Page 72 of Dangerous Beginnings

The men around the table hang on my every word, their eyes darting nervously between each other as they sense the tension in the air. They know better than to question my authority, especially after witnessing the display of power earlier.

But despite my outward composure, my thoughts keep drifting back to Isabella. I can’t shake the image of her terrified face, the sound of her screams echoing in my mind. I feel a surge of anger towards the man who dared to lay a hand on her, but I bury it deep down, channeling it into my actions instead. Because I can’t afford to dwell on it now.

I lean forward, my gaze fixed on Sergei, the head of security, who sits at the opposite end of the table. “Sergei, I need an update on our drug shipments. Any issues?” Sergei clears his throat, adjusting his tie with a hint of unease.

“Boss, we’ve hit some snags with our recent shipments, especially along the northern border. Increased patrols and border surveillance are making it harder to move our product across.”

My brow furrows slightly, but I nod, taking in the information. “I see. What about our contingency routes?” Sergei shiftsuncomfortably in his seat.

“We’ve been scouting alternative paths through the eastern territories, but they come with their own set of risks. The terrain is rough, and there have been reports of rival factions in the area.” My expression hardens.

“We can’t afford any delays. Our clients expect their orders to be delivered on time, no matter what. I want you to allocate more resources to secure those routes. We can’t let anyone disrupt our operations.”

Sergei nods, determination shining in his eyes. “Got it. I’ll mobilize our teams and ramp up patrols along the eastern borders. We’ll do whatever it takes to ensure our shipments reach their destinations intact.”

I lean back in my chair, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. “Good. Keep me posted on your progress. And if there are any further complications, I want to know immediately. Our reputation is on the line.” The tension in the room eases slightly as the conversation shifts to other matters, but the gravity of the situation remains.

I make a few final decisions and dismiss the men with a wave of my hand. They file out of the room quickly, eager to escape the tense atmosphere.

Alone at last, I allow myself a moment of weakness, slumping back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. The weight of the situation presses down on me, threatening to suffocate me with its enormity. It doesn’t take me long after that to find myself in the hallway, walking towards her. No,sprinting.

Isabella

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I press myself into the corner, the cold stone wall at my back doing nothing to ground me in this moment of sheer panic. Every breath is a struggle,the air thick with fear, each inhale a desperate attempt to keep from drowning in the memories that flood my mind. Tears burn hot trails down my cheeks, mixing with the dampness of the cell floor as I curl in on myself, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head.

The door creaks open, the sound like a gunshot in the oppressive silence. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as a dark figure steps into the room. It’s him. Aslanov. The man who has torn my world apart.

My pulse quickens, a cocktail of fear and fury surging through my veins as I lift my gaze to meet his. For a moment, neither of us moves. We’re locked in a silent standoff, his unreadable eyes boring into mine. I want to scream, to demand answers, to make him feel even a fraction of the terror he’s inflicted on me. But my voice betrays me, sticking in my throat like a stone.

Aslanov takes a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. He crouches down just out of my reach, his expression carefully controlled, but there’s something in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine.

“Isabella,” he says, his voice low and steady, the calm before the storm. “I warned you not to push me.” His eyes narrow, a flicker of something dark passing through them. “I told you before,” he says, his tone as sharp as a blade. “I don’t like being tested. You think you can provoke me and then cry for mercy?”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. “You made—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look that silences me immediately.

“Spare me your excuses, you did,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You still don’t know your place.”

“My place?” I echo, the words bitter on my tongue.

His lips curve into a cold, humorless smile. He leans in closer, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You’re in my world now. And in my world, you follow my rules.”

I shake my head, trying to muster the defiance that has kept me alive so far. “You can’t just—”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek in a gesture that feels more like a threat than comfort. I flinch at the contact, the warmth of his skin a jarring contrast to the coldness in his eyes. “You think you have a choice?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “You’re mine now, Isabella. You made a choice,willingly. And whether you like it or not, you’ll play by my rules.”

“I’m not yours,” I hiss, my voice trembling with the effort to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. “I’ll never be yours.” He pulls back slightly, his expression hardening. I glare up at him, my fear warring with the anger that has kept me going this long. “I am stronger than you think.”

For a moment, he simply stares down at me, his face a mask of cold indifference. Then, slowly, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a length of chain, letting it dangle from his fingers as if considering his next move. My heart lurches, the sight of the chain sending a wave of panic crashing over me.

“What are you doing?” My voice is barely steady, fear lacing every word.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he removes his jacket and gun, placing them on the floor in front of me, a calculated display that makes my blood run cold. Then, with deliberate slowness, he cuffs himself to the chain, the metal clinking as it locks around his wrists.

He throws the key at my feet, the small metal object landing with a sharp clatter that echoes in the silent room. My gaze darts between him and the key, confusion warring with fear. “What… what is this?” I manage to stammer.

Aslanov sits back against the wall, his eyes locked onto mine, an inscrutable expression on his face. “You wanted control,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Here itis. Take it.”

My fingers tremble as I reach for the key, clutching it tightly in my hand. I want to believe this is a victory, that I’ve somehow turned the tables on him. But the way he watches me, so calm, so composed, makes my stomach twist with unease.

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