Page 52 of Dangerous Beginnings

The words make my stomach twist, a strange mixture of fear and something else entirely. The praise feels…wrong, but a part of me craves it, even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I know the darkness behind his words. Aslanov reaches for the nightstand, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to prolong this moment. He picks up a flower from the bouquet I’d gathered earlier, its vibrant pink petals standing out against the dim room.

“Do you see this flower, Isabella?” His voice is low, almost hypnotic, drawing my tear-filled gaze to him. I nod, the simple motion making my throat tighten even more.

He holds the flower out to me, his hand large and imposing, the flower fragile and delicate in comparison. Hesitantly, I reach for it, my fingers brushing against his, and I’m struck by how small my hand is against his. How innocent, how untouched I am compared to the darkness that clings to him like a secondskin.

“There is nothing on this earth that blooms all year long, Isabella,” he says, his voice a deep, unsettling murmur. “Not this flower, not you. It’s not in your nature. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

The words hit me like a hammer to the chest, cracking open something inside me. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me, and coming from him, it’s almost unbearable. A small, sad smile tugs at my lips, tears brimming in my eyes, and I wonder how someone so cruel can speak with such tenderness. How his words can make me feel safe even when I know he’s anything but.

“Why did you intentionally come here?” I ask while not wanting to know the answer to that question.

His chest vibrates against mine as his voice cuts through the silence, “I’m leaving.” His answer comes out unusual. Usually, he is collected and calm. His answer sounds the exact opposite.

A sad smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes appears on my lips. “I thought you’d come to wipe the loose end from the earth.”

It’s quiet for a while until he replies, “I thought so too.” After another silence he adds, “But I cannot. That means you’ll be the only loose end running around with that red ponytail of yours. So, if something leaks out, I will know where to find you.”

A small laughter escapes my throat, “So you have indeed forgiven me?”

He stares down at me, “Seems like I have indeed done that.”

Aslanov

My eyes travel to the packed bag in the corner of the room. I do not need to ask her where she was planning on going, I know she doesn’t know. She’s running, grasping at the hope that somewhere, anywhere, is better than the hell she’s been living in. But there’s a stark reality she hasn’t accepted yet—there’s noescaping what’s coming for her. There is no escaping her past, she can only influence her present.

“I’m leaving in a couple of hours.” I pause before rethinking what I am going to say, and what I am going to offer her. My voice is measured, and cold, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—something dangerous. I pause, carefully considering my next words, knowing that what I’m about to offer is reckless, unprecedented. It’s something I don’t do.

“I’ll be at 10th Street until 1 p.m. After that, I’m gone. So, if you want to leave this miserable city, you know where to find me.”

Her brows furrow as she follows my gaze towards her bag.

“But after that, you can run or hide, I’ll always find you. You can bleed, scream, and beg me all you want, but once you’remine,” I pause, staring at her, making sure she hears me loud and clear. “You are mine. You will fall under my command and my rule. There is no such thing as departing our ways after that.”

I don’t wait for her to respond. She’s paralyzed by the gravity of what I’ve just laid out for her. I can see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, but there’s something else there too—a flicker of something raw, something dark, that tells me she’s considering it.

“Nothing will stop me. Either put an end to it now by staying here or agree to the terms.”

I am not going to force her. If she chooses to come, I will have to let her into my life. She will have to accept she will become a part of it. She is going to be taken into a world full of darkness. It’s different there. People will wonder who she is. People will lower their gaze and stay silent in my presence, but on the streets, the word will spread. I have never been seen before with another woman for the past ten years. It will cause a reaction from not only my men but from other allies too. There is no denying anymore that my feelings are everything but shallow for her.

She knows who I am and what I am capable of, what I am involved in. Even though we never really spoke about it, it lingers in the air. She reads it herself, sees the news, and hears it all around. I am anything but a good man. There’s no glamor in this. It’s a world where silence speaks louder than words, and where loyalty is tested in ways most people can’t fathom. She will become aKaramazov, my responsibility, my charge. And with that comes a vulnerability, a chink in the armor I’ve worn for a decade.

Yet, I don’t seem to care about that.

The room lingers in an atmosphere heavy with unspoken decisions as I stand up, looking at Isabella. The weight of our conversation hangs between us, and I sense that she needs time to process the gravity of the choices before her.

“Why?”

I frown, rubbing my jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath my fingers. “Why what?”

Her eyes hold mine, searching for something I’m not sure I can give. “Why would you do this for me? Why do you grant me these things?”

I can feel the weight of her question pressing down on me, the way her gaze pierces through me, cutting past the layers I’ve spent years building. I don’t know how to answer her. I never have answers for things like this.

I take a breath, shifting my stance, and glance away for a second, trying to steady the chaos in my mind. She’s waiting for something real, something I don’t give—something Ican’tgive.

But the truth claws its way up, demanding to be heard. The words leave me before I can stop them.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, the admission scraping out of my throat, rough and unpolished. “I don’t know how to control this. How I feel about you.”

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