Yulia

Year Two Diary

It's been two years. Two years of empty days and sleepless nights. Two years of chasing ghosts and hearing her voice in my dreams, only to wake up to silence. Two years of waiting for a miracle that never comes.

Every lead we've followed, every shadow we've chased, has led to nothing. Nothing. Do you know what that feels like? To pour every ounce of yourself into a search that gives you no answers, no closure, just the endless echo of failure? It eats at you. It claws at your sanity until you're not even sure who you are anymore.

Alessandro is still relentless. I've never seen him like this before, and I wish I never had to. He won't stop, won't let himself stop. He's tearing himself apart, piece by piece, but he won't admit it. He's too proud, too stubborn, too... Alessandro. I couldn't just sit back and watch anymore. I couldn't stand to see him carry this weight alone. So I joined him. I thought I could help. I thought maybe, together, we could find her. But the truth is, I don't think we're any closer than we were the day she disappeared. And I don't know how much longer we can keep going before we lose what little of ourselves we have left.

And Matteo... God, Matteo. He stayed behind. He wanted to come with us—I saw the way his eyes lit up when we started talking about new leads, the way his hands clenched at his sides like he was fighting every instinct to pack his bags and leave with us. But someone had to keep the business running, and he was the obvious choice. He's always been the calm one, the rational one, the one who could step into any role and make it work. And he does it well. Too well. He spends his days buried in contracts and meetings, side by side with Montanna, while Alessandro and I tear through Russia like men possessed.

But I see the cracks. I see the way Matteo's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore, the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one's looking. He's holding it together because someone has to, but I know it's killing him. He misses her just as much as we do. Maybe more. And I miss him, too. I miss us. What we used to be. What she made us.

Montanna brought her baby into the office last week. A beautiful little girl, all wrapped up in pink, with hair as red as fire. She looked at me with those big, curious eyes, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I kept thinking about Yulia, about how much she would've loved that baby. She would've held her, kissed her, spoiled her in ways only Yulia could. She would've laughed, that soft, sweet laugh that made everything feel okay, even when the world was falling apart.

But she's not here. She's not here, and it's like the universe is mocking me. Showing me all these moments she'll never be a part of, all the things she'll never get to see or feel or do. It's unbearable. I had to leave the room. I couldn't let them see me fall apart. I can't be the weak one. Not now. Not when we're all barely holding on.

Do you know what it feels like to lose someone who's still alive? To have no idea where they are, if they're safe, if they're even thinking of you? It's a special kind of hell. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. I hear her laugh. I feel her touch. And then I wake up, and it's all gone. Just a memory, fading faster than I can hold on to it.

Sometimes I wonder if she's forgotten us. If she's out there somewhere, thinking we gave up on her. God, the thought of that—it's like a knife twisting in my chest. I want to scream, to tear the world apart until I find her, until I can hold her and tell her we never stopped looking. That we'll never stop.

But the truth is, I'm scared. I'm terrified that we'll never find her, that she's lost to us forever. And I don't know how to live with that. I don't know how to keep going in a world that doesn't have her in it.

The house feels so empty without her. Without Matteo. Without Alessandro. It's just me most nights, sitting in the dark, staring at the walls and wishing they'd talk back. Wishing I could go back to the days when she was here, when we were all together, when everything felt... whole.

Yulia. It's hard to even write her name now, harder still to confront the gaping void her absence has left in our lives. Harder still to admit how much we've lost, how much of ourselves we've surrendered to this unending search.

Where are you, baby? God, where are you?

We've turned Russia upside down. We've scoured every city, every hidden alley, overturned every rock, and chased every whisper. And each time, we've come up with nothing. Nothing but more empty leads, more false hopes, more crushing silence. At some point, even the Russians took pity on us. I think they saw Alessandro—the raw desperation in his eyes, the fire that's kept him burning even when it's clear the flame is eating him alive—and they decided to help.

Maybe they saw something of themselves in our struggle. Maybe they saw a man so broken, so relentless, that they couldn't stand by and watch anymore. Whatever their reasons, they joined us. They offered resources, contacts, manpower—everything we could ask for. They combed through their networks, delved into their shadows, digging as deep as we were. And yet, even their efforts have led to nothing. Every lead ends the same way: in darkness.

But it wasn't just pity. I could see it in their faces—they were intrigued by her story. By her. They found out she was one of their own, at least in part. Part Russian. They latched onto the idea, piecing together fragments of her history that even we didn't know. They noticed patterns, coincidences. Her parents' deaths coinciding with the fall of their old guard, her disappearance in the aftermath of Dimitri's grandmother's passing. It was as if they believed there was some hidden thread binding her fate to their losses. Something bigger. Something... significant.

I don't know if it was ever true. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. But it gave them something to cling to. It gave us something to cling to. Because without that, all we have is emptiness.

The truth is, none of it makes sense anymore. We've gone over every detail of that night a thousand times, dissected it from every angle, tried to find something—anything—we might have missed. But there's nothing. No clue, no sign, no message left behind. It's like she just... vanished. Like the earth opened up and swallowed her whole.

I see it in Alessandro's eyes, the way he pours every ounce of himself into the search like it's the only thing keeping him breathing. I hear it in Matteo's silence, in the way he buries himself in work because it's easier than facing what's been taken from us. I feel it in my own chest, this unbearable weight, this ache that never leaves.

I miss her so much. God, I miss her. I miss the way her smile could light up a room, the way she made me feel like maybe—just maybe—I could be something more. Something better. And I know Alessandro and Matteo feel the same. We've all lost something vital, something we can't replace, something we can't even define.

And yet, we keep going. We keep searching, because the alternative—the thought of giving up, of accepting that she's gone—it's more unbearable than anything else. We owe it to her. We owe it to the memory of her laugh, her touch, her everything.

I don't know how much longer we can keep this up. How much more we can take before we lose ourselves completely. But I know one thing: as long as there's a chance—any chance—I'll keep going. I'll keep searching. Because giving up isn't an option. Not for her. Not for us.

I just hope, wherever she is, she knows. That she feels it. That she remembers us.

But every day, the hope gets harder to hold on to. It's like trying to keep a flame alive in a storm. I wonder if she knows—if she can feel how much we're fighting for her. How much we love her.

I hope she knows. God, I hope she knows.

Because we'll never give up on her. Not ever. Even if it kills us. And some days, it feels like it just might.