Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

With Good Faith

Chapter 26

With Good Faith

Isabella

The sunlight feels like a betrayal. It slips through the cracks in the curtains, casting soft shadows that twist across the room, but all I see is the memory of his eyes—cold, knowing, and unrelenting. My chest aches as though something inside me has been broken, fractured beyond repair. I wake up tangled in sheets, the scent of his cologne still clinging to my skin, a constant reminder that last night was not a dream.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare that has no end.

I close my eyes, but his image still lingers—his towering form, the heat of his breath against my ear, the predatory smile that wasn’t a smile at all. It was the smile of someone who knows they own you. They could break you, twist you into whatever they want, and you would beg for it.

I pull the covers tighter around me, but it doesn’t help. The cold in the room is nothing compared to the chill that has taken root in my soul. My limbs feel heavy, and sluggish, as if I’m moving through water. I know what he’s capable of, what he promised me.

I catch sight of a small package on the dresser, as I step closer my jaw nearly drops on the floor. It is a completely new phone, the newest there is. Curiosity mingled with apprehension as I approached it. My heart races as I realize he left me a direct line of contact. The realization both intrigues and frightens me. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether to throw the phone away or use it.

In the end, a strange curiosity gets the better of me, and I reluctantly power it on. The phone springs to life, and a plain background appears. His contact details are saved, and not with an unknown number anymore, but with his name. Aslanov .

As I navigate conflicting emotions within me, I can’t ignore the subtle allure that surrounds him. There is a dark magnetism pulling me in, and a part of me can’t deny the strange excitement that tings my fear. I drop the phone on the desk, letting it charge.

Throughout the day, I struggle to keep my mind on anything. My routine is a blur, my thoughts constantly drifting back to the encounter. His eyes, the way his breath had brushed against my ear, and how close he got to me. My skin tingles at the memory, and I find my fingers absently tracing the spots where his touch lingers, as if his fingers are still there, imprinting their mark. The reality of what happened crashes over me again and again, and I can’t seem to escape it.

This is my life now .

A shudder runs through me as the thought settles in my mind. I need something to drown out the noise. I need a drink, or two, or ten. Just as the thought crosses my mind, my phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen to see Alexia’s name lighting up, and for a split second, I hesitate. She’s the last person I want to talk to about this. But I know I need an escape, and if anyone can help me forget, it’s her. I swipe the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Isa! What’s up, girl? What are you doing tonight?” Her voice is loud and excited, an instant contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling through my head all day.

I force myself to smile, the effort almost painful. “I don’t know, Lexi. Just feeling a bit off today,” I answer, my voice lacking the usual energy I usually put on for her.

“Oh, come on! You can’t be serious! You need a break, girl. You can’t stay in your head all night. Let’s hit the town, have some drinks, and dance our worries away! What do you say?” Her enthusiasm is infectious, and for a moment, I almost feel the pull of it—the warmth of forgetting everything that has been weighing on me.

I hesitate, my thoughts pulling me in a dozen directions at once, but then, the alcohol-filled haze of earlier creeps back into my mind. Maybe it’s exactly what I need. “Alright, let’s do it,” I agree, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite myself.

By the time night falls, we’re ready. Alexia practically drags me out of my apartment and into the world outside, her excitement palpable. She convinces me to wear the short dress, telling me it’ll boost my confidence. It feels like a challenge, but I don’t fight it. Why the fuck not ? I think, pulling on the dress and slipping into heels that make me feel taller, and more confident—though I know it’s just a mask.

The club we decide on is the kind of place where the lights are low, and the music pounds through your chest like a heartbeat. It’s alive with energy, bodies pressed together in a collective pulse, the kind of energy I crave, the kind I can get lost in. We hit the dance floor immediately, the music vibrating through the soles of my feet, sweeping the tension from my body with every thumping beat. Alexia is in her element, throwing herself into the music, laughing, spinning in time with the flashing lights.

But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

The music should be enough to block out everything else, but it’s not. I keep catching glimpses of him—his face flickering in the dim corners of the club, his eyes watching me from the shadows. I freeze for a moment, the blood in my veins turning cold. It’s a trick. I know it’s just my imagination. It has to be .

I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away as I throw myself back into the rhythm of the music. Alexia’s laughter fills my ears, her presence grounding me as I lose myself in the dance. The longer I stay on the floor, the more the anxiety slips away, replaced by something else. The alcohol, the music, the movement—they start to blend together, and for a while, I’m no longer thinking about him or the tight coil of fear and desire that he left in my chest.

Another shot. Another drink. Another moment of blissful, forgetful numbness.

The club feels like an escape, but it’s also a cage. It’s a place where I can pretend to be free, even though I’m not. As the night wears on, I’m drunker than I intended to be. The world blurs at the edges, the lights turn into streaks of color, and the bass vibrates through my entire body, my heart thumping in time with it.

