body. That was not me, That was not my voice. She suddenly looked in my direction, her eyes collided with mine across the dimly lit kitchen, staring with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “It’s because of you,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath, yet each word hit like a blade sinking into my chest. I struggled to breathe, my lungs heavy and tight, as though they were filling with smoke. Then the voices began. They rose from every corner, every shadowed corner of the room, a cacophony of whispers overlapping, voices from the past, dredged up from the darkest corners of my mind. “She must have done something, or why would he treat her that way…?” “She’s a whore……” “All that innocence, all that sweetness… all an act. I knew it.” The words sliced through me, cutting deep, each one like a jagged shard piercing my skin. My hands flew to my ears, trying to block them out, but they only grew louder, the words pressing in from every direction. “No, please… no!” My voice broke, shattering as I screamed into the empty kitchen, my vision blurring with tears. The voices kept coming,
louder and louder, the words twisting around me, binding me in place and then it was all dark. My eyes flew open, my scream still echoing in my ears. Darkness surrounded me, thick and suffocating, as I lay motionless, the silence settling over me like a blanket. I was in my room. My bed. Safe. I was safe. I took a shaky breath, the cold air filling my lungs and grounding me in the reality of my surroundings. The nightmare lingered, the haunting images seared into my mind, but at least here, I knew where I was. I pressed my hands against the mattress, feeling the solid comfort of the familiar fabric beneath my fingertips. The room was dim, lit only by the faint light filtering through the window beside my bed. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, realizing only then how cold my feet were. They must have slipped out from under the blanket in my sleep. I flexed my toes, feeling the chill as they pressed against the hardwood floor. With a shiver, I reached over to the bedside table and flicked on the lamp, flooding the room with a warm, soft glow. My bedroom was exactly as I’d left it, everything in its place: the stack of books on the dresser, my laptop on the small table where I placed it before sleeping, the framed photos on the wall—each detail anchoring me back to reality. Yet, the paranoia clung to me, the ghostly presence from my dream refusing to let go. I scanned the room, my gaze skimming over the
shadows in every corner, lingering on the closet door slightly ajar. For a moment, the irrational fear took hold, and I found myself stepping toward it, hand hesitating on the knob. I pulled the door open slowly, heart pounding, half expecting to find someone hiding inside. But it was empty, only rows of clothes hanging quietly, and a few scattered shoes on the floor. Letting out a breath, I dropped to my knees, checking under the bed. My fingers skimmed over the bare floorboards, finding nothing. Anyone watching would think I’d lost my mind, but I didn’t care. Satisfied, I got back up, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the last remnants of the nightmare. I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand, my mouth parched. The cool water soothed my dry throat, grounding me further. I set the glass back down and turned to the window beside my bed. It overlooked the small, dimly lit parking lot, which usually stood empty at this hour. I moved closer, peering out into the darkness, my eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the streetlamp casting long, thin shadows over the cars below. I just want to clear my mind from my past maybe. But then, I saw him. A shadowed figure standing still beside one of the cars, his form barely visible against the night. He was facing my window, watching. A chill ran down my spine as I stared, trying to make out his features, but his face was shrouded in darkness. Heart pounding, I leaned closer, hoping the light would shift enough to reveal his face. Just then, something sharp pressed into my foot, and I winced, pulling back. Looking down, I spotted one of my earrings on the floor—the one I’d thought I’d lost weeks ago.
I reached down to pick it up, still glancing over my shoulder toward the window. But when I looked up again, he was gone. The parking lot was empty, the shadows stretching long and silent across the cold ground.
Chapter no 2 I woke up to the relentless buzzing of my alarm, its shrill sound burrowing into my half-conscious mind. Groaning, I reached out blindly, fumbling to turn it off. The warm morning light peeked through the gap in my curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as if offering a gentle contrast to my racing pulse. I lifted my phone from the bedside table, blinking at the screen. 7:45 AM. Panic jolted me upright—my first class started at 8:30. “Of course,” I muttered, throwing off my blankets as I scrambled out of bed, cursing under my breath. My head throbbed as I rushed to the bathroom, a dull ache reminding me of the nightmare that had stolen the night’s sleep. It lingered in fragments: a flash of memories, the familiar faces that haunted me, a feeling of helplessness I couldn’t shake. I splashed my face with cold water, trying to chase away the fatigue. Glancing up, I met my own reflection—a pair of hazel-green eyes stared back, red-rimmed and tired, the same eyes Arda and I inherited from our mother. My hair was a mess of wild, ginger-red waves, a striking shade that always drew attention but, today, only reminded me of how exhausted I looked. I sighed, thinking of Arda, with his dark
brown hair like our father’s, a man I barely remembered. Once, when I was younger, I found a hidden photo of him in Anne’s drawer. She kept his memory tucked away like a secret, never speaking his name, as if the mention alone might tear open old wounds. The remnants of my nightmare flickered behind my eyes, and I closed them, exhaling slowly. “Come on, Zeynep. Focus.” I scrubbed my face, willing myself to wake up fully. There wasn’t time for memories today. After freshening up, I returned to my room and swung open my wardrobe. The limited selection of clothes I’d packed from Ankara hung limply inside. Same simple shirts, different colors; jeans that had already started to fade. I hadn’t brought much. My suitcase lay half-unpacked on the floor as if I couldn’t fully settle here in Istanbul, despite trying to convince myself I had moved on. I sighed, pulling out a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans, and laying them on the bed. As I dressed, I checked the time. 8:00 AM. I didn’t have a second to spare. Breakfast was out of the question. With my bag slung over my shoulder and my coat hastily thrown on, I locked the door and raced down the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the quiet, dim stairwell. My building didn’t have an elevator, so it was a five-flight sprint, something I could do half-asleep by now. Outside, Istanbul greeted me with a brisk morning breeze, the scent of the Bosphorus lingering faintly in the air. The city looked beautiful in the early light, autumn’s colors giving way to winter’s stark chill, the buildings and trees coated in a muted warmth that felt somehow peaceful. I hugged my coat tighter as I hurried through the streets, narrowly dodging passersby, rounding corners, and mumbling apologies when I nearly bumped into them.
Finally, the grand structure of Sabancı University loomed ahead, its spires and pillars bathed in golden sunlight. The gardens stretched out before the building, dotted with patches of students sitting on benches or huddled in groups, sipping coffee, talking in low voices, and laughing. For a fleeting moment, I felt an urge to slow down, to take it all in, but I pushed forward. I couldn’t afford to be late. I rushed inside, took the stairs two at a time, and reached my classroom on the second floor just as the clock hit 8:25. Catching my breath, I slipped inside and spotted Kerem near the window at the back, his usual spot. He glanced up with an amused grin like he’d expected my last-minute dash. Kerem had been my classmate since my first semester here, and he’d somehow made it his mission to reserve the seat beside him for me every morning. He had the kind of boyish charm that made him popular, with dark brown eyes that glinted with mischief and a mess of curly hair. “Late again, kırmızı bebek?” he teased softly, using the nickname he’d coined for me, Red Doll. He said my red hair and green eyes made me look like a doll, though I always brushed it off, secretly flattered. “Nope,” I shot back, lifting my wrist to show him the time. “I’m here exactly on time.” “Barely,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I think that deserves a celebration.” I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help but smile. I was about to fire back a retort when our professor, Elif, entered the room. She strode in with her usual confidence, wearing a crisp white blouse tucked into a green pencil skirt that brushed below her knees. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, not a strand out of place.
“Günaydın,” she greeted us, setting her bag down with a composed smile. Her voice was soft, but it carried authority that settled the room instantly. “How is everyone today?” The students responded, some with half-mumbled greetings, others chatting about deadlines and assignments. I settled into my seat, glancing out the window. The sun illuminated the gardens, where students lounged in the early light, their laughter and chatter faintly drifting up. For a moment, I lost myself in the scene, allowing my mind to drift. “Zeynep,” a voice called sharply, jolting me back to reality. My heart skipped as I realized Professor Elif was looking right at me, a trace of amusement in her eyes. I must have zoned out. “Yes, Profesör,” I replied, feeling the flush rise to my cheeks as I rubbed my hands together under the desk. “Let’s try to stay focused,” she said gently, her gaze kind but firm, and I nodded, mortified. Behind me, I heard Kerem snicker softly, no doubt enjoying my embarrassment. A moment later, Kerem leaned forward. “Hey, got an extra pen?” he whispered. “Forgot mine back at the hostel.” I fumbled in my bag, grabbing an extra pen without meeting his gaze. “Here,” I muttered, my cheeks still warm. The lecture began, and I forced myself to keep my head down, taking notes, my hand scrawling furiously across the page as I tried to drown out the blush still burning in my cheeks. The hour dragged, every tick of the clock reminding me of how long my day still stretched ahead. Finally, the class ended, and the students began to file out. I packed up my things, but before I could leave, Kerem leaned against the desk
beside me, grinning. “Kırmızı bebek, want to grab a coffee? We’ve got time before the next class.” My stomach growled softly in response, reminding me of my skipped breakfast. “Yeah,” I admitted, managing a small smile. “Maybe some breakfast too.” Kerem laughed. “Good idea.” We turned to leave, but a voice stopped me in my tracks. “Zeynep, could I have a word with you?” Professor Elif’s voice was calm but insistent. Kerem gave me a sympathetic look. “I’ll wait outside.” I took a steadying breath, approaching Professor Elif’s desk, a faint dread gnawing at me. She looked up from her bag, her gaze thoughtful, maybe even a bit concerned. “Zeynep, I’ve noticed you seem...distracted lately. Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes searched my face, seeking something I didn’t want to share. My stomach knotted. “No, Profesör,” I replied quickly. “Just trying to keep up with the workload. Balancing my studies and job can be a bit overwhelming.” She regarded me in silence, perhaps sensing there was more beneath the surface. “Well, I’m here if you ever need to talk,” she said softly. “Don’t hesitate to reach out.” I nodded, a rush of relief flooding through me as she dismissed me. Outside, I found Kerem waiting, curiosity in his eyes. “What was that about?”
