The Truth
Chapter 42
The Truth
Isabella
As I stand in front of him, my gaze flickers to Dominik at the side of the room, shaking his head at me with a mixture of warning and resignation. A surge of boiling rage courses through my veins as I begin to understand that whatever is going on is a sick and twisted phenomenon.
Suddenly, Aslanov’s finger curls towards me, and I feel the tension in the room grow palpably. With each step closer to him, my frustration mounts, but as I catch sight of my hair tie wrapped around his wrist, I pray that this what is happening isn’t real. It must be fake.
Why are all these people here? And these women? What the fuck is going on. My brains crack and as I cannot seem to understand what’s happening, I can understand one thing; as much as I hate it; I’ll have to comply.
Aslanov is a dangerous man, even after what happened. But besides that, the whole room is filled with people who aren’t known for their charity either. So, as he sits down again on his dark throne and nods to the floor there is just one option: submerge myself to the floor on my knees and drag all my dignity alongside.
Aslanov
It needed to die, the sight of us. Not the feelings, no, those are undeniable . She looks beautiful in that dress.
Now she’s kneeling at my feet, not in the same way she has before. Not in a playful, entertaining manner. No, in a completely different setting and there is no ounce of fun here. Her slight protest doesn’t add to the situation. But my firecracker seems to somewhat understand the situation. With piercing eyes, she crouches down next to my feet. My hand finds its way towards her head, gently stroking it. For the men at the table a usual gesture, petting their pets, disgusting . The men at the table grin, it sickens me. I want to wrap their insides around their neck and use it as a noose. She flinches under my touch, the sweet soul.
Above a mere whisper, she dares to speak, wishing she hadn’t such a habit of misbehaving.
“I fucking hate you.”
My chest tightens, not now little fighter. Now I will have to take actions that I don’t want to. My mind screams while my gaze doesn’t fill with a single sign of emotion. My fist bangs on the table, she flinches at the sound. Everyone’s conversation dies instantly, eyes on me. I want to cut out every one of their insides and use it as a noose to hang them. I would protect her. Even if the consequences are her hating me. I’ll let them see her submit to me, so they all know who she belongs to. After all, I would not be able to let her go, not anymore now.
Jealousy fills my thoughts. I’d have the urge to kill any other man who comes near her. I pull her by her hair closer in between my legs as I push her head down.
“Ty, malenkaya shlyukha, ya nakazhu tebya tak zhestoko, chto ty pochti uvidish svet.” You little whore, I’m going to punish you so roughly, you’ll nearly see the light. At this moment I’m very happy about the fact that she doesn’t speak or understand Russian. Makes it easier to say these vile words. Everyone witnesses it, but everyone knows better than to stick their nose in anyone else’s woman here.
As the conversation fades away to business the language changes into Russian, and Isabella is completely unaware of what’s happening, I’m pleased to see the attention shift away from her. However, my attention is completely on her. Her body trembles ever so slightly and her head hangs so low, it has never been this low. She’s always had the defiance in her, but it’s extinct.
Grasping me out of my thoughts is my alliance, now standing next to me, taking the empty seat beside me. This is not a good man. His piercing blue eyes meet mine after looking in between my legs at her . I need to do my best to keep my knuckles from turning white.
“You’ve finally gotten yourself a woman, no?”
I nod, before taking a sip of the liquid in my glass. I need something stronger.
“Rumors said you’ve never had a woman before, I thought you didn’t expel yourself in this kind of business .”
My free hand finds the armchair. “A first for everything.” Keep it as short as possible. As my alliance comments on Isabella’s presence, I play along with his insinuations, masking my true feelings behind a facade of indifference.
“She seems quite spirited,” he remarks, his eyes lingering on Isabella’s trembling form. I offer a nonchalant chuckle, though my heart aches at the sight of her distress.
“That she is,” I reply, my tone carefully neutral.
My alliance smirks, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to bring a woman into our midst,” he comments, his words laced with curiosity.
I shrug noncommittally, concealing the turmoil roiling within me. “She... fell into my path,” I responded vaguely, unwilling to divulge the true nature of our connection. Isabella’s sobs grow louder, her distress palpable even from across the room. I long to comfort her, to assure her that everything will be alright, but I dare not show any sign of weakness. Instead, I maintain the facade, engaging in idle conversation as if Isabella’s suffering means nothing to me. It’s a charade, a necessary deception to protect her from the dangers of my world.
Suddenly his hand reaches out to the top of her head, and my reflexes have never been this fast, but in less than a second my hand catches his arm. A firm grip,
“Do not touch her.” It’s a warning, a threat.
“You don’t share your plaything, Mr. Karamazov?”
