Page 44 of Dangerous Beginnings

Her steps are tentative as she walks to the chair and takes a seat. She stares at the steaming food, her unease palpable. “Did you poison this?” Her voice is edged with suspicion, her eyesfixed on me. I meet her gaze with a cold, unyielding stare. Even with her makeup-free face and wet hair, she remains the most captivating woman I’ve ever seen.

“No,” I reply, my voice steady and assertive. To assure her, I fork a piece of the food from her plate and taste it, followed by a bite from my own. The act is deliberate, a challenge, meant to dissolve her distrust. “I did not.”

Her fingers tremble slightly as she picks up her fork, and then she begins to eat. Each bite she takes is slower, more deliberate as if she’s testing the boundaries of my honesty. I watch her with a smile, satisfaction curling at the corners of my lips as she seems to find enjoyment in my cooking. The vulnerability she reveals, coupled with her hesitation, only adds to her allure.

Isabella

The food is delicious and fills my stomach with heat. I feel intimidated by his presence. I don’t know what to say.

“How was your workday?” I nearly choke on my food—it’s a sensitive topic. “Have you planned how you are going to arrest me yet, solnyshko?” He takes the fork into his mouth while my eyes pierce his. His gaze remains locked on me, as steady and unyielding as the steel of a guillotine.

I suddenly lose my appetite and drop my fork. I take the glass of wine and chug it down in one go, “No, would you mind helping me with that?” I state sarcastically with a fake smile.

I need more wine if we are having this conversation. I walk back to retrieve the entire bottle, pouring myself another glass. His dark gaze follows me back to the table, once I sit down again his expression darkens, and without warning, his hand slams down on the table. The sound is deafening, making me flinch. “One more slip of the tongue, and I’ll remind you of your place.” The threat is palpable, sending a wave of fear through me. The bruises from our last encounter still throb, a painful reminder ofhis power.

“Sorry,” I mumble while avoiding eye contact. He knows he is controlling me. Because I could reveal his identity to anyone, but I have not. I have not said a single thing.

There is a silence for a little while between us before I gather my last bit of courage.

“Did you cause the scene in Seventh Street the weekend with the New York mafia?” The questions escaped my lips faster than I thought, but his answer was just as fast.

Causing surprise in my face, “Yes, I did.”

I stare at him. “Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, solnyshko, not so fast now.” He takes a sip of his wine while keeping eye contact with me. I can feel the tension thickening with every second he stares at me. He taps a finger against the rim of his glass. “Tell me, Isabella. Do you think your colleagues would still welcome you with open arms if they knew how much you’ve kept from them? How often you’ve hesitated? How often you’veprotected me—even if only by your silence?”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come.

“You think they’ll look at you and see anything but a traitor? A liability?”

I shake my head, trying to find my voice, but he presses on, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.

“No, solnyshko,” he continues, his tone darkly soothing, as though explaining a cruel truth to a child. “When they find out how you’ve danced on this razor’s edge, when they realize how much you’ve withheld, they won’t pat you on the head and call it even. They’ll throw you into the filthiest, darkest cell they can find. Sentence you for the betrayal of the highest order.”

My breath catches, and I stare at him, my stomach twisting into knots.

“They’ll strip you of everything,” he whispers, his gaze lockingonto mine, predatory and unrelenting. “Your dignity, your freedom, your very name. You’ll rot in there, Isabella. Forgotten. Alone.”

A cold shiver races down my spine, and the fragile thread of my courage snaps. “Then why are you here?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

The air in the room thickens as his words settle like a dark cloud. Aslanov’s presence dominates the space, his gaze a sharp blade that cuts through my composure. He leans back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk that doesn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes.

“Why am I here?” he repeats, his tone a silky taunt, like a spider coaxing its prey closer. “Isn’t it obvious, solnyshko? I’m the one with the power here.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing, but my words come out steady. “I could tell them,” I say, meeting his gaze with a challenge, “I could reveal who you are to the whole department. Your identity, your face... everything.”

His smirk doesn’t falter, though the darkness in his eyes deepens. “And yet,” he says with a chilling calmness, “You haven’t.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and before I can stop it, a tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, hoping he hasn’t seen it, but I know he has. I meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes sends a chill through my veins. He doesn’t just see me; he sees every crack in my resolve, every flaw, every ounce of weakness. And he’s savoring it.

“Will you spare me?”

“That depends,” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous caress. “Are you willing to beg for it?” His eyes narrow, a predatory glint in them. “Crawl,” he commands, his voice a cold, irresistible force.

The command sends a shiver of dread and reluctantexcitement through me. I get down, the room spinning slightly as I crouch down. Every inch towards him feels like a descent into a darker reality, yet there’s an undeniable pull, a part of me that wants to surrender.

Chapter 29

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