“Oh, just warning you not to copy my assignments anymore,” I replied, keeping my face serious. His eyes widened before I broke into a laugh, and he relaxed. “You’re impossible,” he grumbled, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Come on, let’s get you some food before you pass out.” As we walked toward the café, I felt the tension begin to ebb. It was only morning, and already, the day felt like a lifetime. After finally attending all my classes, I let out a long, relieved exhale, my shoulders relaxing as I packed my things with the familiar rustle of paper and the clink of my pens. Just as I was about to head towards the door, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. It was Kerem. “Are you heading to the restaurant?” he asked, his voice tinged with eagerness. “Yeah, why? Want to join?” I replied, a hint of uncertainty in my tone. I wasn’t sure how to navigate his friendly intentions. “Absolutely! But I have to dash... you know about the protest for the girls who have gone missing,” he said, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said, forcing a soft smile, my thoughts drifting to the haunting stories of those girls, the weight of their absence hanging heavy in the air. “Be on time,” he grinned, and I chuckled softly, watching as he turned and headed towards his hostel, the autumn breeze playfully tugging at his dark hair. I made my way down the cobbled path leading to the restaurant where I worked, my heart heavy with nostalgia. The late afternoon sun cast a
golden glow over everything, heralding the arrival of winter. This season always filled me with warmth, reminding me of nights spent curled up with my brother, Arda, who would whip up rich hot chocolate, the sweet aroma filling our cozy home. I remembered how he used to wrap me snugly in layers of coats and jackets, determined to keep me from catching a chill, while our mother would ladle soup into our bowls, knowing I didn’t particularly enjoy it. Arda would slyly sip from my bowl when he thought she wasn’t watching, making her believe I had finished every last drop. A bittersweet smile crept onto my lips as I reflected on those moments, tinged with the sadness of my choices. If only I could turn back time—if only I hadn’t made that one mistake. Perhaps everything would be different, and my family would still be whole, with all my happiness intact. As I arrived at the restaurant, the glowing sign above the door, “East Meets West,” beckoned warmly. It was a modest Turkish restaurant that had a knack for attracting tourists, its reputation growing like wildflowers in spring. Stepping inside, I was immediately embraced by the inviting atmosphere. The scent of spices mingled with the salty breeze wafting in from the nearby dark sea, creating a tantalizing harmony that was as comforting as a warm hug. The interior was charming, with deep red chairs that contrasted beautifully against the dark brown tables, each set by large windows that showcased the mesmerizing view outside. It was breathtaking—the way the light danced across the water, reflecting hues of orange and pink as the sun began to dip toward the horizon.
“Zeynep! You’re here at last!” Orhan’s voice boomed across the room, pulling me from my reverie. He was waiting for me, a jovial presence with his light beard and warm smile, giving off the perfect owner vibes that made everyone feel at home. “Can you take the last table by the window?” I quickly tied my red apron around my waist, my fingers moving with practiced ease as I listened to his instructions. The familiar rhythm of the restaurant soothed my racing heart. With the menu in hand, I made my way toward the window table, and as I approached, I spotted him sitting there, just as he always did. His forest-green eyes met mine, filled with an intensity that sent a thrill through me. He was coming here for at least a week or maybe more. But Why? Was he someone from Ankara, no I don’t think so. I pushed back my thoughts and got to work.
Chapter no 3 She walked toward us, her flame-colored hair swept into a loose bun, with a few rebellious strands slipping free and framing her face, drawing attention to her high cheekbones. Her beauty was in the details, a certain fragility in her gaze, a fierceness in the way she held herself just so as if daring anyone to look too long. She stopped beside our table, close but with a distance that seemed almost intentional. Nikolai nodded in that restrained way of his, and she offered a soft smile in return, careful not to linger, as though being polite was merely a role she’d memorized. Then her eyes flicked to mine “İyi günler,” she greeted us in Turkish, her voice smooth and controlled, not a hint of warmth breaking the practiced calm. “What can I get you today?” Nikolai reached for the menu with casual ease, his attention entirely on the food, yet I knew he was keenly aware of the undercurrent in the room. “Just tea for me. How about you, Mikhail?” he said, pretending to ignore my focus on her.
But I was busy doing something more important like staring at her, each detail anchoring in my memory. The way her lips curved slightly when she spoke, her slender fingers gripping the notepad lightly but with a quiet strength. “The same. For both of us,” I replied, my gaze lingering on her face as if waiting for a reaction that she didn't gave. She nodded, writing down the order with that same guarded expression, then turned to leave. My eyes traced her retreating figure, the elegant, deliberate way she moved as if each step were calculated, each glance purposeful. And though she walked away with calm, I sensed the barely visible tension in her shoulders, an alertness that told me she was aware of more than she let on. Nikolai’s low, mocking voice broke into my thoughts. “How long are we going to play this game?” Reluctantly, I looked back at him. He leaned across the table, that mischievous gleam in his gray-blue eyes unmistakable. Nikolai always enjoyed a spectacle—especially when it wasn’t his. “What game?” I asked, feigning innocence, though we both knew the pretense was thin. He let out an exaggerated sigh, smirking. “The game where you pretend this girl is just a passing interest.” He gestured vaguely toward the counter, where she now stood talking with another waitress. “We came here to get answers about Leonardo’s shipment. But you? You’re more interested in our charming waitress over there.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. The first night I saw her, she caught my eye. There was something about the way she stood—both delicate and strong at the same time. The curiosity stayed with me, even though I knew better. Finding out about her was easy. Dimitri, my most trusted
man, did a thorough job: Zeynep Yilmaz, recently moved to Istanbul from Ankara, working at this restaurant to support herself. She was a student. “I’ll handle it,” I replied, shifting the topic as I looked back at Nikolai. “Leonardo will meet us tomorrow. Make sure everything’s ready.” He tilted his head, his gaze flicking back to her with an unsettling gleam. “Everything’s ready… But after we finish with Leonardo, maybe I should—” The tension in my hand tightened, and my jaw clenched as I cut him off. “Mind your own business, Nikolai.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, a laugh spilling from his lips. “Touchy, aren’t we?” Then, as if called by some silent command, she came back with our tea. She placed the cups down gracefully, her eyes lowered and her smile small. But there was a distant look in her eyes that was clear. Nikolai barely glanced at her, giving a quick nod to dismiss her, but I couldn’t ignore the moment. “Thank you, Zeynep,” I said, letting her name roll off my tongue, watching her face closely. Her shoulders tensed, a flicker of surprise and perhaps fear crossing her face, but she masked it quickly, nodding curtly before stepping away. But I’d seen it—the hint of unease in her eyes when I spoke her name, the slight stiffness in her posture as if caught off guard. And a part deep down in me loved it. When she disappeared into the kitchen, Nikolai let out a laugh. “What was that, dude? You don’t usually care to learn names.”
I didn’t bother looking at him. “Nothing that concerns you,” I said, my tone laced with finality. He shook his head, chuckling. “Just saying.” I wasn’t focused on him. My mind was already going back to the small signs in her reaction—the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she seemed uneasy when I said her name. There was something in her posture, the guarded look she wore like armor. Something even I cannot point out. Maybe she was hiding something or maybe Nikolai is right I am thinking too much about her. After we finished our tea, Nikolai left, but I lingered in the restaurant, settling back into my seat as the minutes crept by and the restaurant slowly emptied. She continued working, her every move precise and controlled, as though maintaining an invisible wall between herself and everyone around her. The hour grew late, and finally, she removed her apron, carefully folding it as she glanced around the restaurant, her gaze sweeping over the remaining patrons. Her eyes paused when they landed on me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw hesitation, maybe even a hint of wariness but she quickly looked away, heading for the door. I waited a few beats before rising and following her out, letting the shadows of the street swallow me as I trailed her. The street outside was quiet, nearly deserted, with only the distant hum of traffic filling the silence. I kept a few steps behind her, blending into the shadows, following her with the same patience I’d learned in the underworld. She walked quickly, every movement sharp with purpose, her
shoulders tense as if she could feel my gaze, even if she didn’t acknowledge it. She turned a corner, moving down a narrower street where the streetlights cast long, flickering shadows. I could see the wariness in her posture, the way her eyes darted occasionally over her shoulder. It was as if she expected someone to be watching and she was right. But I wasn’t the only one following her tonight. A figure emerged from an alley up ahead, blocking her path. He was taller than her, dressed in a dark coat, his face partially obscured. His stance was too familiar to be coincidental, and I saw Zeynep’s steps falter. She froze for a second, then attempted to sidestep him, but he shifted to block her way again. There was a spark of terror in her eyes as she glanced around, no doubt assessing her options. I quickened my pace, closing the gap between us, but I stayed in the shadows, watching, calculating. She backed away from him, her face hardening, but her body language betrayed her fear. She clutched her bag to her side, fingers white with tension. “Get out of my way,” she demanded, her voice stronger than I expected, but he didn’t move. “Come on, sweetheart,” he sneered, stepping closer, his tone laced with menace. “Just looking for a little company.” She took a step back, her body rigid, fear flashing in her eyes. I quickened my pace, the instinct to protect her overriding any other thought. “Didn’t you hear her?” My voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous as I stepped into view. The man turned, eyes narrowing as he took me in, clearly unamused by the interference.
“Who the hell are you?” he snarled, squaring his shoulders. I stepped closer, calm but unwavering. “Someone who’s very interested in you leaving. NOW…..” The man’s sneer faded, and his hand twitched, a poorly concealed blade in his pocket. But I didn’t wait for him to make the first move. With a swift motion, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until he cried out, the blade clattering to the ground. “Get lost,” I growled, pushing him back hard enough to send him stumbling. He glared at me, fury sparking in his eyes, but he backed down, mumbling curses as he disappeared into the night. Zeynep stood frozen, her expression a volatile mix of relief and anger. She looked at me, eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched tight. “I didn’t ask for your help,” she whispered, voice tinged with defiance. I smirked, studying her closely. “You didn’t need to ask.” My words hung in the air between us, each syllable charged. She held my gaze, her eyes flashing, refusing to show any hint of gratitude. “Thank you, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped following me.” I chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “I’ll consider it… if you tell me who he was.” She hesitated, glancing down, her face tightening with an internal struggle that I could almost feel. But after a moment, she shook her head, stepping back. “I don’t know who he was,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. I didn’t push further. I just watched her, the question lingering between us, thick and unresolved. She stood there, arms crossed tightly around herself as if to hold back a tide of emotions, and for a
brief second, her guard slipped. I saw something raw, unguarded—a glimpse of the weight she carried beneath the surface. Then, as if remembering herself, she straightened, resolved, and composed. She turned away without another word, quickening her pace down the dim street, disappearing into the shadows. I didn’t follow this time. But I knew this wasn’t over. Zeynep Yilmaz had secrets, and I intended to uncover every single one of them.
Chapter no 4 I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. My heels clicking against the pavement echoed in the quiet night, matching the rhythm of my racing thoughts. When my apartment building came into view, a wave of relief started to wash over me, but my fear hadn’t faded. I glanced back again, half convinced he’d still be following me. But the street was empty—no sign of him. I reached the entrance and checked over my shoulder one last time, my hands trembling as I turned the key in the lock. The door creaked open, and I slipped inside, letting the familiar warmth of the hallway calm me. The climb up the five flights of stairs felt endless. My legs were heavy, and every step echoed in my ears. When I finally reached my door, I fumbled with the keys, my hands still shaking. The moment I stepped into my apartment, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. My mind was racing, replaying the events of the past hour. That man—the one who had been coming to the restaurant for weeks—his name was Mikhail. I’d overheard it in passing. And now, I knew he hadn’t been coming there for the food. He’d been watching me.