My grip tightens on his arm before letting him go. I’m going to fucking kill him.
“No.”
“What if I offered you 100,000 rubles for the girl?” My jaw tightens and I can feel her tense against my leg.
“I’d have to decline that offer I’m afraid.” The whole table now has an interest in our conversation.
He hums, “And what if I give you power over the last part of Russia you do not possess yet?” He twirls his glass in his hand, “The North.” My knuckles turn white. He’s only offering me to bluff, he wants to see my intentions with her. I click my teeth shut before thinking of an answer. It’s something he would never offer me. Not just like that, he’s provoking me. A gamble, a risk. If I am to say no, he’ll know I have more intentions with her than to just use her as a ‘plaything’. If I say yes, he’ll perhaps take the offer, and it could be that he’s not bluffing. People trafficking, and people trading, it’s a common aspect of organized crime.
My chest pains as the next word leaves my lips, hoping he’s bluffing.
“Deal,” my answer comes out authoritative, hard. Isabella stiffens. And right when I think I have made a grave mistake he croaks out a loud laugh.
He smirks so fucking evil before clapping his hands, “I almost thought you had a heart for this whore .” My blood turns to ice. Did he just call my woman a whore? Suddenly, in the heat of the moment, Isabella starts yelling at me .
Isabella’s voice pierces through the tense atmosphere, her words a mix of anger, frustration, and desperation. “You heartless fuck! How dare you?! You think you can just sell me off like some piece of property?’“ Her voice is lashed with venom, this situation is getting out of hand. My anger boils with hers. I must set the tone one more time.
“Have you forgotten who you are speaking to?’“ My eyes darken, and the green perishes.
With a coy smile playing on her lips, she meets my gaze with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
“You know, Aslanov,” she begins, her voice dripping with faux admiration, “I’ve always admired your talent for intimidation. It must be exhausting , carrying the weight of your ego around with you everywhere you go.”
My eye twitches. A ripple of tension spreads through the room as her words land. For a moment, the mask of superiority falters on my face, a flicker of irritation betraying me. The room is thick with tension, a suffocating blanket that seems to draw the very air from our lungs. Isabella’s words slice through the silence like a blade, each syllable a deliberate strike meant to provoke. Her coy smile only fuels my ire, and the mocking twinkle in her eyes is a challenge I can’t ignore.
She laughs bitterly, her lips curling in a defiant smirk. “You’re pathetic, Aslanov. All that power, all that control…and still, you’re nothing without fear.”
My jaw clenches. Her words strike deeper than they should. She’s pushing me. Hard.
For a moment, I just stare at her, my pulse pounding in my ears, and the anger that had been simmering now roars to life like wildfire. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I can feel the darkness in me rising, a familiar companion that demands control.
Isabella rises from her position, standing, everyone in the room observing her. I rise from my chair too, closing the distance between us until I’m towering over her. In two steps, I’m in front of her, my hand wrapping around her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes. My grip is harsh, unyielding. “Say it again,” I growl, my voice low, dangerous. “Go on. I dare you.”
The defiance in her eyes flares up again, but there’s something else there now, something more—fear, perhaps, or maybe just the realization that she’s pushed me too far. Either way, it’s enough to make her take a small, almost imperceptible step back, but I immediately pull her back to me.
“Careful, Isabella,” I hiss, my voice low, vibrating with barely contained rage. I pull her even closer, our faces inches apart, my fingers digging into her skin. “You’ve got a death wish,” I whisper darkly, my voice dripping with menace.
Isabella’s breath stutters for a moment, but she doesn’t look away. Her eyes blaze with a mix of fear and defiance, a dangerous combination that only fuels the fire in my veins. My grip tightens on her jaw, fingers digging in just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her lips twitch, daring to curl into a smirk, even with my hold on her.
“I should be scared, right?” she taunts, her voice trembling but still sharp. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fall in line, cower like the rest of them? Too bad I’m not one of your obedient pets.”
“You don’t know what you’re playing with,” I growl, my voice barely above a whisper, but she feels the menace in every word. “I’ve broken people for less.”
Her pulse pounds against my grip, but still, she doesn’t falter. “Then break me,” she challenges, her eyes flashing with something wild, reckless. “Go ahead. Show everyone what you really are.”
The room seems to close in around us, the tension suffocating, as her words hang between us. My grip tightens for a brief, dangerous second, before I pull back just enough to meet her gaze fully. I can see the flicker of fear behind her defiance, but she refuses to let it show.
I pause, studying her, this woman who continues to defy me at every turn. There’s a part of me that admires her tenacity, her refusal to bow to my will. But there’s another part, a darker part, that aches to see her finally submit, to see that fire in her eyes extinguished by my hand.
This puppet show must end—now.