My phone buzzes from my purse, the vibration sharp against my skin. I reach for it blindly, but my fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated, my vision hazy. The screen lights up with a message, but it’s too blurry for me to read. I squint, trying to focus, but the letters swim and blur together in a confusing mess. I try to steady my breath, but the world keeps tilting, spinning like a carousel gone out of control.

“Isa! Let’s do another shot!” Alexia shouts over the music, her eyes wild with excitement.

I nod, a crooked grin on my face, but just as I lift my hand to reach for the phone, Lexi bumps into me. The phone slips from my fingers and falls into my bag, but I don’t care. I don’t even glance at it again. The message is meaningless now, lost to the chaos around me. We’re both as far gone as the other. The music consumes us, the flashing lights painting us in neon hues, and I don’t think about the consequences. I don’t think about anything but the movement, the freedom, the pulse of the night. The rhythm of the music, the weight of the alcohol, the dizzying release of the moment, I’m free , but only for tonight.

I think I need another shot.

Aslanov

I have never done this.

It’s almost amusing—almost—to see how far I’m willing to break my own rules for her. Watching Isabella try to hold onto her little composure, I felt something stir that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time. It’s not just amusement, though that’s there too. It’s curiosity.

Curiosity is dangerous.

I don’t play, not with anyone, let alone women. I don’t have time for that. My world is built on control, precision, and discipline. There’s no room for indulgence, no patience for distractions. Everything I do has a purpose, every action a consequence. I don’t toy with people. I break them—or I don’t bother at all. But Isabella… she’s different.

She’s like a shiny, sharp-edged little toy that’s caught my eye. And I can’t seem to put her down.

My tailored suit, sharp and imposing, commands authority as I step out of the opulent New York City skyscraper. The sleek, modern lobby fades behind me, replaced by the shadowed streets below. The city’s heartbeat pulses in the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of sirens. The Porsche glides through the crowded avenues, a beast of precision cutting through the urban maze until I reach a discreet Italian restaurant nestled in a quiet corner of the city. The restaurant oozes exclusivity with its dimly lit, intimate interior, catering to a select few who understand the weight of discretion.

I swing the door open with deliberate force. Conversations hush as I step inside, my presence immediately commanding attention. The ma?tre 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 of Italian 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. We don’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.

Every step you take without me is borrowed time, Isabella. And time always runs out.

I stare at the screen, my vision blurring as the air in the room feels heavier. My chest tightens, and I look at Lexi, still asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm raging in my life.

The phone slips from my trembling fingers onto the bed, and I clutch my chest, struggling to catch my breath. His words feel alive, crawling under my skin and burrowing deep into the parts of me I don’t want to acknowledge. A maelstrom of emotions crashes over me, each wave threatening to pull me under.

Fear. It’s the strongest, the one that takes hold first, sinking its claws into me. The sheer audacity of his control, the way he claims me with every syllable, leaves me feeling exposed, hunted. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I can’t shake the terrifying thought that maybe he’s right—that no matter how fast I run or how far I go, he’ll always be there. Watching. Waiting.

But it’s not just fear. Something darker twists in the pit of my stomach, something I hate myself for even acknowledging. His words have a gravity that pulls me in, as if the danger he represents has an allure I can’t resist. It’s intoxicating in the worst way. The threat, the possessiveness—it should repulse me. It does repulse me. Yet, deep inside, a flicker of something more stirs.

Anger rises next, hot and sharp, a desperate attempt to combat the overwhelming tide of fear and intrigue. I can’t let him dictate my life. I shouldn’t feel like this—weak, cornered, small. But the anger is fleeting, quickly smothered by the cold realization of how tightly he already has me ensnared.

I pace the room, running a hand through my hair as my breathing quickens. The air feels heavy, suffocating, and no matter how much I try to rationalize, to convince myself that he’s just a man—a man I should run far, far away from—it doesn’t help. His voice, his presence, lingers in my mind like a shadow I can’t shake.

I hate him for it. I hate myself more.

The thought of defiance creeps in, a whisper of rebellion that feels like a lifeline. I grab the phone, staring at his last message, my thumb hovering over the screen. But I can’t do it. I can’t reply. What would I even say? The leash metaphor digs into my mind, and I wonder if I’ve already let him tighten it around my throat.

Lexi stirs behind me, murmuring softly in her sleep, and I glance at her peaceful face. She doesn’t know—she can’t know. If I let her in, if I share the depth of the danger I’m in, she’ll only become a target too. That thought steels me, but only slightly.

I close my eyes, but his words remain, etched into my mind, louder than my own thoughts.

A leash slackened, not removed.

The leash isn’t just his doing, I realize with a sinking heart. I provoked him, again. Part of me, the part that aches to be free yet feels drawn to his darkness, has wrapped it around my own neck. And I don’t know if I have the strength to fight it.