But why? What did he want? I shrugged off my coat and hung it by the door before heading to the kitchen. The apartment was small, just a single-bedroom place with a tiny living area and an even smaller kitchen. But it was home. Or at least, it had been. Lately, it felt like the walls were closing in on me, the weight of unpaid bills and overdue rent crushing any sense of peace I had left. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap, the sound of running water filling the silence. My hand shook as I held the glass, the water sloshing over the rim before I managed to bring it to my lips. I drank it down in one long gulp, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. Setting the glass on the counter, I noticed a stack of papers I’d left there earlier. I hadn’t had time to look at them before, rushing to my morning classes. Now, they demanded my attention. Flipping through them, I froze. A notice from my landlord stared back at me, the words bold and cold: An eviction notice. I had three days to vacate the apartment. Three days. I sank into the chair by the counter, my hands gripping the edge of the table as I read the notice again and again, hoping I’d misunderstood. But the words didn’t change. My rent was three months overdue, and the landlord had run out of patience. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I bit down on my lip, willing myself not to cry. What was the point? I’d tried so hard to keep up with the rent, to juggle my classes and a part-time job, but it was never enough. Istanbul was too expensive, and life was too cruel.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed the papers aside and dragged myself to the bedroom. I flicked on the light and let myself collapse onto the bed, too exhausted to care about the pile of unfolded laundry at the foot of it. Closing my eyes, I let the tears come, silent and slow. “Anne,” I whispered, the ache in my chest tightening. “I miss you so much.” My mother’s face filled my mind, her soft smile and warm hazel eyes. She’d always been my anchor, my safe place. But she was gone now, and all I had left were memories and an ache that never seemed to fade. The tears flowed freely as I curled into myself, clutching my shirt like it could somehow shield me from the world. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I drifted into a restless sleep, the weight of everything pressing down on me even in my dreams. Sunlight streaming through the window woke me up. I groaned as I sat up, my head throbbing and my back sore from sleeping in the same position all night. My eyes stung from crying, and I rubbed them, squinting at the morning light spilling across the city. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I turned on the shower and stepped in, clothes and all, letting the cold water run over me. The icy chill shocked me awake, and the weight of last night’s events started to settle. Three days. That’s all I had to figure something out with the rent. After a long, shuddering sigh, I turned off the shower, stripped out of my wet clothes, and wrapped myself in a towel. Back in the bedroom, I
pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain shirt. I looked tired, my reflection echoing back the dark circles and dull eyes staring at me. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. I wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and found a carton of milk from three days ago. Grabbing it and a few slices of bread, I toasted the bread, then sat by the counter, munching on the toast and drinking the milk. I’d had bad days before, but this felt different. I scraped the last bit of food from my plate, though calling it “breakfast” felt generous. The silence in the apartment hung heavily, pressing against me. I retreated to my bedroom and powered up my laptop—a gift from Arda. The smooth hum of the device booting up filled the room, a familiar and oddly comforting sound. The home screen greeted me with an old photo of my family. Anne’s radiant smile lit up the center, with me on her right, my head leaning against her shoulder. Arda mirrored me on her left, his head also resting on her. My throat tightened. I couldn’t help but study the photo for a moment longer. I looked so much like Anne—hazel green eyes, ginger-red hair, and soft, delicate features. She used to say I was her reflection in a younger, livelier form. Arda, however, was different in every way except for his hazel-green eyes. His dark brown hair and sharp jawline gave him an edge that matched the coldness in his gaze—a coldness reserved for everyone but me and Anne. Shaking off the ache in my chest, I clicked open the browser and started my daily ritual: searching for a place to live. Half an hour of scrolling only reminded me how unattainable everything felt. Even the
tiniest one-room rentals were far beyond what I could afford. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I grabbed my bag. “At least Sabancı University gave me a scholarship,” I muttered. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve been kicked out long ago. I slammed the laptop shut and glanced at the clock. 7:30. Time to move. Instead of rushing like usual, I let myself linger. Cleaning the apartment came first. It wasn’t much, but tidying up always gave me a sense of control. The smell of fresh detergent filled the air as I wiped down surfaces and organized the little clutter I had. By the time I was done, it was 7:45. I shrugged on my coat and grabbed my keys. The metal felt cool against my palm as I locked the door and made my way down the stairs. As always, I avoided eye contact with the neighbors, keeping my head down. The last thing I wanted was another awkward conversation. The streets were alive with the buzz of the morning rush, but it all blurred together as I walked to the university. Sabancı University’s campus was a hive of activity—students chatting in groups, some rushing to their classes, others lounging on benches as if time had no hold on them. I weaved through the crowd, my thoughts far away, when a shoulder bumped into mine. “Good morning, kırmızı bebek.” I turned to see Kerem grinning at me, his usual carefree energy impossible to ignore.
“late again, huh?” he teased. “I figured I’d join my favorite redhead. Aren’t I thoughtful?” His grin was infectious, but I only managed a small smile. “You’re late not because of me,” I said, arching a brow. “You’re late because you’ve been busy plastering protest posters everywhere again.” “Guilty,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But seriously, someone has to care about the missing girls.” My stomach knotted at his words. He wasn’t wrong. Every month, it seemed like another girl vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but questions and grieving families. Kerem was relentless in his activism, but I couldn’t bring myself to engage. It was too much—too heavy. We reached the classroom just as Professor Elif walked in. I took my usual seat by the window, and Kerem slid into the desk behind me. The lecture started, but my mind wandered. My gaze drifted to the sprawling garden outside. A pair of students walked hand in hand, their laughter carrying faintly through the open windows. For a moment, I wasn’t in the classroom anymore. “You know I love autumn,” Semit’s voice echoed in my memory. His words brought back the image of us walking side by side, the air crisp and the leaves a fiery orange. “But spring is better,” I had argued, my voice light with excitement. “Everything feels alive—flowers blooming, birds singing, butterflies everywhere. It’s like the world wakes up.” He had scoffed, a playful sound that warmed me even now. “Autumn’s better. It’s quiet, peaceful. The colors are perfect.” I smiled at him. The memory dissolved, leaving a dull ache in its place.
A tap on my shoulder pulled me back to the present. “Zeynep, class is over.” I blinked and looked up to see Kerem standing over me, his bag slung over one shoulder. Around us, the classroom was nearly empty. Even Professor Elif was packing up her materials. “How did I—” I started, but Kerem cut me off with a smirk. “You zoned out the entire time,” he said, his tone teasing but laced with concern. “Honestly, I’m surprised Professor Elif didn’t call you out for it. She usually doesn’t let anything slide.” I stood, gathering my things with shaky hands. “Maybe she’s just tired of me.” As we headed for the door, a voice stopped me. “Zeynep...” I turned to see Professor Elif watching me with a calm but serious expression. “You go on ahead, Kerem,” she added, her tone firm. “Zeynep will catch up with you later.” Kerem hesitated, his brows knitting together as he glanced between us. I gave him a small nod, and he reluctantly left. “Come with me,” Professor Elif said, her voice softening. “Let’s grab a coffee.” Caught off guard, I could only nod and follow her out of the classroom. The questions swirled in my mind, but none of them made it past my lips. As I followed Professor Elif down the hallway, she led me toward her office. The air felt still, punctuated only by the soft echo of our
footsteps. Outside her door, a middle-aged woman who appeared to be her assistant stood up and greeted her with a polite nod. “Dedim, could you get us two black coffees?” Professor Elif asked, her tone warm yet professional. “Of course, ma’am,” Dedim replied, already moving to fulfill the request. “Thank you,” Professor Elif said with a small smile as she opened her office door and gestured for me to enter. The space was modest but inviting, with books neatly lined on shelves and a large window flooding the room with soft daylight. She settled behind her desk and motioned for me to take the chair opposite her. I hesitated before sitting, my hands fidgeting in my lap. The thought of being called to her office made my stomach churn. Was I in trouble? “You know,” she began, her voice breaking the silence, “sometimes life feels unbearably heavy. Like the world is unfairly stacked against you.” She wasn’t looking at me but out the window, her gaze distant yet purposeful. “But the truth is, everyone carries burdens, some heavier than ours.” I nodded, unsure of what to say. “Yes, Professor,” I murmured, my agreement automatic. She turned to me, her sharp but kind eyes searching my face. “Zeynep, I’m not asking you to speak as a student to a professor. Talk to me as one person to another. Trust me.” The word trust struck something deep within me, a wound I thought had scabbed over but never truly healed. My chest tightened. Trust was dangerous—it cost too much. But I couldn’t let her see that. I
forced a weak smile. “What do you mean, Professor?” I asked, feigning innocence. Her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Talk about anything you like. What makes you happy, what weighs you down? The thoughts that make you drift away, and the moments that bring you back.” Her words pierced through the walls I’d built. Why was she doing this? Why did she care? I didn’t want to let her in. She was just my professor; I couldn’t unload my problems on her. But her patience, the concern in her gaze—it broke something in me. I cleared my throat, avoiding her eyes. “It’s nothing serious, Professor. Just… financial struggles. I’ve been behind on rent for three months, and now the landlord has sent me an eviction notice.” It was a half-truth—a glimpse of the storm inside me. Professor Elif’s face softened, but she didn’t pity me. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, studying me thoughtfully. “So, you need a place to stay,” she said, more to herself than to me. I nodded silently, my fingers twisting together nervously. “There’s an open room in the dorms,” she offered after a moment. “As a scholarship student, you qualify to stay there. I can arrange it for you.” Her words felt like a lifeline, but I hesitated. “My scholarship only covers tuition and fees,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I… I can’t afford rent.” She smiled, a reassuring curve of her lips that instantly eased my tension. “Don’t worry about that. The university has options for situations like yours. You can stay there as long as you need.”
Her kindness was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold indifference I’d grown used to. I looked down, blinking back emotions I didn’t want to reveal. “There’s already another student in that dorm room,” she continued. “I think the two of you might get along well.” I didn’t know what to say. Gratitude swelled in my chest, but the words wouldn’t come out. Hugging her felt like the right thing to do, but my feet were rooted to the ground. “Thank you, Professor,” I managed, my voice trembling slightly. “You’ve just solved my biggest problem. I don’t even know how to—” Before I could finish, she stood, cutting me off with a wave of her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you to your new room.” I followed her out of the office, my steps lighter than they’d been in weeks. Relief washed over me in waves. I couldn’t believe it—how had I gotten so lucky?
