Chapter 50: The small child with the big mouth
Isabella quickly straightened her face, though her eyes softened. "Nothing."
"You smiled," Freya accused, her socks sliding a step closer.
"I did?"
"Yes."
"Maybe your cat is funny," Isabella said gently, her hands folding over her cardigan.
Freya looked down at the tuxedo cat, who was currently purring loudly and licking his own paw near her feet.
"He’s not funny. He’s an asshole."
A soft, genuine laugh bubbled up from Isabella’s throat before she could stop it.
The sound was bright and clear, ringing out across the quiet, wooden hallway like a little silver bell.
The laugh hit Freya like a bucket of cold water. Her cheeks flushed a light, angry pink under her dark curls.
She hadn’t wanted this woman to laugh. She hadn’t wanted her to look relaxed, or comfortable, or sweet.
She wanted Isabella to be scared, or angry, or arrogant... anything that would make it easy to hate her. But Isabella just stood there, frail and blind, responding to every sharp insult with gentle politeness and quiet amusement.
It was deeply frustrating. It made Freya feel like she was throwing punches at a cloud.
"Don’t laugh," Freya snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her oversized t-shirt. "I’m not being nice to you."
"I know you’re not," Isabella said, her tone softening even more. She took a tiny, cautious step forward, keeping her hands where Freya could see them.
"Look, Freya... I know you’re worried. You love Aaron, and you’re protective of him, and you don’t know who I am. That makes complete sense. But I promise you... I didn’t come here to replace anyone. I didn’t come here to take your place, or Finn’s place, or anyone else’s."
Freya stared at her. The sharp, guarded look in her hazel eyes flickered for a brief second, replaced by something old and bruised, something deep down that she tried very hard to hide behind her sarcastic comments and heavy shirts.
"Everyone says that before they do," Freya said softly.
The words didn’t come out as a shout. They came out quiet, cold, and heavy with a quiet certainty that made Isabella’s breath catch in her throat.
Isabella stood there, the silence stretching long and thick between them. She could feel the painful truth hanging in the air. This wasn’t just teenage attitude.
This was a girl who had been hurt before and had decided to build high walls around her life so no one could ever do that to her again.
Isabella didn’t try to offer a fake promise. She didn’t try to sugarcoat it or give her a sweet, empty line.
"Then I suppose you’ll have to decide for yourself what kind of person I am," Isabella said gently, her voice steady and firm. "I won’t force you to like me, Freya. But I won’t lie to you either."
Freya stared at her for five long seconds.
Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line, her hazel eyes searching Isabella’s pale, calm face for any sign of a trick, any sign of deceit.
But there was nothing there. Only a quiet, tired girl who looked just as lost as she felt.
Freya shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms and reaching down to scoop the heavy, complaining tuxedo cat back up into her arms. She held Mr. Cheese tightly against her ribs, her chin resting against his soft, black-and-white head.
"Don’t get comfortable," Freya said flatly, turning her body toward the far stairs.
Isabella’s brows pulled together in quiet confusion. "Excuse me?"
Freya stopped at the edge of the hallway, her long dark curls falling over her shoulder as she looked back over her shirt.
"Mishka gets bored," Freya said, her voice dropping into a eerie, matter-of-fact tone that sent a sudden, icy shiver straight down Isabella’s spine. "And when he gets bored... people usually disappear."
Before Isabella could even open her mouth to ask what that meant, the soft sliding sound of Freya’s socks moved quickly down the hall.
A second later, the quiet thud of a bedroom door closing echoed through the corridor, leaving Isabella standing all alone near the stone pillar.
Isabella stood frozen in the warm, quiet hallway, her hands clutching her sweater tightly against her chest.
’People usually disappear.’
Did she mean Aaron sent them away? Did she mean he threw them out when he was done with them? Or... did she mean something much worse?
Did she mean the dark, blood-soaked side of Aaron Kazarov... the side that ordered shootings, the side that ruled a crime empire with an iron fist... eventually swallowed up everyone who got too close to him?
Isabella swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs as she slowly turned around, her hand finding the cold wall to guide her back to her room.
Downstairs, the front doors of the house swung open with a heavy, muted thud.
Aaron stepped into the main hall, unbuttoning his heavy dark overcoat and tossing it to a waiting butler without looking.
