Page 57 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Rosemary” by Deftones

Present

I ’m pacing again.

Our last mission after the dinner was a few days ago and it was too quick for my liking. She was really thoughtful that day, but her eyes felt empty.

But I had a lot of questions and never had the time to focus on them.

I dial Lev’s number on my phone, and when he answers, there’s a distinct thought in my mind because I know what to ask.

“Lev, I need to know something,” I say. “The Bratva…did we ever have any Jordanian associates?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, like he’s trying to figure out why I’m asking. “Jordanian?” Lev repeats slowly. “Why the hell would you want that info?”

“Tell me, Lev.”

Another pause, then Lev sighs. “Alright. Yeah, I’ve heard about a story from like twenty years ago about a Jordanian woman.

She was a lawyer, married to one of our top enforcers.

They were all killed in one night. The parents, the kids.

All of them.” His voice drops. “It was brutal. Viktor and his father looked into it for years. They never found who did it. Apparently, they were loved in the clan.”

“Kids you say?”

“Yeah, a boy and a girl.”

A boy too? And the girl, the little girl... She was part of this?

“Do you remember the name?”

Lev’s response is quick. “I don’t remember the name, Viper. It was so fucking long ago. But let me look into it for you. It’s not something I’ve thought about in a long time.”

“Okay, let me know when you find something.”

I end the call and immediately begin searching myself. I don’t like doing that. Actually, I don’t like doing that to her. Cause if she is that little girl, it means I don’t know anything about her past and that I’m searching through something she probably wants to forget.

I scroll through articles, news reports, trying to find anything that connects to what Lev said. And then, buried deep within a legal blog, I found something.

“ Well-Loved Lawyer Found Dead in Brutal Attack: Investigation Continues ” The headline catches my eye, and I click on the link.

It’s an article from years ago, detailing the murder of a respected lawyer and her family.

She worked for the bratva unofficially but also in a women’s defense organization, fighting for the rights of those too often overlooked, too often silenced.

The article mentions that she had been involved in several high-profile cases, earning admiration across the industry.

Her death was described as a shock to many, a loss to the legal world.

The picture accompanying the article is of a beautiful, poised woman, her dark eyes full of grace. It feels like I’m looking at her for the first time, but I know... I know why she looked familiar.

The article doesn’t give much else, no clues on who could have done it, no mention of her family’s slaughter.

I scroll through the article again, looking for any lead I might have missed. But nothing.

Who are you?

The phone slips from my hand onto the table, and I stand there for a moment.

Think Viper. Think.

A Jordanian lawyer, married to one of Bratva's best enforcers... They had a daughter and a son. All of them killed in one brutal night, their bodies left cold and lifeless. The little girl and boy too, why does that hit me so hard?

A family erased in an instant.

But there’s one thought that keeps clawing at the back of my mind.

Is she the little girl?

She said it herself, to Donovan, they didn’t check everyone’s bodies, and she survived.

I don’t even know why I’m asking myself that. The idea is absurd, but... something about it makes sense. The way her eyes are always filled with rage, the way she’s always looking around like she knows what hell looks like.

Could she be the same one? Could Voron be the little girl who survived that night?

I push the thought down, but it keeps resurfacing. How the hell would she even survive that night if it was as brutal as Lev said? And where was she for all those years?

Why is she here, tangled up with the Bratva now, when she should be... well, anywhere else but here, years later? How the hell did she get involved with the Bratva again? If she’s really the same girl, if she’s really survived that night, why wouldn’t anyone have noticed the connection?

Why hasn’t anyone connected the dots? Or is she really well covered by Vik and Kat…

I sit back down and start searching through my phone, swiping through some old articles again.

There’s an old story about the lawyer, the mother. I found her name quickly, Amane El Mansour.

Why would someone who had ties like that be killed?

I pulled up another link, an older photo of her smiling. This woman… Could she have really been the mother of the girl I’m always thinking about?

I stop myself there, staring at the image. If her husband, the enforcer, was the initial target, then why wipe out everyone? And if it was her, the lawyer, who was the true threat? But… Why? Why take her down?

The entire thing feels off, like the pieces don’t fit together the way they should. Why kill an entire family affiliated with the Bratva? A lawyer, a man loyal to them, and two kids. It’s... too much .