Chapter no 5 The mayor’s rest house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old furniture. I sat on a large leather chair near the fireplace, the warmth doing little to melt the frost of my mood. Outside, the winter evening had settled in, gray skies casting shadows through the large glass doors. Nikolai was sprawled on the sofa to my left, his usual nonchalant air surrounding him like a shield. He held a wine glass lazily, swirling the liquid while pretending not to care about anything. But I knew better. Nikolai might look like he didn’t give a damn, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. Across from us, the mayor was fidgeting nervously, his fingers tapping against his knee. He kept glancing at his watch, then back at the clock on the wall, as if it could somehow save him from the tension building in the room. The man looked like he wanted to disappear.
The waiting was grating on me. I didn’t wait for people. Ever. But this wasn’t just anyone. This meeting had been weeks in the making. Leonardo Vasari had made a mistake—one he thought he’d covered up—and tonight, I intended to make him regret it. The sound of screeching tires outside broke the silence. My gaze shifted to the glass doors, and I watched as a convoy of sleek black SUVs pulled into the driveway. The vehicles came to a sharp stop, their engines idling briefly before falling silent. One of Leonardo’s men jumped out of the lead car, hurrying to open the back door. A moment later, Leonardo himself stepped out, and I took him in with a single glance. He looked the same as the last time I saw him—tall, lean, and polished. His dark hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his three-piece suit fit him like a second skin. Typical Italian arrogance radiated from him as if he believed the world was his stage and we were all just the audience. He paused to remove his dark glasses, tucking them into his jacket pocket before stepping inside. His smile was wide, practiced, and utterly fake. “Seriously Sunglasses at night, he must be drunk.” Nikolai scoffed beside me. “Mikhail,” he said smoothly, spreading his arms slightly. “What a pleasant surprise.” I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I extended my hand, my expression cold. As the son of Alexander Ivanovo and heir to the Bratva, I didn’t need to say anything. Respect was expected.
Leonardo hesitated for only a moment before leaning down and kissing the ring on my finger. His lips tightened slightly as he pulled away. “Leonardo,” I said flatly, my tone giving nothing away. He turned to Nikolai, offering a polite nod. Nikolai, true to form, didn’t move except to lift his glass slightly in acknowledgment before taking a slow sip. The subtle insult wasn’t lost on Leonardo, whose jaw tightened briefly before he straightened. Leonardo sat on the sofa opposite me, crossing his legs casually as the waiters entered the room. They moved quietly, placing wine glasses in front of us before retreating into the shadows. “Well,” Leonardo began, his tone light, though his eyes flickered with something sharper. “What was so urgent that you insisted on meeting here? Surely, this could have been handled in Italy?” “You’re late,” I said, ignoring his attempt at pleasantries. Leonardo raised an eyebrow. “Ah, my flight—” “No,” I cut him off sharply. “You’re late in delivering the shipments. What do you have to say about that?” His smile faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. “I’ve already spoken to your father about that. It’s been resolved.” He waved a hand dismissively, as if the matter was beneath him. Nikolai chuckled softly beside me, the sound low and mocking. I leaned back in my chair, my gaze steady on Leonardo. “That’s why I’m here,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “To make sure everything is as ‘resolved’ as you claim. You told my father the issue was here, in Istanbul. Mayor,” I turned my attention to the man across the room, “is everything running smoothly?”
The mayor froze, his face pale. “Y-yes, Mr. Ivanovo,” he stammered. “Everything is… under control.” Leonardo chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Come now, Mikhail. There was a minor hiccup with the petrol guards. Isn’t that right, Mayor?” The mayor hesitated, his eyes darting between us. “Ah… yes, that’s correct. I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” Nikolai smirked, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Forgotten? That’s a dangerous habit, Mayor. Forgetting things can cause… complications. Mind if I cure it for you?” His voice was light, but the warning beneath it was clear. Leonardo stood abruptly, buttoning his jacket. “If that’s all, I should be going. I have other matters to attend to.” “We’ll meet again,” I said, my tone leaving no room for doubt. Leonardo paused, glancing back at me with a sly smile. “Of course, Mikhail.” As his convoy disappeared into the night, Nikolai turned to the mayor, his grin sharp. “Now, about my offer. What’s your answer?” The mayor hesitated, looking at me as if seeking help. “Mr. Volkov, I… I’ve been so busy. It must have slipped my mind—” “Slipped? Fucking slipped….” Nikolai leaned forward, his grin darkening. “Mayor, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight. If it slips again—” “We’re leaving,” I interrupted, standing suddenly. Nikolai frowned, clearly displeased. “But we’re not finished—” “I said we’re leaving,” I repeated, my voice cutting through the room.
He sighed but stood, muttering something under his breath as we exited into the cold night air. As we approached the cars, Dimitri appeared, a small package in hand. “This was left at the gate,” he said. “The man who delivered it was gone before we could get him.” I took the package, tearing it open. Inside were photographs and documents. My eyes scanned the contents, my jaw tightening with each passing second. “What is it?” Nikolai asked, his curiosity piqued. I closed the folder, tucking it under my arm. “We’re heading to the airport. Back to Russia.” Dimitri nodded, and we climbed into the car. As we drove through the dark streets, my mind churned. I don’t know who sent this and why but one thing was sure they were on our side and they want Leonardo gone. The flight back to Moscow was quiet, and the hum of the private jet was the only sound filling the cabin. Nikolai sat across from me, leaning back in his chair with a drink in hand, though his sharp gaze never wavered. He was still irritated, no doubt, by how I’d cut him off earlier. “You’re unusually silent, and you didn’t even tell me what was in that package,” he finally said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. I glanced at him but said nothing. My mind was elsewhere—on the package that now rested in the briefcase beside me. Whoever sent it had gone to great lengths to keep their identity hidden, which only made the contents more intriguing.
Nikolai huffed, leaning forward slightly. “You know Leonardo is playing games. If we don’t tighten the noose, he’ll get bolder.” I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes briefly. “I know.” “And yet you let him walk away,” Nikolai pressed, his voice low. My eyes snapped open, fixing him with a cold stare. “Because walking away was the only move I could afford tonight. Leonardo’s smart—he’s covered his tracks. I won’t accuse him without proof. You know how the council works.” I glanced at the briefcase. “But now I can. Just wait and watch.” He held my gaze for a moment, then leaned back, shrugging. “And how are you going to do that? Care to explain?” I sighed, giving him a level look. “You already know what’s in that briefcase.” “That mysterious package?” he said, amused. “Let me guess some cryptic warnings and anonymous threats?” “Not quite,” I smirked. “Documents. Pictures. Proof of Leonardo’s betrayal. He’s been diverting our shipments to Iranian buyers, and there are bank transfers to back it up.” Nikolai’s expression shifted, rare shock flashing across his face. It was a rare sight—he was a master at concealing his emotions. “Wait, wait. Are you saying you have solid proof against Leonardo? But who the hell sent it? Think beyond the obvious, brother—someone might be trying to use you to eliminate Leonardo.” I allowed myself a small smirk. “If someone wants Leonardo dead, I want it too. A win-win situation for both of us.” Nikolai leaned back, swirling his drink. “We still need to calculate our next move. If this is a trap, we can’t afford to step into it blindly.”
The rest of the flight passed in silence. By the time we landed, Moscow was shrouded in a blanket of fresh snow, the winter air biting and sharp. Dimitri, my most trusted bodyguard, was already waiting on the tarmac with a convoy of black Range Rovers. The ride to the mansion was uneventful, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. The Ivanovo estate loomed ahead, its dark silhouette cutting through the snowy landscape. It was an imposing structure—a sprawling mansion with tall iron gates and guards stationed at every corner. The estate had three wings: the left, my personal wing as the heir and eldest son; the right, belonging to my uncle Egor, who lived there with his wife Alexa and their son Dimitri; and the main wing, where my father ruled with an iron fist. My younger brother, Sergie, was rarely around, busy with his friends and university life. Then there was Sasha, our little sister—the heart of the family. As we pulled into the driveway, my father’s car parked near the entrance signaled his presence. A wave of tension rolled through me. Alexander Ivanovo wasn’t a man who tolerated mistakes, and I had no doubt he was waiting to debrief me on the meeting with Leonardo. Inside, the warmth of the mansion did little to the cold air of authority that always lingered. The grand foyer, with its high ceilings and dark marble floors, echoed with the sound of my footsteps as I made my way to my father’s study. Nikolai followed silently, his earlier frustration replaced with a sense of readiness. The doors to the study were slightly ajar, and I pushed them open without knocking. My father Alexander sat behind his massive oak desk, a glass of vodka in hand. His presence filled the
room—broad-shouldered, with a face that bore the weight of decades of power and ruthlessness. His sharp green eyes locked onto me as I entered. “Mikhail,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “I was waiting for you.” “Leonardo showed up late, as expected,” I replied, setting the briefcase on the desk. “He tried to deflect the shipment delays, claimed they were resolved.” “And you believed him?” “No,” I said firmly. “He’s hiding something. But I brought proof.” I opened the briefcase, the documents spilling out onto the desk. He donned his glasses and began examining each document and photograph. As his expression hardened, I glanced at Nikolai, whose usual smirk was nowhere to be found. After a long, tense pause, Alexander leaned back in his chair. “Good. What do you suggest next?” A sharp knock interrupted us, and Vladimir stepped into the room. His dark eyes scanned the space before settling on me. “Ah, Vladimir,” Alexander said, gesturing to the briefcase. “You’ll have to see this.” Vladimir was my father’s right-hand man and one of the most dangerous individuals in the Bratva. He was calculating, always one step ahead. He had been with my family for as long as I could remember, but something about him had always felt...off. Maybe dealing with Bratva made him like this. He gave me a curt nod, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Mikhail,” he said in his smooth, measured tone. “I trust the meeting was productive?”
I didn’t care to reply and pointed toward the briefcase. He picked up a photograph—a grainy image of Leonardo meeting with one of the Iranian mafia leaders. “It seems Leonardo has been busy,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “And sloppy,” Nikolai added, his sarcasm returning. “We should call a Bratva meeting,” I suggested, looking directly at my father. “Leonardo must be made an example of, Betraying the Ivanovos cannot go unpunished.” Vladimir interrupted, his tone cautious. “Perhaps we should wait. Leonardo has been with the Bratva for over a decade. We can’t act rashly—it could backfire.” I suppressed the urge to scoff. “Waiting sends the wrong message. Acting now would not only deal with Leonardo but also warn anyone else thinking of betrayal.” Alexander raised a hand, silencing Vladimir’s protest. “Mikhail is right. A message must be sent.” Vladimir’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. Nikolai, ever the opportunist, grinned. “I’ll send word to the council for a meeting this Saturday.” Vladimir snapped, “You can not just call a meeting like this, boy.” Nikolai only chuckled. “Then how would you do it, uncle?” Alexander’s deep voice cut through the tension. “Enough. We’ll finalize the details tomorrow. Rest for now.” As I turned to leave, the study room door flew open with a bang. There was only one person in the entire universe bold enough to enter Alexander Ivanovo’s study like that.
