Page 36 of Dangerous Beginnings

I can’t pull my eyes away from the TV. “That’s bad,” I shake my head. “Very bad,” I add in a whisper.

“They’re never going to catch him. He’s untraceable. Besides nobody knows who to look for, there is no information on his physical appearance. The whole police station is hysterical. When does your next shift start?” I take in every word she says. Why would he risk the tiny leak towards me he is making? Her question pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Thursday, I’m going out for dinner tomorrow tonight with Alexia. I’m free.”

“Sounds good! We should meet up soon. I work on Thursday as well. See you then! Try to enjoy your free day before sliding into the hectic pace over here.”

We exchange a couple more words before hanging up. My phone immediately goes back to the text message. I stare at it. I feel like puking, sickness building up in my throat. With the image of the man from the television in my mind and all I know, I throw up right on time when I reach the toilet. What if he’s already watching me? What if he knows I work at a fucking Police department? What if other people have eyes on me? I suddenly become paranoid and very aware of the fact that this is possibly one of the most dangerous men walking on earth.

But there is just one thing that lingers in my mind and it’s taking over my rational thoughts. I should not respond. But his darkness is pulling my strings. Do not respond. It will open a door. I will accept his game. But playing a game is better than just accepting defeat. No, or yes? What to do? My trembling hands reach for my phone. My fingers slowly move over the letters.

You’re sick, and so is your “business”

I lock my phone, terrified for a response. The big girl pants are already slacking. As the night wears on, I can’t escape the nagging question that lingers in the recesses of my mind keeping me awake. What will be the cost of provoking the Devil in a world ruled by him?

Chapter 23

The Devil Punishes

Isabella

Two days have passed, and anxiety has stalked me like a relentless predator. His silence haunts me, leaving a gnawing fear that twists tighter with each passing hour. I regret trying to play the fearless woman, wishing instead for the comfort of my soft Hello Kitty pajama pants, anything to shield me from the terror that lurks just beneath the surface. But the world doesn’t pause for fear. Work beckons and it’s a cruel irony that my job now feels like walking straight into his presence. I make my way through the crowded streets of New York, the city’s relentless energy doing little to soothe the dread that clings to me. I enter the police department, where the air hums with tension, a stark contrast to its usual controlled chaos.

The moment I step in, the buzzing activity only heightens my nerves. Every movement, every conversation seems laced with an undercurrent of fear. I try to mask the turmoil inside, but it’s no use. Ada approaches me, her expression tinged with concern. “Isa, are you okay?” Her eyes, reflecting the unease that has gripped the entire department, confirm what I already know—I look as bad as I feel.

“I’m fine, just a rough night,” I lie, my voice barely steady. “What’s going on?” I glance around the restless office, hoping to distract myself from the growing knot of dread in my stomach.

Ada signs, her voice heavy with a somber tone. “The man we were investigating, he’s dead. He was the one we saw on TV when I called you. Murdered most brutally. They’re saying it’s the work of the Russian mafia, a message to anyone who darescross them. Just like I told you on the phone.”

My heart stutters, the weight of my secret pressing down with suffocating force. “That’s terrible, but why would the Bratva be involved with the mafia here in New York?” Ada shakes her head, her gaze darting around the room as if searching for answers that won’t come.

“I don’t know, Isa. This is bigger than anything we’ve ever dealt with. The department is on edge, and the rumors about this Russian mafia boss are spreading like wildfire. They’re saying he did it himself. He’s been on a rampage, killing everything in his way. A trail of blood that’s been growing for months.”

The mention of him sends a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to remain composed.

“I’ve never heard of him. What makes him so special? There are other mafia bosses and other families. Why is he different?”

Ada’s expression darkens as she pulls me into her office, shutting the door behind us. “He’s not just another mafia boss. Rumor has it, he’s heartless—controls the Russian mafia with an iron fist. They call himDiable, like the devil.” She swallows hard as if speaking his name brings a curse upon her lips.

“No one knows what he looks like, and those who do never live to tell. They say he’s never spared anyone who crossed him.” She rubs her eyes, the weight of the situation evident in the tension that lines her face. My blood runs cold, the dread pooling in my gut like ice water. That doesn’t bode well for me.

“We know about his business, a few things that circle him, but nothing concrete about the man himself. Only that he’s in his mid-thirties.”

I nearly choke on my water. My pulse quickens, my mind a storm of fear and confusion. The truth hovers on the edge of my lips, but terror chokes it back. I can’t betray what I know—what I’ve seen. Ada, unaware of the battle raging within me, continues. “The whole department is on edge. We’re dealingwith someone who doesn’t play by any rules we understand, and the consequences could be catastrophic. Look at what they did to him!” She pushes the photos of the dead man toward me, the grotesque images enough to twist my stomach into knots. I glance at the mutilated body, bile rising in my throat as my eyes catch the gruesome details. Ada points to the man’s chest. “Do you see this mark, carved into his skin?” I nod, my hands trembling. “It’s the Bratva’s mark.” A flash of his tattooed hand with the same mark sears through my mind, vivid and unshakable. I grapple with the realization that the man responsible for this carnage—the one who now consumes the entire police department—is the same man who has invaded my thoughts and my dreams. The man whose voice I can still hear echoes through the quiet of the night.

If the stories are true, I am doomed. I’ve wandered too far into the darkness, and there may be no way out. The danger isn’t just lurking in the shadows—it’s staring me down, and it knows exactly who I am. I’m in deep, so deep that the fear is no longer just a whisper in the dark; it’s a scream that I can’t escape.

Aslanov

The night in Moscow glows like a distant inferno, the city lights painting the skyline in shades of gold and crimson, an intoxicating façade masking the chaos lurking beneath. The air is thick with secrets, and I move through it, my presence as palpable as the cold, hard steel of the city’s underbelly. Every step I take resonates with authority, reverberating through the narrow, shadowed halls where power is forged and broken. Business deals are struck in the quiet, the delicate dance of alliances and betrayals playing out like a well-rehearsed symphony. The Bratva functions with ruthless precision, a machine too dangerous to fail, and each turn of its gears brings me closer to absolute control.

Volkov’s death is still fresh, its shockwaves reaching the furthest corners of the criminal world. Whispers swirl through the streets like smoke, each voice carrying a fragment of truth, each one questioning the reasons behind his demise. But I’ve already set the narrative in motion. My men are working tirelessly in the shadows, shaping the story, twisting it to my advantage. I cannot allow any crack in the façade; the power I wield must remain unchallenged, undisputed.

As I step into the sleek interior of my black-tinted Porsche, the engine hums to life with a quiet growl, cutting through the night like a predator stalking its prey. I glance at my phone. Her name flashes across the screen—an unread message from days ago. The small, flashing notification taunts me.She’s waiting.

A fleeting smile curves my lips as I think of her—her confusion, her frustration. She’s anxious. I can feel it. Just enough time has passed to leave her suspended in uncertainty, a delicious tension that only fuels my anticipation. I’m not ready to deal with her yet. No. There are more pressing matters at hand. The Bratva, the city, the empire—it all demands my attention, and I cannot allow myself to be distracted. Not yet.

But when the time comes, when everything is in place, when I can finally step out of the shadows and claim what’s mine, I will make my move. She won’t know what hit her. I’ll come for her, slowly, methodically. I’ll make her believe every whisper of terror she’s ever heard. Every fear she’s buried deep within her will surface in ways she never thought possible. She’ll be mine in every sense of the word, and I’ll ensure that the truth she clings to will be rewritten, distorted, until it becomes the nightmare I carve for her.

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