Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

Speak of the Devil

Chapter 22

Speak of the Devil

Aslanov

The water in the shower cascades over me, washing away the residue of the night’s grim work. The room is filled with steam, a thin veil that obscures the reflection in the mirror. There is no blood, a clean murder it had been. An example set. My men have escorted Volkov his body outside, in public. It will be an example of betrayal for everyone to see. Including her . The price to pay. The message had been sent, echoing through the underworld like a chilling whisper. But not only through the underworld. Loyalty was not negotiable, and those who dared to challenge it met a fate etched in blood, and without fingers.

As I step out of the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself in the fogged-up mirror. The tattoos that mark my skin, symbols of my ascent in the criminal hierarchy, seem to pulse with dark energy. I towel off and dress in a fresh suit, the fabric crisp against my skin.

Last night I came to a discovery. Someone has been sniffling into my business and I know exactly who it is. Isabella, unknowingly entangled in the threads of her own curiosity, becomes the focal point of my attention. Again.

My tech experts work diligently, tracing the digital footsteps in the online web. That is how we found out, a small leak. In New York City, somewhere. We couldn’t access the details, but I know just one woman in New York with the curiosity to sniff into these cases. As far as my men think it is just another enemy, but I know better.

I’d rather deal with her myself. And this time it would be final. I’m not known for my patience and forgiveness.

My fingers clench around the edge of the dark wooden table, the strain in my jaw betraying the simmering anger. Loyalty is the bedrock of my empire, and her intrusion is a breach that cannot be tolerated. The consequences of betrayal echo through the underground passages of the city, and yet, she dares to defy the boundaries I’ve set. Be careful Isabella, or you might end up without fingers too.

A twisted smile plays on my lips as I type the message. The message sent, I pocket the phone and step into the darkness of my mind. The city below, unaware of the intricacies unfolding in its midst, continues its restless rhythm. Not many people get the privilege to be contacted directly by me, but for her I’ll make an exception. She invited me in, and now her prayers will be answered.

Isabella

The glow of my phone screen casts an eerie light in the dimly lit room. I can just hear his voice. What have I done? My heartbeat is so fast, my fingers sweat, and I don’t know what to do. I feel so much regret. Fuck fuck fuck . And the fact that I am “sniffing” around isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is that I work for the authorities now, at a fucking police department.

I take a deep breath, I shouldn’t reply. His green eyes pierce the back of my mind. I close my eyes as I remember him so vividly. The darkness that surrounded him. His green piercing eyes, dark hair, and a towering height. Black ink covering half his body, towards his rough hands. His stubbles and sharp jawline. Always in a black suit, dressed up as handsome as the devil. The devil being his nickname suits him just right. I liked him best cuffed up in prison. And even then he scared the shit out of me.

His deep Russian voice still lingers in my mind and sometimes at night, I swear I can hear him. He haunts my mind and now he haunts me physically too.

Before I can think of a response my phone lights up again with Ada calling me. Ada works just like me in administration for the authorities. She has been working beside me, and we’ve become good friends. I hesitantly pick up the phone and put it to my ear, barely able to hold it still. Her voice immediately washes over me through the speaker.

“Isa! Have you seen the news?!” She nearly yells. I frown my eyebrows.

“No, what’s up?” I walk over to the living room couch and switch the TV on to the news channel. Ada keeps talking but it’s a blur that I only hear, static. I watch the dead body of a man. Or what is left of him? My stomach turns sick.

“Isa, are you still there?”

I swallow, “Yes, what is this? And where-where are his fingers?”

“Look in the corner, it’s cast from Russia. Moscow to be precise. There are rumors that this was an ally of the boss of the Bratva, but he crossed paths with him. Look at the mark on his stomach, it’s the Bratva mark. They are setting an example.” I swallow harder while staring at the bloody marked skin of the man.

“For what?” But I already know what for. Betrayal.

I drop the phone to the floor, hearing Ada faintly from the ground. But I don’t hear more than my blood pumping through my body. I have always had anxiety, but for sure it’s peaking now. The man on the TV is merely a body left. They abused him. They tortured him, and he died. The man that just sent me a message. I watch as the streets of Moscow fill up with people. All staring and gagging at the sight.

“Isabella!”

I flinch as I pick up the phone, “Sorry! I’m just—shocked.”

“I get it, he’s playing with fire. Rumors are he is more ruthless than he has ever been, and he even controls the police in Russia.”

I can’t pull my eyes away from the TV. “That’s bad,” I shake my head. “Very bad,” I add in a whisper.

“They’re never going to catch him. He’s untraceable. Besides nobody knows who to look for, there is no information on his physical appearance. The whole police station is hysterical. When does your next shift start?” I take in every word she says. Why would he risk the tiny leak towards me he is making? Her question pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Thursday, I’m going out for dinner tomorrow tonight with Alexia. I’m free.”

“Sounds good! We should meet up soon. I work on Thursday as well. See you then! Try to enjoy your free day before sliding into the hectic pace over here.”

We exchange a couple more words before hanging up. My phone immediately goes back to the text message. I stare at it. I feel like puking, sickness building up in my throat. With the image of the man from the television in my mind and all I know, I throw up right on time when I reach the toilet. What if he’s already watching me? What if he knows I work at a fucking Police department? What if other people have eyes on me? I suddenly become paranoid and very aware of the fact that this is possibly one of the most dangerous men walking on earth.

But there is just one thing that lingers in my mind and it’s taking over my rational thoughts. I should not respond. But his darkness is pulling my strings. Do not respond. It will open a door. I will accept his game. But playing a game is better than just accepting defeat. No, or yes? What to do? My trembling hands reach for my phone. My fingers slowly move over the letters.

You’re sick, and so is your “business”

I lock my phone, terrified for a response. The big girl pants are already slacking. As the night wears on, I can’t escape the nagging question that lingers in the recesses of my mind keeping me awake. What will be the cost of provoking the Devil in a world ruled by him?