“Dad, I’ve done it!” Sasha’s excited voice filled the room before her ice-blue eyes landed on the three men present: me, Nikolai, and Vladimir. “Mishka! You’re back!” She rushed toward me, wrapping her arms around me like we hadn’t just been separated for weeks—it felt like ages to her. Our little angel would never grow up, and honestly, I didn’t mind. “I should leave to handle the arrangements for the upcoming meeting,” Vladimir said, his cold gaze shifting to father, who simply nodded. Before leaving, Vladimir gave us a curt nod of acknowledgment. “So, what have you got, Sasha? Or are you just going to keep clinging to your Mishka?” Father asked, his expression softening into a rare smile—one Sasha always managed to bring out of him. “Oh, right! I forgot—oh, hey, Niko. I didn’t know you were here too,” Sasha said, pausing as her attention shifted to Nikolai, who was smirking at us. “Of course, I’m here,” Nikolai replied with a teasing grin. “How's it going, little one?” He reached out, ruffling her blonde hair playfully. Sasha shrugged him off with a huff, turning back to Father as she proudly held out her phone. “Look, I got a scholarship to Sabancı University! Dad, I really want to go there. Please, pretty please!” She made an innocent face, one no one could resist. I found myself smiling at her enthusiasm, while Nikolai leaned against the wall, observing the scene with amusement.
“You know you didn’t need a scholarship, Sasha. You just had to say the word, and I could get you into any university in the world,” Father said, peering at her over his glasses. “Yeah, but then you’d send a ton of bodyguards and house me in one of your million-dollar mansions. Dad, I want to be on my own, just this once! Please? I want to go there and just be me, not the daughter of a mafia lord.” Her plea struck a chord. Sasha had always been like this—a princess trapped in a tower. I sighed, knowing Father would never agree to her terms. So, I stepped in. “Fine, no bodyguards,” I said. “But I’ll go with you.” Silence descended over the room. Sasha stared at me, wide-eyed. Father’s gaze turned sharp with consideration, and even Nikolai’s smirk faltered for a moment as he looked between us. “I’m suggesting this because, after dealing with Leonardo, we need to be cautious, especially with the Western factions stirring. This way, I can handle matters personally,” I explained, glancing at Father. Father studied me for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But, Mikhail, Sasha’s safety is your responsibility. She’s more important than anything.” His voice softened as his eyes lingered on Sasha, a shadow of grief flickering there. She reminded him so much of our late mother, Iris. People say men like us don't fell in love, maybe it is true to some extinct but our father made it clearly wrong. He loved our mother so much that even many years had passed after her death, I still sometime feel that he didn't move on from that moment. The moment when that nurse told him that his wife is no more, he just stared blankly carrying Sasha in his arms. It was the moment when
Alexander Ivanvo's heart died then and there with our mother, with his love of life. “Yes, Mishka! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Sasha squealed, clinging to me like a child who’d just been given her favorite treat. I kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Anything for you, little angel.” “Ahem.” Nikolai cleared his throat, his grin returning as he teased, “Maybe your Mishka needs a little breathing room, Sasha.” Father chuckled softly. “Go rest, both of you. Sasha, come here—I need you to close this briefcase.” As Sasha obeyed, Nikolai left the room, and I followed. One problem was resolved, but the next step loomed ahead: dealing with Leonardo. After that… maybe it would finally be time to return to Türkiye.
Chapter no 6 I zipped my luggage and sat on the edge of the bed, then let myself fall back, the mattress bouncing slightly under my weight. Everything I owned was packed. There wasn’t much, just two suitcases and three cotton boxes but somehow it still felt heavy. I picked up my phone, checking the screen again. Still nothing. Karem was supposed to help me move to the dorm. I lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts drifted back to Ankara. It had been a week, and Arda still hadn’t contacted me. He was always the one who called first, always checking in, always making sure I was fine. I’d tried his number more times than I wanted to admit, but it was still switched off. Where is he? Where is Anne? My phone buzzed suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Karem: I’m here. Relief washed over me. I stood up quickly, checking my belongings one last time before heading to the door. “Sorry I’m late… or maybe I’m not,” Karem said as he walked in, already scanning the room. “No, you’re not late,” I mumbled, stepping aside. “Just these?” He nodded toward the two small suitcases and the boxes stacked near the wall. “Yeah,” I said, gathering the boxes and trying to balance them in my arms. He muttered something under his breath but didn’t comment. Instead, he picked up both suitcases with ease. We headed out together. I locked the apartment door behind me and stood there for a second, staring at the keys resting in my palm. “Come on, Zeynep,” Karem said gently. “We’ll be late. It’s getting dark.” I followed him down the stairs. At the ground floor, I handed the keys to the security guard. He gave me a polite nod. As we stepped outside, a strange thought crossed my mind maybe my time here was over too. When you leave your home, you become a guest everywhere you go. Even in your own house. I pushed the thought away and followed Karem to his car. He placed my luggage in the back seat while I handed him the boxes one by one, making sure nothing toppled over. As I headed towards the front seat I stopped in mid-way, someone is looking at me I looked around but no one the why I had that uneasy feeling. "Zeynep, get in the car."
Karem"s voice got me out of my thoughts, I opened the door and got in. During the drive I kept looking outside from the window. The night air was cold. Istanbul in winter was beautiful almost painfully but that beauty hid darker things. Girls disappeared every month. Some names made the news. Others vanished without a trace. I sighed and turned my gaze away from the window as the car slowed near the dorm. The drive had been quiet. That was something I appreciated about Karem, he never forced conversation when I wasn’t in the mood. “Your room number is 68, right?” he asked. I nodded. “That building’s yours. We should hurry.” The hostel area was large, filled with identical buildings lined up like silent sentinels. I grabbed my boxes and followed him inside. We climbed to the second floor, stopping in front of the third room. I knocked twice. No response. “Just open it,” Karem said from behind me. “It’s your room too.” I twisted the knob. Locked. “Um… it’s locked,” I said, trying again. “Didn’t the professor give you the keys?” he asked, half-teasing. Before I could answer, footsteps echoed from the stairwell. I turned and there she was. She wore a long black fur coat with matching heeled loafers, her dark hair falling neatly down her back. She smiled when she saw me, a little breathless. Although Prof had given us a brief introduction that day in the library but that wasn't enough, for me well. She was also a scholarship student but from Pakistan, she seemed a nice person.
“Hey, Zeynep! I’m so sorry, I stepped out for some work. It completely slipped my mind that you were coming,” she said, reaching into her pocket for the keys. “It’s okay,” I said quickly. She unlocked the door, and we stepped inside. The room was spacious. Four beds, two on each side, each with its own study table. The layout felt almost too big for just two people. I placed my boxes near one of the beds while Karem set the suitcases down beside them. “I’m sorry if there was any inconveni—” Zyra stopped mid-sentence, her eyes flicking to Karem. “Oh… he is?” “He’s my friend. And my classmate,” I said. I noticed the subtle shift in her posture. Nothing obvious, just a slight tension, like she’d drawn inward. “Karem,” I said carefully, “I think we’re good from here. Zyra will help me unpack, right?” Zyra nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay,” Karem said, though his gaze lingered on her a second longer than necessary. Then he turned to me. “Call me if you need anything. Take care.” After he left, Zyra closed the door behind him. “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands softly. “Let’s get you settled.” I looked around properly this time. Only one bed had different sheets that's hers. Behind each bed was a door. “Those are the bathrooms,” she explained. “We each have our own. The kitchen is shared, it’s down the hall.”
“Thank you,” I said, dragging my suitcase toward the bed opposite hers. She picked up the other suitcase and stacked the boxes neatly on my bed. “Need more help?” “I think I can manage,” I said, smiling. “But I’ll definitely need directions. Can I ask you later?” She smiled back and squeezed my hand gently, like an older sister would. “Anytime. I’ll get changed, and when I’m back, I’ll show you how I set up the study table.” I glanced at hers covered in stationery, notes, and small paintings. “I’d love that,” I said. She nodded, slipping off her coat. “Be right back and yeah there will be another student with us by tomorrow maybe, I don't know the exact date of her arrival.” she said stopping by the door and looking at me. "No problem, we'll get along and I'll try best to adjust." I tried my best to stay calm, another roommate. If she is from Ankara.... "But I do know she is from Russia, maybe we'll get along. No worries" she said and that relaxed me a bit. "Ok we'll see" I replied unzipping my bag. When she disappeared into the bathroom, I realized my chest felt lighter. Almost calm. I picked up my phone and dialed Arda’s number again. Still off. TWO DAYS LATER
The sky outside was covered in thick gray clouds. It looked like it would rain soon. I glanced out the restaurant window, then dried my hands on a cloth and stepped out of the kitchen. The restaurant was crowded, just like every other day. Orders were being called, plates were moving fast. I looked around the room without thinking, my eyes searching for the man who had been coming here every day for the past week. He wasn’t there. A small wave of relief washed over me. My chest felt lighter, even if only for a moment. “Zeynep, are you okay?” Orhan asked as he passed orders to the others. “Yes,” I said, taking one of the trays from him. “I’m fine.” He studied me for a second, then nodded. “There’s a man asking for you,” he said, pointing toward the table in the far corner. “Over there.” My heart skipped. A man was sitting alone, his back facing me. Why would someone ask for me? My body tensed, every thought turning sharp. He didn’t look like the man from before. Still, something about this felt wrong. “You listening?” Orhan asked. “Yes,” I said quickly. “I’ll go.” I couldn’t tell anyone. No one here could know who I really was. If they did, everything would change. Karem and Orhan were the only people who had been kind to me. I couldn’t lose that. I took a deep breath and walked toward the table. The man didn’t turn around. He was wearing a black coat. His shoulders were stiff, as if he already knew I was there. With every step I took, a strange feeling settled in my chest, heavy, familiar. It's him.. No… It can’t be.
“Ard—” The name slipped out before I could stop it. He turned. Our eyes met. The same eyes as mine. My brother. He stood up slowly, his gaze fixed on me. He looked different, older, harder than the boy I remembered. “Güzel kız kardeşim,” he said quietly. (My beautiful sister) Before I could move or speak, his arms wrapped around me. I froze for a second, my body unsure, my mind spinning. Then I hugged him back. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ “So how’s Anne?” I asked as I walked beside my brother. He felt different now colder than before. His eyes kept moving, watching everything around us as if he was checking our surroundings. My dorm building came into view, and he still hadn’t answered me. “I asked you something,” I said again, stopping a few steps in front of him. Arda stopped too and turned toward me. Something in his expression softened. He lifted his hands and gently cupped my face, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “She loved you very much,” he said quietly, looking into my eyes. “And so do I.” My eyes filled with tears, but my heart kept racing. “How is she?” I asked again, my voice shaking. He still hadn’t answered what I was really asking. His hands slid down to my shoulders, holding me steady. “She’s not with us anymore,” he said softly. “That’s why I’m here with you.” “No… no, please no,” I whispered, my body shaking as the familiar darkness began to creep back in. My chest felt tight, as if I couldn’t
breathe properly. They took my mother, and now they would take Arda too. I couldn’t lose him. I clung to him harder, my fingers digging into his coat as I shook my head again and again, repeating no like it could change the truth. Everything around me started to blur, the sounds fading, the ground beneath my feet feeling unsteady. Fear wrapped around my heart, heavy and suffocating. The last thing I saw was him, that man from the restaurant running toward us, Zyra close behind him, Arda’s voice calling my name and then everything went dark.
