Page 12 of Dangerous Beginnings

I changed out of the atrocious suit into my black jeans, black shirt, and black coat. My black revolver is tucked into my pants. I put on my black mask like every one of us. It is not a surprise that there was no information to be found on me.

As the last guard is placed in line with his hands zip-tied behind him the snow stops falling.

The courtyard is a hellscape of fear and desperation. Cries for salvation pierce the air, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood. The crowd, now a throng of cowering bodies, falls silent as I step into their midst. They cling to their pleas, their eyes wide with terror, but their prayers are lost on me. I am no savior; I am the harbinger of their darkest fears.

I approach the first man in line, his face a portrait of stark dread. He dares to lift his gaze to meet mine, but it is a fatal mistake. With a brutal motion, I grip his neck, the pressure of my hands a cold promise of death. His struggles are futile, a mere twitching against the inevitable. His eyes bulge in silent panic as I tighten my grip, relishing the moment of helplessness.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, my voice a rasp of cold menace. I loosen my hold just enough to give him a fleeting breath of respite, then draw my gun with a deliberate slowness. The metallic click of the chamber being readied is a cruel prelude. I aim with practiced precision, placing the barrel against his forehead, and pull the trigger. The shot echoes like a thunderclap, reverberating through the desolate space. His head snaps back violently, a spray of crimson erupting from the gaping wound. The blood splatters across the cracked concrete, painting the ground with a grim testimony to my power.

I survey the scene with a detached coldness, my gaze sweeping over the remnants of their hope and sanity. But then, a sharp realization cuts through the haze of violence—she is not here. Isabella, the key piece in my intricate design, is conspicuously absent. The realization fuels a darker fire within me. Where is that treacherous girl hiding? My anger and frustration boil over, each pulse of fury demanding retribution. The absence of her presence ignites a sinister resolve.

Isabella

I debate what to do. Where did the bang come from? I cannot think straight. And before I seal my fate my feet have already started to make their way towards the door. I reach up towards the heavy steel doorknob and twist it. I slowly push the door open, and I wish to hell and back that I never opened it.

Once the door is fully open, I am met with an ice-cold breeze. It’s pitch-black outside, but the courtyard lights are on, revealingthe horror scene in front of me. Men are lined up, kneeling with their hands tied behind their backs. Girls are the same, just another line. Everyone is held at gunpoint and one man appears to be dead, blood covering the floor where his faint body lays. The dry tears on my cheek turn into ice as the temperature drops even lower when I realize who the man is standing in the middle.

Every one of these men is wearing a mask, but I recognizehim. I feel his dangerous dominating aura radiating around the scene. His mere existence is a force that demands submission from everyone around him.

The low murmur of the men around fades into the background as his gaze, lethal, locks onto mine. I am frozen where I stand, as though his eyes have bound me in place.

His icy green eyes are as bright as the lights of the yard. He towers above all the other men with his height, his demeanor dominating the scene. He changed into different clothes, black on black. A single breath is difficult, my lungs tighten with fear. He knows, he knows that I recognize him.

And as I stand there, trapped in the gaze of a man who could end me with a word, a gesture. My thoughts spin wildly, clawing for an escape, a plan—anything.

I don’t want to die tonight, a rebellion built on hope rises in me, but it’s like a dying ember in the middle of the cold, endless winter.

Diable

My eyes slowly lift from the frozen ground beneath my boots, drawn to the figure I have been waiting for.Thereshe is. The question I asked myself mere minutes ago, in the cold, brutal silence of the courtyard, now finds its answer. Her gaze lands on mine after a minute of wandering them around the courtyard, filled with starkfear. Her bare feet touch the ice-cold tiles, the chill of the groups creeping up her legs. Her lips are blue, kissedby the unforgiving cold of the night.

The courtyard is the stage, and she is the final, trembling act. The final piece to destroy. A smile, cold and without warmth, tugs at the corner of my lips, obscured by the mask. Her gaze shifts downwards, she is afraid to face me directly, and that’s wise. She stepped into my world the moment she caught my attention.

Isabella, if I am your salvation, welcome to hell. I call over two of my men,

“Privedi eye ko mne.”Bring her to me.

Chapter 7

The First Appearance

Deceives Many

Isabella

The sentence leaves his mouth like a death sentence, and my body goes into survival mode before my brain can even catch up. Multiple men start moving toward me, their footsteps heavy and determined. Panic takes over, and my mind races—what do I do? Where do I go?There’s no escape, not from this place. I’m trapped in a maximum-security prison with no chance of fleeing. My only option is to hide; to pray they can’t find me.

I don’t think, I just run. Barefoot, I sprint down the hall, my feet slapping against the cold, hard floors. The sound of their boots pounding behind me echoes, growing louder with each step. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the adrenaline pushing me forward even as my legs beg me to stop. The distance between us narrows, and I know I don’t have much time.

I reach the end of the hall, breathless and dizzy. The physical exhaustion hits me like a punch to the gut—my lack of fitness, the years I’ve spent behind a desk, it all catches up to me now. I’m slow. I’m weak. A target.

But I can’t stop. They’re still behind me. There’s no time to slow down, no time to think, just to keep running. I make a sharp turn, another, and then another until I’m in front of an office room. I slam the door shut behind me, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear anything else. I lock it, quickly and desperately, then shove the nearest piece of furniture I can move against the door, hoping it will hold.

I collapse to the floor, my body shaking as I try to catch mybreath. The tears come, hot and fast, spilling down my cheeks. My arms are scratched, my feet bruised and bleeding, my body cold from the rush of fear. I’m barely dressed for this, exposed in nothing more than a thin shirt and pants. The sobs wrack through me, but I try to keep quiet. I can’t let them hear me.

Images flash in my mind—the blood, Lea’s face, the death I just witnessed. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I’m not the bad guy here. I’ve never hurt anyone, never broken the law. So why is this happening to me?

I slap myself mentally.Did I provoke him?

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