His face was still set in that hard, unyielding expression from his call with the south, his dark blue eyes cold and sharp as flint.
Pyotr walked in right behind him, lighting a fresh cigarette the second his boots touched the foyer rug.
"The boys in Rostov just confirmed," Pyotr grumbled, blowing a thick cloud of smoke toward the high wooden ceiling. "Volkov handed over the keys. He was crying like a baby on the dock. Said you were a monster."
"He’s alive," Aaron said flatly, walking toward the grand staircase. "That makes him lucky."
Finn came sliding out of the living room, a half-eaten apple in his hand, Boyar trotting happily behind him. "Mishka! Are you done working? Can we go to the shooting range tomorrow? Pyotr promised he’d let me try the new rifle!"
"No rifles until your math homework is done," Aaron said smoothly, his hand resting on the wooden banister as he began to climb the stairs.
"Ah, come on!" Finn whined, though there was no real anger in his voice. "Pyotr said... "
"Pyotr doesn’t run this house," Aaron cut him off quietly, flicking a sharp glance down at his second-in-command.
Pyotr raised his hands innocently, a lazy, tired smirk on his face. "Hey, don’t look at me. I told him to ask you."
Aaron didn’t waste any more time talking. He moved up the stairs with long, heavy strides, his mind already shifting away from Volkov, away from the blood and business of the Lotus alliance.
As he reached the second-floor landing, his eyes immediately went toward the quiet corridor leading to Isabella’s room.
He walked down the hall, his dark eyes sweeping over the dark hardwood floors, taking in every tiny detail out of habit.
Halfway down the hall, near the large stone pillar, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His sharp eyes caught a single strand of long, dark curly hair resting against the edge of the pillar... Freya’s hair.
And right next to it, on the polished wood floor, was a single, light gray cat hair from Mr. Cheese.
Aaron’s jaw tightened instantly.
His dark blue eyes narrowed as he looked from the pillar toward the closed door of Isabella’s suite.
He didn’t make a sound. He walked up to Isabella’s door, raised his large hand, and knocked twice... a soft, steady rhythm that he knew wouldn’t startle her.
"Isabella?" he called out softly, his deep voice carrying through the heavy wood. "It’s me."
Inside the room, Isabella was sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers tangled tightly in the soft wool of her cardigan.
Hearing his voice... that deep, smooth, commanding voice that seemed to pull all the air out of the room... made her chest tighten in a completely new way.
"Come in," she whispered.
The door opened silently. Aaron stepped into the room, his tall, imposing frame blocking out the light from the hallway.
He looked at her sitting there, tiny and pale against the massive bed, her eyes staring blindly toward the sound of his footsteps.
He noticed the slight tension in her shoulders right away. He noticed the way her fingers were twisting her sweater, the quick, shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Aaron closed the door behind him and walked slowly toward the bed, stopping a few feet away so he wouldn’t crowd her.
"You were out in the hall," Aaron said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
Isabella blinked, her lips parting slightly. "How did you...?"
"Did Freya bother you?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously quiet, dark, and still.
Isabella swallowed hard. She thought about the teenager standing in the hall with her fat cat, throwing insults like small stones, trying so hard to sound big and scary because she was terrified of losing the only safety she had ever known.
She thought about Freya’s final words... ’people usually disappear’... and the heavy shadow of fear that hung over the girl’s eyes.
Isabella looked up toward the sound of Aaron’s breathing, her face completely calm.
"No," Isabella lied softly, her voice steady and clear. "We just... introduced ourselves."
Aaron stared down at her for a long, heavy moment. He knew she was hiding something... he could read people better than anyone alive... but he also heard the quiet protective edge in her voice, the gentle way she was shielding the girl downstairs.
A tiny, almost imperceptible shift touched the corner of Aaron’s mouth. He took a step closer, leaning down slightly, his broad hand reaching out to gently touch the side of her arm.
"She has a big mouth," Aaron murmured, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of her sweater. "If she says something stupid, tell me. I’ll handle her."
"She’s just a child, Aaron," Isabella said softly, her hand moving up to cover his fingers on her arm. "She cares about you."
Aaron didn’t answer. He just stood there in the quiet, warm room, looking down at the girl who had walked into his dark, violent world and immediately begun softening every hard edge she touched.