Chapter no 7 When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was warmth. Arda was holding my hand. He was sitting beside me, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on my face like he had been watching for hours. The moment he realized I was awake, the tightness in his expression loosened. “Zeynep…” he exhaled. I tried to sit up, but dizziness hit me. He immediately slipped his arm behind my back and helped me slowly into a sitting position. The room came into focus. The man from the restaurant was sitting on the edge of the opposite bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching quietly. A girl stood beside him, her fingers twisting together in worry. “You scared us, Zeynep,” Zyra said softly from the other side of my bed. My head felt heavy. Who is he? And why is he here? “How are you feeling now?” Arda asked, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. His grip tightened without him realizing.
“I’m okay, abey,” I said looking at them again. “Zeynep, this is Sasha, our new roommate,” Zyra said gently. “And Mikhail, her brother.” The girl stepped forward. Up close, her blue eyes were strikingly beautiful. “Are you okay? I mean… I’m really sorry for your mother’s loss,” she said carefully. “I’ve been through this. I understand.” Her voice was as sweet as she looked. Arda stood up, letting go of my hand so she could sit beside me. He always kept his distance from strangers. Boundaries built like walls. And suddenly, guilt crawled up my throat. “Losing your mother is never easy,” Mikhail spoke for the first time. His voice was calm, controlled. “Especially when you’re still a child.” he exhaled deeply. He stood, adjusting his coat with slow movements. There was something restrained about him. Something measured. Sasha turned toward Arda. “Was your mother ill?” The question caught him off guard. He glanced at me for a brief second, then back at her. “Yeah. She had a heart problem for a long time,” he said evenly. “She had a heart arrest in her sleep.” My mother had a heart arrest and I wasn't even there for her. How will this life be worse for me? Sasha’s eyes filled with tears instantly. Mine burned too, but I blinked them back. Well I tried too. Mikhail stepped forward and pulled his sister into his chest. She held onto him like she needed grounding. I looked at my brother but he was standing still. Arda didn’t move. He just stared ahead, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.
Zyra sat beside me and squeezed my hands, whispering something comforting, but I couldn’t hear her properly. I was looking at my brother. He wasn’t just sad. He was shattered. And I hadn’t noticed how deep the cracks went. I wanted to get up. I wanted to hug him. But my body felt too heavy, and the silence between us felt even heavier. Arda slipped his hands into the pockets of his long coat and inhaled slowly. “I’ll meet you tomorrow if you are feeling for now,” he said. “I need to check the apartment I’m staying in. See if my things arrive.” I nodded. His eyes were on me, but it felt like he was somewhere else. “I’ll be heading out too,” Mikhail said. “Mind if I could give you a ride.” “Yeah sure” Arda looked at me for a brief moment. Mikhail gently patted Sasha’s shoulder.She was lucky to have a brother like him. I was lucky too but I destroyed that luck with my own hands. She sat down beside me. “Okay, Mishka. Take care of yourself.” He nodded once. Then his eyes met mine. Just for a moment. There was something unreadable there. Not sympathy. Not curiosity. Something else.
Arda walked toward the door. Mikhail followed him out. And the room felt different the second they left. “So …..” zayra broke the silence. Sasha and I looked at her “I mean I’m hungry and I think so are you guys too so I was thinking of going to the kitchen and you guys something to eat.” she said, folding her arms up. “ Sure … thank you for being so helpful, i was worried you know how i would manage all this in a totally new environment, it’s my first time being away from my home.” Sasha said, tucking her blonde strands behind her ears nervously. “No problem, I'll be back and get you guys something okay..” zyra said smiling at me. “She is so lovely and helpful.” Sasha said, looking at the closed door where zyra left. She was still holding my hand. “Yup she is ….. I’m sorry I would have helped too.” “No no it’s all right you should rest, i’ll unpack my remaining things, tell me if you need anything okay.” she said, squeezing my hand. Her blue eyes were full of life. She was beautiful but she didn’t much resemble her brother, I wonder why. They were opposite. I lowered in my bed as she unpacked her suitcase.
Chapter no 8 I followed her brother through the hallway after we stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind us, the sound was loud, maybe because the hallway was silent. Reaching to the stairs, I stopped. A cold sensation crawled up my spine.like the feeling when you're being watched. I slowly turned my head. The hallway was empty. Dim lights flickered above, no one was there. At least not in my vision. Still, the feeling didn’t fade. My eyes turned on their door for a second longer before I forced myself to move and took the stairs down.I shouldn’t let sash alone. Why was I getting a feeling I will regret this later but she wanted this and i would be the worst brother if i couldn’t just let her live her life once. By the time we reached the parking lot, Arda was checking his watch, jaw tight, posture rigid. Like a man with somewhere urgent to be — not to mention his mother just died, as he stated.
“So, you just moved to Istanbul?” I asked casually as we approached my car. “No,” he replied without looking at me. “I’ve been to Istanbul before. Work-related stays. But this time… it might be permanent.” He paused briefly. “I can’t let my sister be alone at this stage.” At this stage. That had to mean their mother’s death. At least, that’s what I want to assume. But something in his tone felt off. Detached. He hadn’t comforted his sister the way a grieving brother should have. Why the distance? I unlocked the car with a click. He moved toward the passenger side. And then— that itch again. That feeling again. But this time it was Sharp. Watching. Breathing down my neck. I turned abruptly, scanning the parking lot. Empty spaces. A flickering streetlight. Nothing else. But this time, I was certain.Someone was there.Watching Or following. I got into the driver’s seat and pulled my phone from my coat pocket, dialing Nikolai. “Yes,” he answered. “Get to my apartment before I do. I need to talk.” I ended the call before he could question me. Arda glanced at me but said nothing. “Did you feel like someone was watching us back there?” I asked as we drove out of the parking lot. “No.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “I didn’t notice anyone.”
Interesting. “So where am I dropping you?” I asked. He gave me a look. “You can stop anywhere you want. I didn’t need the ride in the first place. I only agreed because of my sister.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.The audacity. “I’m asking for your address.” “Just stop the car here.” I slowed down and pulled over. I took a breath, forcing myself to stay composed. I can’t ruin something before it even starts. “You sure?” “Yes.” He stepped out, then leaned slightly toward the open window. “And thanks for the ride. Nice car. Must’ve cost a fortune.” There it was, he knew me very well.He shut the door and stood on the sidewalk, hands tucked into his coat, waiting for me to leave first. This mother fucker was trying hard to get on my nerves. But I drove off without another word. He wanted to play games? Fine.He didn’t know who he was dealing with.As soon as I turned the corner, I called Dimitri. “I need information. As much as you can get. Fast.” “On who, boss?” “You remember the girl Zeynep. I want you to dig into his brother now. Arda. I want everything. Where he works. Who he meets. Every step he takes.” A pause. “Give me a day.” “Make it less.”
I ended the call. He knew me. I was certain of it. No one speaks to me like that unless they’re either stupid — or informed.The traffic light ahead turned red. I stopped. My phone buzzed with a message notification. And then— A blinding light flashed in my peripheral vision. Headlights. Too fast. Too close. I didn’t hesitate. I slammed my foot on the accelerator and jerked the wheel forward just as a truck roared past the space where my car had been seconds ago. Metal screamed as it brushed too close. The truck didn’t stop. It kept going. My heartbeat slowed instead of rising. So. I wasn’t paranoid. Someone had followed me. And someone just tried to kill me. A foolish move. Very foolish. I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel and continued driving — slower now, sharper, every mirror checked twice. If they wanted a war…They should’ve made sure I was dead.
As soon as I reached my apartment building, I called Dmitri again. The line rang while I pressed the lift button, my whole body was buzzing with tension. The doors opened with a soft ding, and I stepped inside. “Yes, boss,” Dmitri answered without delay. “Double-check the security you assigned to Sasha,” I said, entering my apartment code into the panel inside the lift. My voice was calm, but my thoughts were not. “Someone knows we’re here. And they’ve already shown their claws.” “What happened?” He was at the port with the duties my father assigned him. “We’ll have a meeting on this where I'll let you know.” There was a brief pause. I could almost hear him thinking. “It could be the Italians, boss. They have a strong hold across Europe. Doing anything here wouldn’t be hard for them.” The lift began to rise. The numbers climbed one by one. “I think we should move Sasha to your apartment,” he added carefully. “With the tension rising, I don’t think she’s completely safe where she is.” I leaned back against the cold metal wall. “No. They’re not foolish enough to attack her in public. That would start something they’re not prepared to finish. Keep the security tight. Watch her surroundings. If anything feels wrong, even slightly, you inform me immediately.” Dmitri sighed softly. He didn’t like taking risks when it came to family, Neither did I. He grew up with us and growing up he was the closest to Sasha. But fear makes enemies bold, and bold enemies make mistakes. I needed whoever this was to feel confident. “I’m on it, boss,” he said before ending the call.
The lift doors opened directly into my apartment. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. Nikolai was stretched across the sofa like a man whose greatest tragedy was interrupted, his sleep, of course. He looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “What was so urgent that you dragged me here right now?” he muttered, more like grumbling. “The Italians,” I said simply, removing my coat and placing it aside. I walked toward the kitchen island and poured vodka into a glass. “Or maybe their pawn. Leonardo.” That got his attention. He sat up straighter and walked towards me, took the bottle from my hand, pouring himself a drink without asking. “It has to be Leonardo,” he said. “You handed him a major loss in that last meeting. He is now of no use to us, and that cost him a lot. Men like him don’t let that go. By the way, what did he do?” “Someone tried to ram my car with a truck while I was driving back,” I replied, my tone steady. Nikolai choked on his drink. “What?” He stared at me. “You were dropping Sasha at her hostel, weren’t you?” “Yes.” “And someone tried to kill you?” I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my throat. “That seems to be the intention.” For a moment, the room felt heavier. “No,” Nikolai said finally, shaking his head. “That’s not Leonardo. If he wanted someone dead, it would be me. I’m the one who provided all the things on him, to you. Not you.” He wasn’t wrong. Nikolai had a way of turning enemies personal. But this didn’t feel like wounded pride. This felt something else they didn’t care if i survived that means it was a message or weak planning.
