Page 59 of Dangerous Beginnings

A relieved sigh escapes me, and he starts typing again.

What happened to your face?

Before I can answer Dominik’s question, Aslanov’s hand appears on the top of my head. “I see you have met a man of very few words.” Dominik playfully punches him in the chest as he walks back to what I assume is his car. Aslanov points me to the car while he signals something to the closest man to us. He immediately moves to do whatever he has been ordered. The car unlocks and I make my way inside. It smells like fresh leather and it’s way warmer than outside.

I wipe the cold off my face, and regret settles in me as Aslanovapproaches the car. His eyes are fixed on me and somehow, he doesn’t look happy. I wish the leather chair could swallow me whole now. I cling to my bag as he opens the door of the driver’s seat. My thoughts run back to what I had done on the plane. I shouldn’t have. He shuts the door with force, I flinch again. He starts the engine and the car springs to life. It’s getting gloomy out. There is a big time difference and I think it’s around my dinner time as I listen to my stomach. I shift into the seat next to him while looking out of the window. A couple of cars follow us as the other half disappears. He isn’t talking to me at all. He is completely silent. I don’t think that is a good sign. The cars behind us follow us precisely across the snow-covered highways.

After quite a short drive we pulled up to an old-looking warehouse.

“I need to finish some business that could not wait any longer,” he states as he parks the car. The other men park their cars behind us and already make their way inside. “Okay,” I mumble in a quiet voice. Aslanov is hesitant when leaving the car.

Suddenly my car door opens and one of his men grabs me by the upper arm.

“Zaberi eyo vnutir.” Aslanov’s command fills the air and gets executed immediately.Get her inside.

I’m taken into an open space of the warehouse, with dust built up on the floor and multiple broken windows. This is a bad omen. I am being held in place by this guy who is way taller than me, not as tall as Aslanov but nearly. I lose Aslanov out of sight but before I know it, he appears again. His coat is off and he rolls up his sleeves, revealing his inked arms. His jawline is set and he looks like a fallen angel.

Soon another door opens revealing a man carried by his arms by two other men. His legs are dragging over the floor, he looks already half dead. I flinch and slightly panic but the man holding me doesn’t budge. Aslanov strides into the dimly lit warehouse,his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The air is heavy with tension as his men stand at attention, their faces stoic and impassive as they await their leader’s commands.

The scene unfolds. In the center of the room stands a figure, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with fear as he meets Aslanov’s unwavering gaze. Aslanov’s eyes flicker at me, standing at the edge of the room. He’s making sure I’m watching. His piercing green eyes captivate me for a moment before focusing his attention on the pleading man. His movements are deliberate and controlled, his expression unreadable as he stands before the bound man. The man’s eyes widen in terror as Aslanov reaches out and tears the gag from his mouth, allowing him to speak for the first time since his capture. But before the traitor can utter a single word, Aslanov’s hand darts out and clamps down on his throat, cutting off his air supply.

“You have betrayed me.” Aslanov’s voice is cold and unforgiving. “You have betrayed everything I stand for. You have shown disrespect anddisobediencemultiple times.” The word disobedience comes out differently than the rest and I know, I just know, it’s meant for me. He is showing me what they do with traitors here, disobedient people.

The man’s eyes bulge with fear as he struggles to draw breath, his hands clawing at Aslanov’s iron grip in a desperate attempt to free himself. But Aslanov’s hold is unyielding, his fingers like vise grips around the traitor’s windpipe.

With a final, guttural gasp, the traitor falls silent, his body going limp in Aslanov’s grasp. Aslanov releases his grip and the traitor crumples to the ground, lifeless and still. He snapped his neck. I watch in horror as Aslanov turns to me, his eyes burning with intensity. The men in the back start to carry away his lifeless body with ease. Aslanov’s piercing gaze locks onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine as he approaches. His footsteps echo ominously against the cold, concrete floor of thewarehouse, each step bringing him closer to where I stand. I want to walk back but I’m already against a wall. He mentions with one motion of his finger for the man next to me to leave.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out and takes hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his intense stare. His touch is firm, and commanding, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed under his scrutiny.

“Welcome to Russia, solnyshko.”

