Redemption / MADE MEN BOOK 2

Provoking the Devil once more

Isabella

The days have blurred into one another, an endless cycle of fear and uncertainty. A week has passed since I witnessed the horrific scene at the club, and I haven't left my apartment. The isolation is suffocating, but the thought of stepping outside, of being seen, is unbearable.

I haven't been to work. I can't. The thought of facing the world, pretending that everything is normal, feels impossible. My boss has been understanding so far, but I know her patience won't last forever. I love my job, but I'm too anxious.

I do however need money so sometime soon I'll need to put on my big girl pants again and continue goddamn breathing.

I am so fucked.

I've been taking my medication regularly now, it eases some of my anxiety. But not all; it only takes away the edges.

Andrea has been conspicuously absent. She's been spending most of the week at her new boyfriend's place. He's the bouncer from the club, and I can not blame her. She has no idea what is going on. I'm happy she can live so carefree.

The silence in our apartment is oppressive. Without Andrea's usual chatter and presence, the place feels like a prison. I jump at every noise, fucking paranoid. Every creak of the floorboards, every hum of the refrigerator, feels like a threat. My nights are restless, plagued by nightmares of what I have seen. I wake up drenched in sweat, the echoes of her cries still ringing in my ears.

What if I end up like her?

Like those pictures I've seen?

I have always had night terrors, but now they are more realistic - about him. I dream so vividly about him, it's almost as if it's real. His voice, his scent, his touch.

It's been nearly two years, but every sense is right there.

I can't go to the police. The contract of omerta I signed when I got involved with Aslanov binds me to silence.

It's an unbreakable vow, a promise that I would never speak of his operations to anyone. If I break it, I know the consequences will be dire. And even if I did go to the police, who would believe me? Aslanov's reach is vast, his influence pervasive. He has people everywhere, nobody would believe me and I fear his wrath.

He'll eat me alive - and not in the pleasant way.

My chances against this man are close to zero.

He can easily get rid of me, dead or alive. Nobody would ever find me, I am sure he has a book of 100 ways to get rid of a body without leaving any remains. He could sell me into the system for money, cursing me for the rest of my life. Being sold to men like him - death sounds more forgiving. Yet I have not forgotten one thing; he doesn't forgive - easily. But he forgives me. Multiple times. The thought makes me feel conflicted.

Desperation claws at me as I pace my small living room. I feel like a caged animal, trapped with no way out. The fear is constant, a shadow that follows me everywhere. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think. The weight of what I saw, of what I know, is crushing me. What the fuck can I do?

I sit on the edge of the couch, my head in my hands. The helplessness overwhelming. How did I get here? How did I let myself get so entangled with a man like him? What the fuck was wrong with me?

I groan as I throw the blanket over my face and lay down.

Why did he bring me home from the club? Had he been watching me more often than I realized? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. How long had I been under his surveillance without knowing? And why, of all places, was he suddenly in New York, setting it ablaze with his crimes?