Page 41 of Dangerous Beginnings

I swing the door open with deliberate force. Conversations hush as I step inside, my presence immediately commanding attention. The maître d’, recognizing the gravity of my arrival, offers a discreet nod. In the back, a reserved table waits.

The men seated there form the backbone of the most prominent New York Mafia family—a formidable collective with its code, traditions, and shadowy dealings. The rich aroma ofItalian cuisine mingles with the tension that crackles in the air. I acknowledge the group with a measured nod, my gaze cutting through the dim lighting. The head of the New York Mafia—a seasoned, calculating figure—rises to greet me.

“Welcome, Aslanov. We’ve heard much about you,” he says, extending a hand with an air of practiced courtesy. I grip his hand firmly, the gesture of respect hiding the underlying power dynamic.

“Likewise. I believe our interests align in ways that could be mutually beneficial.”

We settle into a conversation wrapped in layers of subtext, discussing business, power, and the delicate balance of alliances. The New York Mafia’s roots run deep in this city, and my proposal represents a chance for us both to consolidate our power. However, not all of them are fit to continue under this new order. Some will need to be removed.

The discussion ranges from territorial control to the distribution of illicit goods, and each of us is acutely aware of the potential gains and risks involved. The restaurant’s patrons, blissfully ignorant of the high-stakes negotiation unfolding around them, continue their meals, separated by an invisible veil from our world of power and intrigue.

“Aslanov, we appreciate your interest in this alliance. But you understand, we’re not used to working with outsiders.”

My gaze, sharp and penetrating, sweeps over the assembled Mafia members. I lean back, allowing a faint, enigmatic smile to play on my lips. “I understand your reservations. But I believe we can find common ground. After all, we have similar goals, don’t we?” Unease spreads among the men as they exchange wary glances.

The boss, attempting to assert his control, speaks with a bravado that barely masks his discomfort.

“Our operation has been running smoothly for decades. Wedon’t need anyone disrupting it.” My eyes narrow, and my voice drops to a low, commanding growl.

“Gentlemen, I don’t intend to disrupt your operations. I’m here to enhance them. I bring resources and connections that can elevate our ventures to unprecedented heights.”

A murmur of nervousness ripples through them. My presence, palpable and suffocating, casts a dark shadow over the table. One of the lieutenants speaks up cautiously, his voice tinged with apprehension.

“We’ve heard stories about you, Aslanov. Rumors of your methods and reach. Some say you don’t hesitate to eliminate those who cross you.” I chuckle, the sound dark and chilling.

“Rumors have a way of exaggerating. Rest assured, I take necessary actions to protect my interests. I expect the same level of commitment from my allies.”

A heavy silence falls over the table, the air thick with the weight of my words. My thoughts drift to her, the true reason for my visit. The unspoken threat hangs palpably in the room—cross me, and the consequences will be severe. The New York Mafia has always been wary of our Russian methods.

The boss, choosing his words with caution, finally speaks. “We see the potential benefits of this alliance. But understand, Aslanov—we don’t take kindly to threats.”

“Nor do I,” I responded, my tone cold and resolute. “This alliance must be founded on mutual respect. I trust we understand each other.” The uneasy nods around the table signal tentative agreement. The meeting concludes with an air of unspoken understanding and a grim acknowledgment of what’s to come. As the tension settles, my men move in, their presence turning the atmosphere heavier still. The boss of the New York Mafia nods once, stands, and exits, leaving me alone to address the final, necessary acts of vengeance.

Isabella

The next morning, sunlight filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the room. I stir awake, my head pounding, and the events of the night before swim in and out of focus. I have no idea how we ended up here. The quiet hum of the city outside feels almost mocking. Lexi is still asleep beside me, her face pressed into the pillow, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in my life.

I sit up, the ache in my body intensifying as I reach for my bag. My phone is buried beneath crumpled receipts and lipstick-stained napkins. When I pull it out, the screen flares to life and my heart sinks.

Two missed calls. Two messages.

The first one feels like ice sliding down my spine.

Aslanov:

Sneaking away at night, solnyshko? Bold choice for someone already so close to ending up in a body bag.

The second one twists the knife deeper.

Drunk, careless, and foolish enough to think I wouldn’t follow. Do you crave my punishment that badly? Or are you too naive to understand the danger you’ve invited back into your life?

I slam the phone face down on the bed, my heart racing. It’s just words, I tell myself, but the weight behind them is suffocating. He doesn’t have to be here to make me feel his presence.

A sharp buzz interrupts my spiraling thoughts. Another message. My shaking hands reach for the phone despite my better judgment.

You think last night was freedom? It wasn’t. It was permission. A leash slackened, not removed.

My breath hitches, and a fresh wave of nausea rolls over me. I clutch the phone tighter as another message arrives almost immediately, each word hitting like a hammer.

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