“Exactly,” I said quietly. “Which means either he’s sending a message… or someone else is.” My mind drifted back to the last time tension between us and the Italians had started. The Italian Don had ended up dead, and the blame had conveniently fallen on us. It had nearly sparked open war. And it cost billions of dollars because Italians were not normal rivals. “I think we should settle our things down with italians, what do you say?” Nikolai was right we needed it the most. We can’t just let our men die on a rivalry which we didn’t even started. “The new heir is known for his ruthlessness, I heard he is 10 times ahead of his father.” Nikolai said, pouring himself another glass. “I know, i’m trying to get him on the table. I contacted a few other dealers to see if they could get him on talking. But if he was behind this i would have been dead for now. He is not a weak planner unless he wanted something from me.” nikolai sighed, the amount of vodka he has consumed he will pass out any time. But my mind couldn’t get this matter off my head. "I'll meet Dimitri in the morning and then we are going to take our next step." I said before leaving the kitchen. This felt similar to the last event. Someone was trying to use the rivalry again. Stir the fire. Watch it burn. And this time, they had aimed directly at me. I placed the glass down on the counter. Whoever made that move tonight, wanted something big.
Chapter no 9 I glanced at my watch. Late again. A quiet sigh escaped my lips as I lifted my eyes and found Sasha staring at me. She looked like a child waiting for instructions, her expression patient but curious, as if I were the responsible adult and she was the one following my lead. It almost made me smile. Throughout the day I accompanied her around the university. Kerem had helped too, trying his best to make her comfortable. Surprisingly, the two of them got along well. Sasha laughed easily with him, her bright personality filling the spaces around her without effort. But now my time is up. Work is waiting. We stopped in front of the hostel building. The cold wind brushed against my face as I adjusted the strap of my bag and quickly checked the things inside. “You should head to your room, Sasha,” I said while fixing the zipper of my bag. “I have to go to work, so I won’t be here for a few hours.”
“Work… what work?” she asked immediately, confusion spreading across her face. Her brows pulled together like the idea itself didn’t make sense to her. I hesitated for a moment. How was I supposed to explain that to her? Sasha looked like someone who had always been protected, someone who had never worried about money or responsibilities. My life had never been like that and now it is worse. “You’re staying in the hostel for free, right?” she asked after a moment. I nodded. “Yes… but I still have expenses. Groceries, daily things… you know.” She didn’t look convinced. “But… bu—” “Zeynep.” The familiar voice cut through the air. I turned instantly. Arda. Before I could even respond, Sasha had already turned toward him. The softness on her face disappeared, replaced by something sharp and defensive. Oh no. What was she going to do? She walked straight toward him in long, determined steps. “You,” she said, pointing slightly. “You are her brother, right?” Arda looked confused for a moment, glancing at me before nodding slowly. “Yes.”
Sasha placed her hands behind her back and rose slightly on her tiptoes, standing right in front of him. “Then why can’t you pay for her?” she asked bluntly. “She is your baby sister. My Mishka would never let me work or pay for anything. Never. Not on his watch.” Arda stared at her with visible annoyance. No one spoke to him like that, especially not someone he had just met. “Zeynep,” he said calmly, though the tension in his voice was clear. “Can I talk to you in private?” Then his eyes shifted back to Sasha. “Maybe your Mishka should buy you more clothes if he’s that helpful.” His gaze moved slowly from her head to toe. Sasha was wearing a bright blue fur coat with a matching top and a short skirt that barely reached mid-thigh. She looked adorable in it, like a walking winter doll, though the cold air around us was far from gentle. Her cheeks turned red instantly. Arda clearly knew he had hit the nerve he wanted. He tried to walk past her, but Sasha grabbed his arm before he could move further. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” she said sharply. Her voice lowered, turning colder. “And what you just said is way more offensive than you think. Mind your own issues first. And don’t ever target my Mishka again.” For a moment the air between them grew tense. They looked seconds away from starting a full argument while I just stood there, frozen, not knowing how to stop either of them. Arda opened his mouth to respond, but then his gaze shifted past Sasha. I followed it and saw Mikhail walking toward us from the parking lot. Something unreadable crossed Arda’s face.
“Come with me,” he said quietly to me. I didn’t argue. I simply followed him. Behind us, Sasha stomped her foot against the ground in frustration, clearly annoyed. Reaching the corner i tried to explain myself because i know arda didn’t like what sasha said to him, he has always been supportive. I was the one who didn’t told him about the bills and others. He stopped in front of me “Abey, I’m sor—” The words died in my throat when Arda suddenly pulled me into a tight hug. For a moment I froze in surprise. Arda was never the type to show emotions this openly. But then I felt his shoulders shake slightly. A quiet hiccup escaped him. My heart dropped. He was crying. Tears filled my eyes instantly as I wrapped my arms around him. His grip around me tightened like he was afraid that if he let go, something would break again. “I’m sorry, Zeynep,” he whispered against my hair. “I couldn’t save Anne… and I couldn’t save you that day.” His words felt like a knife twisting slowly inside my chest. Memories rushed back before I could stop them. The day he warned me about Semit. The way he tried to make me see what he already understood. At that time, I thought he was just being overprotective… suspicious for no reason. But he had been right. He always had been. Our father left us when we were still children. We never even knew who he truly was. Now our
mother was gone too. Arda was always the responsible child, he was my father and brother both. Now, all we had left… was each other. I hugged him tighter, trying to comfort him even though my own heart felt like it was breaking again. The cold wind brushed past us, but neither of us moved. Minutes passed like that. Maybe more. When we finally pulled away, his eyes were red and swollen. He tried to wipe his tears quickly, almost like he was embarrassed that I had seen him like this. I gently held his wrist before he could hide it. He had carried too much alone. Arda lowered himself slowly onto the entrance stairs. I sat beside him, the silence between us heavy but familiar. “You know,” I said quietly, staring into the empty street ahead of us, “I thought leaving Ankara would fix everything.” My fingers twisted together in my lap. “But here I am… still the same.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “I can’t do this anymore, Abey,” I whispered. “I’m tired.” Arda immediately turned toward me and grabbed my shoulders firmly, forcing me to look at him. “Look at me.” I lifted my eyes. “You are not at fault,” he said with certainty. “You were naive. You didn’t know how the world worked.” His grip softened slightly.
“But you will rebuild yourself. You will do this for Anne, for yourself , for me.” “But people—” “Fuck people,” he interrupted firmly. “Where were those people when you needed them? Did anyone help you when everything was falling apart? They just laughed and made more things worse but now we left that place behind. ” I stayed silent. “You and I are enough,” he continued more gently. “We start again.” He took a slow breath before speaking again. “I couldn’t come here earlier because of Anne’s condition… but now that responsibility is over.” His expression softened. “And you are my first responsibility now.” A small smile appeared on his face. “My Zeyee.” Tears slipped down my cheeks again. “I will give you every happiness you deserve,” he said softly. “Your brother is here now.” His hand rested gently on my head before he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “You won’t work anymore. Focus on your studies. Focus on yourself.” I nodded through my tears. For the first time in weeks, my chest felt a little lighter. “Now,” he said, standing up and pulling me with him, “let’s get you some new things.” “But Abey, I already have everything and tell me where your living?” I said softly.
“I’m living with a friend, a room is enough for me. And when your degree will be finished, i’ll get a house for both of us.” He grabbed my hand and started walking. “For now, The market is nearby.” “But—” He was already pulling me along, so I followed him with a small laugh slipping through my tears. Sasha and Mikhail were still standing where we had left them. She turned toward me immediately. “Zeynep, are you okay?” she asked, sending a suspicious glare toward Arda, probably noticing our red eyes. “Yes,” I said softly. “I’m okay. Nothing to worry about.” “Going somewhere?” Mikhail asked Arda, though his eyes stayed on me a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah,” Arda replied. “Taking my sister out.” He slipped my hand into his coat pocket, holding it the same way he used to when we were younger. “Can I come too?” Sasha asked eagerly while looking at me. “I wanted to go out.” “Sure,” I said with a smile, glancing at Arda for approval. He sighed. “But I wouldn’t recommend going out in this weather wearing that.” I closed my eyes for a second. Seriously? Again? Why was he targeting her clothes again? “We are Russians,” Mikhail said coolly. “We are used to much harsher weather than this.” His tone carried a quiet edge.
Arda simply shrugged. “Fine. Let’s go.” “I’m coming too,” Mikhail added, stepping forward to follow us. I had a feeling the night was going to be long. Very long. But maybe… just maybe… a good one. For the first time in a long while, my heart felt lighter.
Chapter no 10 We reached a nearby market. It was crowded, but that wasn’t surprising. It was a winter evening and the place was alive with people. Couples walked close together, families gathered around food stalls, and warm yellow lights hung above the small shops and stalls. I walked beside Arda while he kept my hand tucked inside his coat pocket like he didn’t plan on letting it go anytime soon. Behind us, Mikhail followed at us with a quite slow pace, while Sasha had already moved ahead, looking around with open curiosity. She turned from one stall to another like someone seeing everything for the first time. She suddenly stopped in front of a stall filled with colorful scarves. Different fabrics were folded in neat piles. Sasha picked one up, a dark red one and ran the cloth between her fingers. “Made of high quality,” the shopkeeper said in English, maybe he noticed her foreign appearance. His eyes briefly moved over her
blonde hair and the way she was dressed. “How does it look?” Sasha asked, wrapping the scarf around her neck. She looked at me first and then behind us as if waiting for another opinion. Mikhail didn’t notice. He stood a few steps away, his head slightly lowered as he typed something on his phone. “It looks nice,” I said. “How much?” Arda asked, opening his wallet. As he did, my hand slipped out of his pocket. The shopkeeper told him the price and Arda paid without hesitation. “Wait, no. Mishka will pay,” Sasha quickly, glancing toward her brother. Mikhail finally looked up from his phone, his brows pulling together slightly. “I already paid,” Arda said casually. “Paid for what?” Mikhail asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket. For the first time I saw him clearly without fearing what or who he might be. “The scarf.” Arda pointed toward Sasha. “Take it as a welcome gift to Turkey.” For a moment, Mikhail looked like he might argue, but then he simply gave Sasha a small nod. She smiled and kept the scarf wrapped around her neck. His gaze shifted then. It landed on me. Just for a second. But it stayed long enough for me to notice. I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing I was—the nights we had met before Sasha arrived. The way he had appeared at the restaurant regularly for nearly 2 weeks, i don’t think so he told Sasha about it or she would have mentioned. But why was he stalking me? He hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had I. The silence between us was heavy. Arda turned toward a nearby food stall. The smell reached me before I even saw it. Kokoreç.
