Page 83 of Dangerous Beginnings

“Growing up in a household filled with violence and fear, I learned to survive by keeping my head down and staying out of sight as much as possible. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape my fate. I didn’t have any other choice than becomingthis.” Nausea fills me and I’m not hungry anymore. “At the age of eighteen, I was an orphan, and the boss of a cruel organization.”

He puts the wine glass down on the table with a loud thud.“That’s it. There is nothing good about me and I don’t have positive memories, apart from my sister and mother. But they’re dead.” The image of a young boy, haunted by the specter of abuse and violence, paints a stark contrast to the man seated before me.

As I sit in stunned silence, grappling with the magnitude of his story, I can’t help but feel empathy for the man who had borne the scars of his past with stoic resolve. Behind the facade of power and control lay a vulnerability that speaks volumes, a silent plea for understanding in a world where darkness lurked at every turn, at him. He’s never known any different.

“I’m so sorry, it must have been awful,” I mumble while not knowing how to comfort a man like Aslanov.

He’s staring at the window while twisting the ring on his finger. He never usually avoids my gaze. But this is a rare moment where I’m trying to unfold the man in front of me and he’s giving me answers.

I broach the subject that has lingered at the forefront of my thoughts since our encounter began. “What happened to your father?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I brace myself for his response.

For a moment, Aslanov’s expression darkens, a storm brewing behind his steely gaze. “He died,” he replies curtly, his tone laced with bitterness as he averts his gaze.

Sensing the weight of his words, I hesitate before pressing further, acutely aware of the delicate balance between curiosity and respect. Yet, the lingering curiosity gnaws at my insides.

“Did you…?” I trail off, unable to articulate the question that hangs heavy in the air between us. Aslanov’s gaze darkens even further, a flicker of something primal flashing across his features before he nods, a silent answer.

“I did,” he mutters, his voice barely audible above the din of the dinner. “Indirectly. I found him coughing on his blood. Icould have gotten help; it wouldn’t have been too late.” I hold my breath. “Instead, I watched him suffer until he choked on it.”

Oh god. Aslanov’s confession hangs heavy in the air, his words echoing in the silence that stretches between us. My heart pounds in my chest, the weight of his revelation settling over me like a shroud of darkness.

I struggle to process the magnitude of his confession, the sheer brutality of his actions sending a shiver down my spine. Yet, even as I recoil from the truth of his words, a part of me can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the boy he once was—a boy who had known nothing but pain and suffering, who had been forced to become a man far too soon.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want to,” I murmur, my voice soft with empathy. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Aslanov’s gaze meets mine, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, it feels as though the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders, the burden of his past threatening to consume him whole. But then, with a sigh, he shakes his head, as if to dispel the darkness that lingers within him. “No,” he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. “You deserve to know the truth. I promised you I would open up.”

I nod, hesitantly. “Thank you for opening up.”

He fills his glass again and I’m sure it’s because he needs it. Deciding this has been enough of a deep opening I try to shift the conversation into something different.

“Maybe something simple, like—what’s your favorite color?”

The words make him laugh. It rumbles off the walls. “Black, death, dark things.”

I stare at him. “Really Aslanov?”

He sighs in frustration while rubbing his hand against his stubble. “Nobody has even asked me myfavorite color,Izabella.” The Russian hint on my name fills me with heat.

“Well, I am.” His eyes meet mine as he turns towards me at the table.

“Whatever your favorite color is,” he shrugs.

There it is, the warmth. Flooding through me like a river. A stupid simple answer and yet it does that to my stomach.

After our conversation, I offered to help Aslanov clean up the kitchen. Together, we wash dishes, wipe down countertops, and put away leftovers. Despite the darkness of his past, there’s a sense of lightness between us, a shared understanding that transcends words.

Once the kitchen is spotless, Aslanov retreats to his office to attend to his business affairs, leaving me to my own devices. He turns to me. “If you need me, I’m in my office.”

I nod while he takes another glass of wine with him upstairs.

I make my way over to my room and get inside the bathroom. The warm water of the shower soothes my tired muscles as I let the events of the day wash over me. Despite the heaviness of our conversation, there’s a sense of peace that settles over me, a feeling of understanding that I’ve rarely felt before.

After drying off and slipping into my pajamas, I make my way to the bedroom and crawl into bed. The soft sheets envelop me like a cocoon, and for a moment, I feel safe and secure in the darkness of the room.

But as I drift off to sleep, a sense of unease creeps into my mind, a lingering fear that refuses to be silenced. And then, without warning, the darkness descends, engulfing me in a whirlwind of terror and despair.

I run and run through a forest, gasping for air as sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle to shake off the lingering sense of dread, my heart racing in my chest. He’s coming for me. I reach out to Aslanov, seeking solace in his presence. But as my hand grasps at empty air, a sense of loneliness washes over me, areminder of the darkness that lurks within me. And right as I fall to the ground in the dark forest and the voice comes closer, I wake up.

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