A wave of nausea washes over me, threatening to consume me whole. I feel dizzy and disoriented, the reality of what I’ve just witnessed sinking in with bone-chilling clarity. But before I can gather my thoughts he grabs me by the back of the neck and guides me back to the car. His fingers feel like fire on my neck. He just snapped someone’s neck with these hands. His grip is tight and makes me whimper.This is the man they speak of in the news.And I just witnessed him in full glory. He settles me down in the car and slams the door shut. He enters not a second later.

He is absolutely unhinged, unpredictable—extremely dangerous.

As we drive away from the warehouse, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that grips me, the image of the traitor’s lifeless body haunting my every thought. I don’t dare to speak, meet his eyes or even breathe. This time, the other cars don’t follow us, leaving us alone on the deserted snow-covered highways. The silence in the car is suffocating, broken only by the sound of the engine. I don’t dare to open my mouth. He’s not talking to me so I shouldn’t either.

After what feels like hours we drive onto a path, leading to a dark gray house. As we arrive a garage door opens and we drive inside. As we drive inside two other men are standing at the doors, again lowering their gaze as we drive past. There are several cars parked in the garage and I’m positive they are allhis.The men do not come inside, they remain outside in the cold as the garage door closes. I close my eyes. I have accepted a death wish being close to this man. He is staring at me, I can feel it. I can always feel his gaze on me, it makes my neck hairs stand up. I look at my feet, and honestly anywhere but at him. My pulse rises.

He gets out of the car after parking it and just when I thought he would leave me in it he comes around and swings the door open. He grabs my bag and tosses it on the floor next to the other bags and suitcase. He looks displeased with me. He leads me inside, all while entering multiple codes and unlocking every door. I’m never getting out of here again. Every step feels like another chain that wraps itself around me.

I barely manage a protest as we pass through the final door, but it’s more than enough to test Aslanov’s patience. In an instant, I find myself slung over his shoulder, the world tilting as I hang upside down. A small whimper escapes my lips, my fingers instinctively clutching the fabric of his blouse. His grip is unyielding, yet there’s a strange, unexpected tenderness in the way he handles me as if I’m something fragile despite the cold menace that radiates from him.

He ascends the staircase with an effortless grace, carrying me as though I weigh nothing. My mind races, trying to process the gravity of the situation. From my inverted perspective, I catch glimpses of the house—a sprawling maze of corridors and rooms, each one more opulent and imposing than the last. The sheer scale of it is overwhelming, a stark reminder of the world I’ve been thrust into. We continue up the stairs, the journey seeming to stretch on forever, a solid two minutes of climbing until we finally arrive at a door.

He pushes it open, stepping inside what appears to be a bedroom. The air inside is thick, charged with an oppressive tension that makes it hard to breathe. I glance around, my eyesdarting from one meticulously arranged piece of furniture to the next. Everything is in its place, immaculate and untouched, yet there’s something unnervingly sterile about the room, as though it’s a set piece rather than a place meant for living.

“This will be your room,” Aslanov’s voice is a low, rumbling command, each word laced with an underlying threat that sends a chill down my spine.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of dread that threatens to overtake me. The room, for all its luxury, feels more like a cage, the beautiful decor doing nothing to soften the oppressive atmosphere.

He lowers me onto a chair in the corner of the room, his movements are deliberate and oddly gentle, as though he’s handling something delicate. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a deafening echo in the silence that surrounds us. He doesn’t speak immediately, just stands there, his eyes boring into me with a scrutiny so intense I feel stripped bare, as though he can see straight through to the core of me, past the façade I’ve struggled to maintain.

“I have more business,” he murmurs, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet heavy with unspoken promises. He doesn’t break eye contact as he speaks, his gaze locking onto mine. I can’t tear my eyes away from him, even as every instinct screams at me to look anywhere else.

His hand darts out, grabbing my chin with a sudden force. His grip is like iron, fingers digging into my skin as he tilts my head up, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. “And when I come back,” he pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, “I’m going to deal with you. I haven’t forgotten about your little tantrum in the plane.”

Panic flares in my chest, tightening around my throat like a noose. His words hang in the air, a dark promise that sends a cold shiver down my spine. I nod, my throat too tight to allowfor speech, the terror bubbling up inside me threatening to spill over. There’s no escaping it—his presence, his control—it’s suffocating, leaving me with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And I chose this willingly.

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