Page 82 of Dangerous Beginnings

She’s back. The garage door opens, and I hear the car engine sputter. I finish setting the table and pour two glasses of wine. The kitchen is filled with scents of different spices. My cooking skills have been tested a lot more recently. I gave Sasha the week off, so I’m cooking for her, and taking care of her myself. Besides, I want the house empty.

Her heels click against the floor as she moves up the stairs. As soon as she turns the doorknob her face peeks through the doorway, meeting mine. The first thing I notice is the jacket she’s wearing—my jacket.

“Good evening Mr. Karamazov,” she smiles ever so playfully as she closes the door behind her.

I finish stirring the pan as I greet her with a smirk. “Good evening, Miss Brown,” I respond with a hint of amusement, arching an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “I see you’ve taken a liking to my jacket.”

Her small giggle fills the room, a melody that warms my heart as she takes her seat at the table. “It’s quite comfortable, actually,” she admits, giving the jacket a playful tug before reaching for her glass of wine. She takes off the jacket and puts it back onto the chair where she found it.

I return my attention to the stove, giving the vegetables andchicken a final stir before turning off the heat. With a practiced hand, I plate the food, the aroma of spices filling the room as I set her plate in front of her. She inhales the scent of the food before digging her fork into it like she has starved all day. She tends to do that often. “Hungry?”

She nods, mumbling a “yes” with a mouth full of food. I set my plate down and take a seat opposite her. The fire in the fireplace warms my back, and for a moment this place feels like a home, a feeling I haven’t experienced in over 15 years.

Before I can ask her about her little trip in the city, she sits up on her knees and excitedly speaks up:

“I saw so many architectural monuments today! It was so much fun, and the car was so fast! I’ve never driven such a cool car. And I knew the way back without even using any navigation!”

I laugh at her excitement. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

She hums at my statement.

“Are you always that hungry?”

She slowly puts the fork down while her mouth is still stuffed. Some color drains from her face and I feel like I’ve asked the wrong question. She nods with a little shame before she swallows the food.

“That’s okay,” I assure her. “What’s the matter?”

She itches her nose before hesitantly answering. “You know,” she begins, uncertainty in her voice, “Sometimes, when I was younger, they forgot to feed me.”

I stop the fork midway towards my mouth.

“I would be hungry most nights,” she mumbles, her voice laced with sadness.

Her words hang heavy in the air, the weight of her confession settling over us like a dark cloud. I feel a surge of anger rising within me at the thought of anyone neglecting her, of allowing her to go hungry. “I’m sorry, Isabella,” I say. “No one should everhave to experience that.”

She offers me a small, sad smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, it’s not. You’ll never get hungry again, I’ll make sure of it.”

I’m going tostarve himbefore torturing him.

Isabella

I love his voice. My eyes widen a little at his words. But as I take in the sincerity in his gaze, a small smile tugs at the corners of my lips—a glimmer of hope.

“You know,” I pause, staring at him as he takes a bite of the food. “I don’t even know that much about you.”

He doesn’t respond. And after a minute he puts the fork down.

“What’s the story behind you, behind the police reports?” I take a bite of my food, Aslanov takes a sip of his wine. He drinks it ever so slowly like he’s dreading the question. “You said you’d open up,” I argue while taking another bite.

The conversation seems impossible as he doesn’t answer for a while.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a little boy named Aslanov…” he pauses, and I snort a little laugh at how he starts this story.

“Who got abused by his father until the day he died.”

I choke on my carrot.

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