I lean back in my chair, pressing my palms into my eyes. A thousand thoughts racing.

My phone buzzes with a new message from Lev. Saying he found a few more things on her. Attached to his text was a file.

I curse under my breath. I need answers, and I need them now. No more waiting. No more games. This isn’t some mission. This is personal now.

The phone buzzes on the desk, and I glance at the screen before picking it up, seeing her name light up.

“Nice of you to finally call me,” I say. The truth is, I’ve been waiting for this, though I’d never admit it. I’ve been buried in the case, in her . “I was beginning to think I’d have to beg for your attention.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can hear her breathing, steady. “Everything okay?” I ask again. “Should I be worried?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine,” she says, “But I need a favor.”

I sit up straighter, my fingers still poised above the keyboard, half distracted by the fact that she’s on the other side of this call, so damn close and yet miles away. “Go on,” I murmur, as if I’m not already imagining the look in her eyes when she asks me to do things I can’t say no to.

“I need you to pick me up tonight,” she says, almost too casually.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Where are you going?”

She doesn’t give much. Not like she ever would. “It’s personal.”

I freeze, my eyes flicking back to the screen in front of me, searching for any new clues on her family, her history. But that one word, “ personal ,” makes my stomach tighten in a way I don’t want to understand. Why the hell does it bother me?

“Tell me.”

For a second, I think she might actually crack. But no. She’s colder than that. “I can’t. But I need you to do it.”

It’s simple. She needs me. And I’m supposed to be the one who always says yes, always answers the call, always figures it out.

I lean in slightly against my chair. “You don’t do things alone anymore, Voron,” I say softly. She’s always been working on shit by herself. And for reasons I can’t explain, I’ve come to be that person she can lean on, whether she wants me there or not.

There’s a soft sigh from her end. I imagine the look on her face. “Fine. Forget it, Damir. I’ll find a solution.”

I don’t want her to go. The thought of her being out there without me, it pisses me off. “No,” I say, my voice suddenly harder. “I’ll do it. Send me the address. And the time.”

There’s a long pause, like she’s sizing me up, weighing whether or not to accept my help. Then, finally, the words slip out, calm and soft. “Okay, thank you. See you tonight.”

She hangs up before I can say anything else, and for a moment, the room feels colder. I sit there, phone still pressed to my ear, staring at nothing. The emptiness fills me, but it’s not the same kind of emptiness I’m used to.

See you tonight.

What the hell is it about her? I can’t even focus on the case, on the files, on the damn things I’m supposed to be investigating. The ones about her possible family, her mother... they’re still open, taunting me with secrets, but it’s like I’m looking at them through a fog.

Do I want to know?

What’s she doing tonight? Why won’t she tell me?

I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake it off. She’s a job. She’s a target. I have to remember that.

I don’t know why it’s affecting me this way.

I’m supposed to be tracking her, finding out everything there is to know, and yet here I am, obsessing over her.

Over a woman who probably wouldn’t give a damn if I disappeared tomorrow.

A woman who’s probably already plotting her next kill while I’m sitting here wondering what she’s doing tonight, where she’s going, who she’s seeing.

I don’t have the answers, and that’s the worst part. All this digging, all this searching, and the more I find, the less I understand.

I close the laptop, pushing away the rest of the noise. My fingers itch for more answers, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not right now. Not when the thought of her going out tonight sits like a knot in my stomach.

She wants me to pick her up. But she won’t tell me why. I’m not some damn chauffeur, and yet... I’m ready to drop everything for her. Ready to follow wherever she leads me, even if it’s straight into a fucking tornado.

Is this weakness ?

I can feel my heart beating faster now. The thought of her being out there, on her own, with no one to protect her, no one to stop her, makes my chest tighten. It’s irrational, stupid , but it’s there.

I want to be the one who keeps her safe.

But how the hell am I supposed to keep her safe when she doesn’t even want to be kept?

I stand up, pacing the room, rubbing the back of my neck as the unease grows. And for the first time in this mess of a situation, I’m starting to realize the truth: I don’t want to know her as a job anymore. I want to know her as a person .

But that’s where things start to get messy. She’s not just a person. She’s not just anyone. She’s the kind of woman who breaks things, who kills, who destroys anything that stands in her way. And I... I’m falling for it.

I’m falling for a lie.

For her.

And I don’t know how to stop it.