Page 37 of Dangerous Beginnings

And when it’s done, she will know exactly who holds the power. She will know the price of defiance.

For now, I turn my attention back to the road, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel, my eyes narrowing as I pushthe car forward into the darkness. The world will bend to my will. In time, she will, too.

Isabella

I stare at the pictures in front of me. Ada spreads them out, starting her investigation, these pictures I had never seen before. And the more I come to know about him, the more my stomach aches and the sicker I feel.

‘’He’s a mastermind, the puppeteer pulling the strings in the criminal underworld. He has connections everywhere, but we just don’t know about those. He has been a secret nobody has been able to unravel.”

She sighs while staring at me. I pick up another photo. “These victims we’ve seen so far are just the tip of the iceberg,” I mutter.

Crime scenes, bodies mutilated beyond recognition, each a testament to his organization.

“He’s not just after money or power, I am sure. He enjoys it. He revels in instilling fear. Look at these,” Ada says, showing me pictures of victims with the distinct mark of the Russian mafia carved onto their bodies.

My stomach churns as I look at the horrifying images. The reality of the darkness I had inadvertently stepped into is closing in on me. Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I freeze.

I smile at Ada before I dismiss myself for a bathroom break. But an eerie feeling washes over me once I see my phone light up.

Unknown:

You’re a very bad girl Isabella.

I hold my breath as I see him type. He is on the phone—right now. Texting me, staring at the same screen I am staring at. After what feels like hours pass, another message appears. I feel acid creep its way up as I read it.

And bad girls need to be punished.

Aslanov

Night blankets Moscow in darkness, the city’s heartbeat pulsing through the distant echoes of revelry. I step into the dimly lit entrance of a high-end club, where the bouncer gives a nod, recognizing the authority that follows me. The thumping bass reverberates through the air as I navigate the crowd, drawing subtle glances from those who understand the significance of my presence. The club, a sanctuary for the city’s elite, and the Bratva’s clandestine dealings pulse with life. My tailored suit, an immaculate ensemble of darkness, blends seamlessly with the ambiance. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the faint whiff of cigars. I move with purpose, each stride commanding attention. In the VIP section, a private enclave reserved for those wielding power beyond the visible spectrum, my associates await. The dim lighting casts an air of secrecy over our gathering. Viktor and Dmitri—loyal enforcers who execute my will without question—raise their glasses in acknowledgment. I could use some vodka.

Viktor, a formidable figure with a shaved head and a scar that marks his left cheek, leans back in his chair. “Boss,” he greets, a subtle nod conveying the unspoken camaraderie between us.

Dmitri, the strategist with calculating eyes that betray the sharpness of his mind, inclines his head. “Aslanov.”

I nod back, filling my glass. As I take a seat, the atmosphere shifts. The club’s pulsating music fades into the background, a mere echo to the clandestine symphony of our discussion. Glasses clink, and the air hums with the exchange of crucial information. Viktor speaks first, his voice a low rumble.

“The message has been sent, Boss. Volkov’s demise reverberates through the ranks. The streets are talking. Thepolice are, too.” I acknowledge his report with a nod, my gaze piercing the shadows that conceal our gathering. The city beyond the club’s walls bends to my influence, and the night is ripe with the potential for both chaos and control. Dmitri’s deep Russian voice cuts in.

“The alliances are holding, but there are whispers of challenges. Rivals testing the waters, seeking weaknesses.” The undercurrent of threat is met with a calculated response.

“Let them test,” I assert, my tone unwavering. “Our foundation is built on fear and loyalty. Let them discover the consequences of defiance.” I take a sip, the vodka burning down my throat. “The police are stirring. The Volkov incident has drawn attention. We need to tighten our grip on the loose ends.” The mention of the “loose end” ignites a simmering anger within me. Viktor and Dmitri exchange glances, sensing the subtle shift in my demeanor.

My eyes, usually unreadable, hint at a storm brewing beneath the surface. Viktor, either brave or oblivious to the rising tension, continues, “We’ll discreetly investigate. If there’s a mole, we’ll unearth them and neutralize the threat.” My grip tightens around the crystal-clear glass, and I take a sharp sip of the vodka, the fiery liquid doing little to quell the smoldering rage. Dmitri, attuned to the nuances of my moods, meets my gaze with unwavering resolve. But it’s Viktor’s next words that unleash the tempest. “Speaking of threats, there’s a new player in the game. A rival faction trying to muscle in on our territory.”

The predatory gleam in my eyes sharpens into a blaze of anger. The rivalry is an inconvenience, but the real threat—the loose end—claws at the edges of my composure. “Let them come,” I growl, my voice a low rumble of menace. My fingers drum rhythmically on the table, a barely contained manifestation of my impatience. Viktor, oblivious to the undercurrents, persists, “Boss, we need to control the narrative surrounding Volkov’sdemise. Misdirect the authorities, throw them off the scent.” Dmitri nods in agreement. “Our tech experts are working on it. We’ll create a smokescreen they can’t penetrate.” “Good,” I reply, though my mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of her. The darkness in my eyes deepens, and an ominous silence settles over the VIP section. Finally, I speak, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“There’s a particular loose end I’ll handle personally. This one requires my attention.”

Chapter 24

The Punishment

Aslanov

I sit in the jet, the cabin enveloped in shadows, as we soar through the night. We’ve been in the air for over an hour now, heading straight for New York—and her. The loose end that dared to tangle herself in my affairs. Her curiosity will cost her everything. The steady hum of the engines fills the silence, a low growl that mirrors the storm brewing inside me. My gaze remains fixed on the city lights far below, flickering like embers in the darkened landscape.

The luxury of the jet is a stark contrast to the cold metal of the gun resting against my side, a silent reminder of the task ahead. The dim cabin light casts sharp shadows on my face, highlighting the ruthless determination etched into every line.

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