Whispers of the Past

Part 7:

The private jet lands smoothly at Moscow's airport. Evan drags Delera, who is visibly distressed, from the plane and towards a sleek, black luxury car. She glances around, tears in her eyes as the city she once called home comes into view.

As the car drives through Moscow, Delera's gaze is fixed on the familiar streets and buildings. The city's landmarks and her childhood haunts flash by, evoking memories of a happier time now overshadowed by her current predicament.

The car arrives at a modern villa, characterized by its sleek, black decor. Evan leads Delera inside. The villa is elegant but not ostentatious. Inside, a few maids are preparing dinner.

The dining room is set for dinner. Delera sits at the table, visibly confused as to why Evan has invited her to dine with him.

Evan sits across from her, a stern expression on his face.

EVAN
(speaking coldly)
Up until now, I've treated you like part of the family. I blamed your father for your escape and not you, even though you were old enough to understand what was happening.

Delera looks down, trying to maintain her composure. She responds with a hint of desperation in her voice.

DELLERA
There's a reason I've been hiding your sister's location. I care about her... probably more than you do.

Delera then hesitantly adds, attempting to reach out to him emotionally.

DELLERA
I see you had the maids prepare sweet potatoes... I remember how much I loved them as a child. It's just like how you used to know my favorite things.

Evan's face remains impassive, but his eyes flicker with something unreadable.

EVAN
(coldly)
You're mistaken if you think that makes a difference. I've given you sweet potatoes because I remembered you liked them as a child. But that's all you were to me—a younger sister who often stared at me. Now, you're just a pawn I'll use to get to my sister and then discard.

Delera's shock is palpable. She realizes the true extent of her situation, understanding that her mission is far more complicated and dangerous than she initially thought.

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Evan steps out of his car, feeling the cold bite of the Moscow air as he approaches the imposing Skolov estate. The family house, a sprawling mansion surrounded by high walls, looms before him—a fortress as much as a home. It's been ten years since he began searching for Mia and Delera, and the years of relentless pursuit have left him weary, but determined.

As he walks through the familiar corridors, the echoes of his footsteps seem to amplify the silence that hangs heavy in the air. He enters his grandfather Kivan's study, where the old man sits behind a large, mahogany desk, his sharp eyes scanning over a series of documents.

"Evan," Kivan greets him without looking up, his voice gruff. "I trust you've handled the shipment."

Evan takes a seat, nodding. "The arms deal went through smoothly. We've secured the routes, and the new contacts are reliable. As for the drugs, distribution is up by twenty percent this quarter."

Kivan finally looks up, his gaze appraising. "Good. We can't afford any slip-ups, not with the Bratva breathing down our necks. We've stayed on top because we've been ruthless and precise."

Evan's expression remains stoic. "I know. That's why I'm here. I've been following up on some older leads—tying up loose ends."

Kivan raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Older leads? Don't tell me you're still chasing after those ghosts. It's been ten years, Evan. If they were going to resurface, they would have by now."