I call two of my men to come over, and mutter to them:
“Take her to her room.” Without a second of hesitation, Isabella is dragged across the room towards the staircase. Her screams linger in the air as they take her away.
Isabella
As I’m dragged out of the room, my heart hammers in my chest, each beat reverberating through me like a death knell. The iron grip on my arms is relentless, squeezing tighter with every step, and I can already feel the bruises forming beneath their fingers. I cast a desperate glance back at Aslanov, hoping against hope for some sign of understanding, but all I see in his eyes is cold, unyielding fury. The chill of his gaze cuts through me, seizing my breath and making my defiance feel like a thin veil, easily torn away.
The noise of the room fades as we move down a dimly lit corridor, the light growing scarce and the air thick with the stench of something ominous. The sound of my own ragged breathing fills the void, and with each step, panic rises within me, clawing at my resolve. I try to hold onto the bravado that got me here, the defiance I’ve clung to like a shield, but it feels fragile now like it could shatter with the next breath. This is not where my room is.
As we enter a darker, more secluded part of the house, dread coils tight in my stomach. I don’t know where they’re taking me, but I know it’s somewhere I was never meant to see. My instincts scream at me to fight, to flee, but it’s too late. I’m in too deep, and every reckless decision I made leading up to this moment crashes down on me like a tidal wave of regret. I never should have provoked him, never should have pushed him so far. My fear was buried beneath the anger and the false confidence, but now, it’s all that remains.
The men halt in front of a heavy metal door at the end of the hall, a door that looks like it belongs in a nightmare. With a rough shove, they push me forward, and I stumble into the room beyond, my knees hitting the concrete floor with a sickening thud. Pain shoots through me, but I barely register it over the growing terror that engulfs my mind.
The room is small, suffocatingly so, with nothing but a bare cot in the corner and no windows to let in the light. The walls seem to close in on me, trapping me in a space that feels all too familiar. I recognize this place; it’s a cell, a prison of my own making. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and any remnants of defiance crumble away. I made a mistake—a terrible, irreversible mistake.
Frantic, I scramble to the door, banging on it with all the strength I have left, but it’s futile. There’s no handle, no way out. I’m trapped. The echoes of my fists against the metal door mock me, reminding me of just how powerless I am. The walls of the cell, stark and cold, press down on me, triggering memories I’ve fought so hard to bury. Memories of another time, another cell, when I was stripped of my dignity, my strength, my will to fight.
Panic floods my senses, overwhelming me in a tidal wave of fear. My breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps, each one more painful than the last as my chest tightens, constricting around my lungs like a vise. I clutch at my throat, desperate for air, but it feels like the room is shrinking, pressing in on me, squeezing the life out of me.
The defiance that once burned so brightly within me is now a distant memory, snuffed out by the reality of my situation. I keep dooming myself.
Aslanov
Without a moment’s hesitation, after she is taken out of the room, I walk back to my seat, a primal rage burning within me, the air crackling with tension as I reach for the knife tucked into the waistband of my pants. My men behind me see what my plan is and back me up by holding the other men back.
Recklessness is not my style. It would be beneath me to show my hand so easily, especially over a woman. My reputation, carefully built over years of calculated moves and ruthless decisions, cannot afford the stain of such an impulsive reaction. No one can know she invades my emotions in certain ways.
Still, I need to make an example of this situation—remind everyone of who I am, and what happens when my authority is questioned. My gaze sweeps over the room, cold and cutting, before settling on the man who dared to believe he could buy what belonged to me.
My gaze meets his, a cold and calculating man who had sought to buy Isabella as if she were nothing more than a commodity. He’s going to the chambers. I advance upon him with a predatory gleam in my eye. He cowers before me, his bravado shatters in the face of my unwavering dominance. He has struck the wrong man.
With a swift motion, I seize him by the collar, dragging him to his feet as I press the cold steel of the knife against his throat. His eyes bulge with terror as he whimpers for mercy, but I show him none.
“You thought you could buy her like some cheap trinket,” I snarl, my voice low and menacing. “But she’s not for sale, not to you or anyone else. She’s fucking mine.” I punch him in the face, multiple times. Blood gushes from his nose. “I’ll do as I see fit with her, however, that is none of your fucking concern. Disrespecting me will cost you your life.”
I command my men to drag him into the chambers outside. I’m going to have fun with him, hanging him on my meat hook. With that, he is dragged away, his men not moving an inch. After all, I am the most powerful man in Russia. I glance at the men staring at me, their gazes finding other places. “Prodolzhayte zanimatsya s businesom!” Move on with business. I shout it at them as I take a seat again. Immediately the conversations fill the room again. I have unleashed war. Over a woman.