Page 43 of Dangerous Beginnings

Everyone nods in agreement. Trevor pauses, his expression grave, before continuing “He is responsible for a series of coordinated attacks on rival criminal factions. The aftermath is nothing short of a bloodbath. Multiple bodies were found at the scenes, displaying signs of extreme brutality and a level of violence we haven’t witnessed in a long time.”

He projects images onto a screen, showcasing the crime scenes with a chilling precision. The photos reveal a scene of horror—lifeless bodies, some dismembered, and others bearing the unmistakable marks of sadistic violence. I clasp my hand in front of my mouth. “His message is clear,” Trevor adds, his voice cold. “He’s asserting dominance, sending a brutal warning to anyone who dares challenge him or the criminal empire he represents. This isn’t just a criminal act; it’s an act of vengeance.’’ Gasps and murmurs ripple through the room as the officers process the severity of the situation.

“We cannot let this menace continue to wreak havoc on our city. Federal agencies will be joining our efforts, and we’ll becoordinating a comprehensive strategy to bring him to justice. This will however become a very difficult job.”

Bring him to justice. Trevor, his words linger in my mind. And something in me sparks. A feeling of relief. What if they catch him?

Aslanov

The next morning, I find myself standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, the towering skyline of New York stretching out before me. I have many places where I stay, but not often in the same location. The early light filters through the cityscape, casting a warm glow on the sleek, modern interior. The events of the previous night replay in my mind, each detail etched into my memory.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air as I reflect on the calculated chaos that unfolded in the discrete Italian restaurant.

The alliance with the New York Mafia is now solidified, sealed with the blood of those deemed expendable. As I sip my coffee, my thoughts drift toher. I know she works at the police department, and it’s only a matter of time before she hears about the events that transpired last night. A subtle smile plays on my lips at the thought of her reaction, my innocentsunshine.

The muted sounds of the city below, a constant hum of activity, serve as a reminder that life continues, oblivious to the machinations of power brokers like myself. The alliance with the New York Mafia grants me access to new territories, resources, and opportunities. It’s a step toward achieving dominance in this ruthless world, where weakness is exploited and strength is revered. The uneasy nods and reluctant agreements of the remaining Mafia members linger in my mind. The message is clear: alliances with the Russians come at a cost. A cost that some are willing to pay, while others find themselves on thewrong side of the balance.

I turn away from the window, the cityscape disappearing behind the sleek, modern interior of my penthouse. The digital clock on the wall ticks away, a reminder that time is a currency not to be wasted. The events of the previous night, though significant, are merely a steppingstone in the larger narrative I’m crafting.

As I contemplate the path ahead, Isabella’s face flickers in my thoughts once more. I know her world is about to collide with mine in ways she can’t fathom. But my hunt isn’t over, now I will have to play with my solnyshko.

Chapter 28

Wine and Music

Gladden the Heart

Isabella

The rest of the day unfolds with a sense of urgency and gravity that permeates the police department. I am seated at a desk alongside Ada, delving into the intricate web of files related to the New York Mafia. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow on the sea of documents spread out before us. “This is a tough one, Isa. But we’re here to uphold the law and protect our city. We need to focus on gathering information that can lead us to dismantle this criminal network.” I slowly nod. A small feeling of guilt plays inside of me with every move I make.

My mind racing as I sift through the files. The complexities of organized crime unfold before me, each piece of information a puzzle that needs to be deciphered. As we piece together the connections, I can’t shake the feeling that I am racing against time, not only for the sake of justice but also for my safety. I could just tell them. I could tell them what he looked like, almost detailed. But I don’t and he must know, because he is taking a risk with me. Why would he do that?

The hum of activity in the department becomes a backdrop to me. Phone calls are made, databases are scoured, and leads are pursued with relentless determination. But I have the most present resource, the man himself, on my phone. The thought settles in me. If I want to know something I could ask him myself. I don’t need to investigate; he is giving me the ‘front row seat’.

The glow of the fluorescent lights cast a pale illuminationover the files scattered on the desk. The urgency of our mission pushes me to set aside the conflicting emotions within me and focus on the task at hand.