My favorite. I followed him without thinking, already smiling a little. “Two for—” he began, but paused and glanced over his shoulder at Mikhail and Sasha walking toward us. “Make it four.” The man behind the stall worked quickly, wrapping the sandwiches in paper. Arda handed the first one to me. I took a bite, closing my eyes for a moment. Arda watched me with a small knowing smile. He always knew how much I liked these. He passed the other two sandwiches to Sasha and Mikhail and then took his one. Sasha took a bite, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise. From her expression, she liked it. “I’ll pay for it,” Mikhail said, reaching for his wallet. But Arda was faster, handing the money to the vendor. “I know you’ve got plenty of money, keep it for another time.” Arda said not so casually, “but you’re the guest here. I’m going to pay.” Mikhail looked mildly annoyed but didn’t argue, sliding his wallet back into his coat. The two of them had a tension between them or is it just me, maybe it’s just Arda is used to being around unknown people. “What’s this called?” Sasha asked between bites. She had already eaten nearly half of it. “Kokoreç,” Arda replied. The ocean was just a short distance away. People sat near the edge, watching the dark water while the sound of waves mixed with the noise of the market. “Can you explain it in English?” Sasha asked. “These are intestines, and yeah before you ask these are of —” Before he could finish, Sasha rushed to the nearby bin and spat out her food. I blinked. Oh no. I had completely forgotten they were Russian. Mikhail slowly looked down at his sandwich, like he was reconsidering every decision
he had made tonight. “You made me eat those?” Sasha said in disbelief while searching for water. Arda handed her a bottle. She nearly snatched it from his hand and drank quickly. There was a very satisfied expression on Arda’s face. “These are intestines of what exactly?” Mikhail asked carefully, pointing at the sandwich still in his hand. The horrified look on his face was enough to make a laugh slip out of my throat. Arda joined me instantly. It was ridiculous. The same man who had nearly killed someone in front of me looked completely disturbed by a sandwich. When my laughter finally faded, I noticed Mikhail watching me. I looked away first. “You said Russians are used to harsher things,” Arda said with a satisfied tone. “So what’s the big deal about eating intestines?” “Harsher weather,” Sasha corrected immediately. “Not harsher food.” “Same, same,” he muttered while finishing his sandwich. He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it into the bin. I glanced at Mikhail. He was still trying to finish his sandwich, though it looked like he was forcing every bite down. A moment later he managed it, wiping his hands casually as if it had been nothing. I quietly walked away from them, moving toward the ocean. The cool breeze brushed against my face, carrying the salty scent of the water. Somewhere behind me, Arda and Sasha had started arguing again, their voices faint but sharp. I ignored them. Arda was right. I couldn’t keep standing still in the ruins of the past. I had to build something new for myself. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.
I sat on the low concrete wall built along the edge of the shore. Other people were scattered around—some laughing, some sitting quietly, a few children running around with the careless joy only kids seem to have. “Who wants tea?” Arda’s voice appeared from behind me. I didn’t bother turning around. “Me. Obviously.” “Okay. I’ll get some for both of us.” “Make it four. I’m coming,” Sasha chimed in. “Then please don’t start arguing again afterward,” Arda muttered. Their footsteps faded as they walked away, probably toward the nearby tea stall. I closed my eyes, letting the ocean breeze wash over me. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was strangely calming. A moment later, I felt someone sit beside me. My eyes snapped open. Of course it was him. Mikhail. He hadn’t gone with them. He was facing the ocean just like I was, his posture relaxed, as if sitting beside me had been the most natural thing in the world. The wind ruffled his dark hair, pushing a few strands across his forehead. For the first time, he was sitting this close to me. Too close. Questions burned at the tip of my tongue. Why had he been coming to the restaurant so often? Was Sasha really my roommate by coincidence? Or was all of this some strange plan?
But something stopped me from asking. Instead, my gaze betrayed me, drifting toward him. He was… unfairly handsome. The kind of handsome that made you stare even when you told yourself not to. Damn. What was I thinking? I quickly looked away before he could catch me staring. For a while, neither of us said anything. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the restless sound of the ocean. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said finally. I kept my eyes on the water. “Thanks.” Silence followed again. But curiosity clawed at me. I couldn’t ignore it anymore—not when he was sitting right here beside me. “So… is it a coincidence?” “Coincidence what?” His voice dropped slightly, deep and calm. I still refused to look at him. “This. All of this. You coming to the restaurant all the time… and now your sister is suddenly my roommate and classmate.” “Well,” he said slowly, “the first part definitely isn’t a coincidence.” My head turned toward him before I could stop myself. “But the second part really is,” he continued. “I didn’t plan her admission here.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But it’s a bonus.” “Bonus for what?” This time our eyes met. His dark green eyes looked almost black under the night sky. “For being close to you.” The words hit me like a sudden wave. For a second, I couldn’t even breathe. He didn’t just said that.
“When I first saw you at that restaurant,” he continued, his voice softer now, “I had no idea I’d keep coming back. I kept making excuses to myself. One more time. Just once more.” My heart was beating way too fast. “And even after I went back to Russia, I kept thinking about coming here again. Being with Sasha was just the easiest excuse to return to Turkey.” He let out a quiet breath. “Then I found out she was staying with you.” He shook his head slightly. “And trust me, I didn’t plan that” I don’t know what to say. He looked behind, Sasha and Arda were coming back. “Meet me here tomorrow night.Then we'll talk.” he quickly said before keeping his distance from me. “Here, Mishka.” Sasha’s voice suddenly cut through the moment. Both of us looked up. She and Arda were holding cups of steaming tea. Sasha handed one to Mikhail while Arda passed one to me. The moment shattered as quickly as it had come. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, trying to calm the chaos in my chest. A few minutes later, Mikhail’s phone started ringing. He didn’t answer it. He simply silenced the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket as if whatever waited on the other side could wait a little longer. “I think I have to leave, so Sasha, you—” “I’ll be with Zeynep,” she said quickly, grabbing my hand before he could even finish the sentence.
Mikhail’s eyes shifted to me for a moment, then to Arda. My brother only shrugged his shoulders casually. “I’ll get both of them back to the hostel,” Arda said. “You can go.” Mikhail nodded once. “Okay then… till we meet again.” The words were simple, but his gaze lingered on me when he said them, like the sentence meant something else for me. Then he turned and walked away.
Chapter no 11 One year before. It was all red. Everything around her was spinning. She couldn’t see properly, her vision blurring again and again as dizziness washed over her. Where was she? She tried to look around, forcing her heavy eyes to focus, but a sharp pain suddenly shot through her body. She felt something warm between her legs. Red. It was pouring between her legs. Her breath became uneven. She was half naked. Instinctively she tried to cover herself, but her arms wouldn’t move. Her hands were tied above her head… bound tightly to the headboard of the bed. “Semit… Semit… where are you?” she whispered, her voice breaking, trembling like glass. Nothing answered. No one ever came. And then—the sounds. Loud voices behind the door followed by the stomp of boots. A bang, the steel door slammed open. “There’s another one,” a man’s voice said. Footsteps closed in .“Oh no… she’s badly assaulted. Cover her,” another shouted, in Turkish, urgent but harsh.
Her stomach turned, bile rising, every instinct screaming to hide, to run, to vanish. But her body betrayed her—helpless, tied, raw. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. Hands grabbed at the knots. Rough fingers worked quickly, untying her wrists. Cloth was draped over her, and then… darkness. I woke with a jolt. My heart was hammering in my chest, Nightmares again. Sitting up, i looked around, The room was dark. Sasha was sleeping soundly on the bed beside mine,. I glanced at Zyra’s bed—but it was empty. My stomach twisted. I remembered her there when I’d fallen asleep. From past days with her I could tell, She was always an early sleeper, always on schedule. So where was she now? I scanned the room, eyes straining in the darkness, and spotted my phone on the table. The screen glowed: 2:34 a.m. My pulse skipped. Where could she go at this hour? I slid out from under the comforter, trying to move quietly, slipping into my slippers. I forced my breaths to stay slow, steady, careful—not to wake Sasha. I peeked into her bathroom. Empty. Still nothing. A chill ran down my spine. Something wasn’t right. I looked around the hallway, nope still nothing. I walked down the stairs, thinking Zyra might be in the kitchen. And yes she was there, but she wasn’t alone. A tall man was leaning against the counter so casually, maybe helping her. They were talking but in low voices. He leaned straight and his eyes landed on me. He studied me for a moment, then muttered something to Zyra without looking away. His dark black hair were curled slightly and fell on his forehead. Zyra turned and saw me. “Oh! Hey, Zeynep, you’re awake,” she said, going back to stirring something in the pan.
The man beside her didn’t seem happy I was there. I could tell from his face. “Your bed was empty, so I got worried. Maybe I disturbed something,” I said, starting to back toward the stairs. “No, no, come join us,” Zyra said. I didn’t want to be awkward, so I stepped in the kitchen.. “I came to make tea, but Kinan had other ideas,” Zyra said with a small smile. “He’s teaching me the correct way to make pasta.” For the first time, he smiled at her. “Kinan….., nice to meet you. I haven’t seen you around,” I said. “Because I don’t usually hang around here,” his voice was deep and accent was different from a local turkish. “Oh I forgot, Zeynep,” Zyra said, stirring the pasta. “This is Kinan and he is my project partner in the final year project competition and kinan this is zeynep my friend.” Friend, I thought. Not roommate, not classmate. But friends. “So, how much longer, Mr. Perfect?” she asked, lowering the heat. Kinan looked at his watch. “Just fifteen minutes.” She finally turned towards me “15 mins and then you can taste Italy's best pasta.” she nudged him in the arm. And he smiled at her. Were they…… nope, she didn’t told me she had a boyfriend. But on the other hand why would she tell me. “No he is not what you are thinking, we’re just friends.” zyra corrected me, i think she saw my expressions. Ohh god now i feel embarrassed. “ no i wasn’t thinking anything……” i tried to dodge it. But i don’t think so he was happy from what zyra said. He sighed and straightened himself. “Now you’ve got the company senorita, i’ll take my leave.” Seniorita, so he was italian. And clearly he didn’t liked zyra mentioning him as a friend.
“But the past-” “I’m not hungry anymore, see you tomorrow.” he ignored her words. And left. “Don’t worry maybe he got some work to do, were gonna enjoy the pasta.” zyra tried her best to make everything normal but for the first time i saw her worried. “You okay?” I said, looking into her eyes. But she just smiled and started assembling the plates. “Yup… why?” Okay, maybe I was just imagining things. “Let me help,” I said before getting the glasses out of the cupboard. I stole one last look at her. Her facial expressions were normal, nothing serious. Maybe I was hallucinating. A tired sigh escaped my lips.