As the evening descends, the department remains a hive of activity. Phone conversations echo around us, and the glow of computer screens illuminates the faces of officers working late into the night. The scent of coffee mingles with the sterile office air. Hours pass, and the lines between day and night blur as we go through the details of the investigation. But I am not fully here with my head. As the clock ticks toward the late hours, Ada and I decide to grab a quick dinner in the office. The break room becomes a makeshift dining area as we share a meal, discuss strategy, and exchange thoughts on the progress we’ve made. I mostly smile and nod at every comment. The clatter of cutlery against plates punctuates my brain. I yawn. I need to go home and take a hot shower. I say my goodbyes to the officers working late and to Ada. Snow falls onto my jacket as I step outside. It’s ice cold outside. While taking the subway back home I listen to some music at full volume. Making my way over the empty streets towards my apartment. I stop dead in my tracks as I notice a black Porsche, his car. And it’s parked outside of my apartment. My heart quickens as I stand there, the chill in the air seeping through my jacket. The sight of the black Porsche outside my apartment sends a shiver down my spine. The world around me seems to quiet down, leaving only the muffled sounds of distant traffic and the soft crunch of snow beneath my heels. A surge of conflicting emotions swirls within me—fear, curiosity, and a hint of anticipation. With cautious steps, I approach the car. The snowflakes dance around me, creating a surreal atmosphere as I reach the driver’s side. The darkened windows offer no glimpse, leaving me to grapple with the unknown. But I’m sure that it’shiscar. I hesitate, considering my options. Taking a deep breath, I make my way tothe entrance of the building. As I fumble with the keys to unlock the door, my hairs rise on my back.

The lobby is dimly lit, and the elevator’s soft chime resonates as I step inside. I can’t take the stairs; my heart will explode. The ride to my floor feels longer than usual, the anticipation building with every passing second. As the elevator doors open, I find myself facing the hallway leading to my apartment. The tension in the air is palpable, and my senses are heightened. I approach my apartment door cautiously, half-expecting him to appear at any moment. The key turns in the lock, and the door creaks open, revealing the familiar space within. I step inside, the warmth of the apartment a stark contrast to the cold outside. The apartment is eerily silent, and I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I move through the rooms, checking every corner, half-expecting to find him there. I turn around to look at my desk and the chair, but he isn’t there. After scanning the entire place I cannot find him anywhere.

I take a hot shower, hoping to wash away the unease that clings to me. As the water cascades over me, I relax. Wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I peer out of the bathroom, half-expecting to find him standing there. The apartment remains still, and the silence is deafening. I am becoming crazy. They can almost take me to an asylum. I get my black pajamas on and leave my hair in the black towel wrapped around my head. I grab some red nail polish and start painting my fingers and toenails. After letting them dry and brushing my hair I exit the bathroom.

A high-pitched scream escaped my lips as come face to face with a dark and large figure in my kitchen, “What the fuck!” I place my hand on my chest, calming myself down. I stare at the dinner table; it’s decked for two. The apartment smells like heaven, and it takes me a while to realize he is the one cooking. I think my mouth is standing open for a couple of minutes because his finger reaches under my chin and pushes it up.“What are you doing?” I gape at the food. My stomach rumbles and I cannot deny that I have not had enough food at work. On my bare feet, I do not even reach his neck in height, and it makes me feel like a dwarf. The one from The Hobbit. I’m assuming that’s also how I look, just out of the shower.

He stirs the pan. “Cooking.” He simply answers, like he is the most normal person to ever walk the earth, like he didn’t just break into my apartment and cause a bloodbath last weekend.

“Aslanov,” his name slips from my lips, smoother than I expected. He turns to face me fully.

“Isabella,” he responds, his voice low and measured.

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine—a blend of familiarity and menace. His gaze locks onto mine, the intensity of his eyes unreadable, and the air between us crackles with unspoken tension. The weight of the past weekend, the bruises still fresh on my skin, and the unanswered questions hang heavily in the space between us.

Aslanov

“You seem slightly unwell,” I say, my tone laced with a hint of dark amusement. “I need to eat, after all. And despite what you might believe, I’m quite skilled in the kitchen. It might surprise you, but my interests extend beyond murder, torture, and blackmail.”

Her expression flickers with confusion as her eyes dart between the sumptuous spread before her and me. I’ve just finished plating the meal, each dish meticulously prepared. I approach the table with deliberate grace, setting down two plates and two glasses of red wine. “Sit,” I commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite mine.

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