Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

Lovers?

Chapter 43

Lovers?

Aslanov

As the meeting continues, I try to maintain an air of authority and control, despite the turmoil raging inside me. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Isabella, locked away in that cold, dark cell, but I dare not let my emotions show. Instead, I focus on the matters at hand, barking orders and making decisions with efficiency.

The men around the table hang on my every word, their eyes darting nervously between each other as they sense the tension in the air. They know better than to question my authority, especially after witnessing the display of power earlier.

But despite my outward composure, my thoughts keep drifting back to Isabella. I can’t shake the image of her terrified face, the sound of her screams echoing in my mind. I feel a surge of anger towards the man who dared to lay a hand on her, but I bury it deep down, channeling it into my actions instead. Because I can’t afford to dwell on it now.

I lean forward, my gaze fixed on Sergei, the head of security, who sits at the opposite end of the table. “Sergei, I need an update on our drug shipments. Any issues?” Sergei clears his throat, adjusting his tie with a hint of unease.

“Boss, we’ve hit some snags with our recent shipments, especially along the northern border. Increased patrols and border surveillance are making it harder to move our product across.”

My brow furrows slightly, but I nod, taking in the information. “I see. What about our contingency routes?” Sergei shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“We’ve been scouting alternative paths through the eastern territories, but they come with their own set of risks. The terrain is rough, and there have been reports of rival factions in the area.” My expression hardens.

“We can’t afford any delays. Our clients expect their orders to be delivered on time, no matter what. I want you to allocate more resources to secure those routes. We can’t let anyone disrupt our operations.”

Sergei nods, determination shining in his eyes. “Got it. I’ll mobilize our teams and ramp up patrols along the eastern borders. We’ll do whatever it takes to ensure our shipments reach their destinations intact.”

I lean back in my chair, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. “Good. Keep me posted on your progress. And if there are any further complications, I want to know immediately. Our reputation is on the line.” The tension in the room eases slightly as the conversation shifts to other matters, but the gravity of the situation remains.

I make a few final decisions and dismiss the men with a wave of my hand. They file out of the room quickly, eager to escape the tense atmosphere.

Alone at last, I allow myself a moment of weakness, slumping back in my chair and running a hand through my hair. The weight of the situation presses down on me, threatening to suffocate me with its enormity. It doesn’t take me long after that to find myself in the hallway, walking towards her. No, sprinting .

Isabella

My heart hammers against my ribcage as I press myself into the corner, the cold stone wall at my back doing nothing to ground me in this moment of sheer panic. Every breath is a struggle, the air thick with fear, each inhale a desperate attempt to keep from drowning in the memories that flood my mind. Tears burn hot trails down my cheeks, mixing with the dampness of the cell floor as I curl in on myself, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head.

The door creaks open, the sound like a gunshot in the oppressive silence. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as a dark figure steps into the room. It’s him. Aslanov. The man who has torn my world apart.

My pulse quickens, a cocktail of fear and fury surging through my veins as I lift my gaze to meet his. For a moment, neither of us moves. We’re locked in a silent standoff, his unreadable eyes boring into mine. I want to scream, to demand answers, to make him feel even a fraction of the terror he’s inflicted on me. But my voice betrays me, sticking in my throat like a stone.

Aslanov takes a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. He crouches down just out of my reach, his expression carefully controlled, but there’s something in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine.

“Isabella,” he says, his voice low and steady, the calm before the storm. “I warned you not to push me.” His eyes narrow, a flicker of something dark passing through them. “I told you before,” he says, his tone as sharp as a blade. “I don’t like being tested. You think you can provoke me and then cry for mercy?”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. “You made—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look that silences me immediately.

“Spare me your excuses, you did,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You still don’t know your place.”

“My place?” I echo, the words bitter on my tongue.

His lips curve into a cold, humorless smile. He leans in closer, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You’re in my world now. And in my world, you follow my rules.”

I shake my head, trying to muster the defiance that has kept me alive so far. “You can’t just—”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek in a gesture that feels more like a threat than comfort. I flinch at the contact, the warmth of his skin a jarring contrast to the coldness in his eyes. “You think you have a choice?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “You’re mine now, Isabella. You made a choice, willingly . And whether you like it or not, you’ll play by my rules.”

“I’m not yours,” I hiss, my voice trembling with the effort to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. “I’ll never be yours.” He pulls back slightly, his expression hardening. I glare up at him, my fear warring with the anger that has kept me going this long. “I am stronger than you think.”

For a moment, he simply stares down at me, his face a mask of cold indifference. Then, slowly, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a length of chain, letting it dangle from his fingers as if considering his next move. My heart lurches, the sight of the chain sending a wave of panic crashing over me.

“What are you doing?” My voice is barely steady, fear lacing every word.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he removes his jacket and gun, placing them on the floor in front of me, a calculated display that makes my blood run cold. Then, with deliberate slowness, he cuffs himself to the chain, the metal clinking as it locks around his wrists.

He throws the key at my feet, the small metal object landing with a sharp clatter that echoes in the silent room. My gaze darts between him and the key, confusion warring with fear. “What… what is this?” I manage to stammer.

Aslanov sits back against the wall, his eyes locked onto mine, an inscrutable expression on his face. “You wanted control,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Here it is. Take it.”

My fingers tremble as I reach for the key, clutching it tightly in my hand. I want to believe this is a victory, that I’ve somehow turned the tables on him. But the way he watches me, so calm, so composed, makes my stomach twist with unease.

“I could leave you here,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, testing the boundaries of this strange power he’s given me.

Aslanov leans back, his wrists bound, but there’s no fear in his eyes. Instead, a calm, unsettling confidence lingers in his gaze. He watches me intently, as though reading every thought that crosses my mind. His lips curve into a faint smile, his voice a low, velvety threat.

“The real question is…will you?” His eyes flicker with something dark, challenging. “You have the power, Isabella. You could end this—right here, right now.”

“Leave me here. Walk out that door. Run as far as you can.” He tilts his head, his eyes darkening with a sinister gleam.

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile curving into something more dangerous. It’s my silence that gives him another opening to get under my skin. “You feel it, don’t you? That pull inside you, the part of you that’s already given in. You don’t want freedom—you want this .” His eyes bore into mine, unrelenting. “Because leaving means walking away from the chaos, from the fire I ignite in you. And we both know…you’re craving it.”

The confidence in his words stings, and I bite back a retort, knowing deep down he’s right. Despite everything, despite the horror of what he’s done, I can’t leave him. I can’t run away. He knows it. And he knows that by giving me the key, he’s still the one in control.

“I hate you,” I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them. But I’m mostly hating myself, for feeling this, for wanting him.

Aslanov

The cool metal digs into my wrists, causing rather awful memories to fill me from within. But if it reassures her, it’s worth it.

“Can the man with the big ego now explain?”

Her cheeks light up with red, blood gushing towards them as she finally clicks her teeth shut and nods.

“After our interaction, I took time apart from you to recollect my thoughts. I went away on a mission to establish a deal. While I was busy doing so, I noticed men around me seemed to have gained interest in the so-called soft spot I have for you.” Her lashes flutter at my statement. “After a couple of days, I noticed most men in my organization seemed to know, although nobody spoke about it. However, that was not the problem, the problem was that other men also heard the rumors. Other criminals, rivals.” I try to hide my anger while I continue, “After another couple of meetings and interactions I concluded that there could not exist an ‘ us’. ” Isabella is fidgeting with her fingers as she’s looking anywhere but at me. Her eyes are glossy and she’s nervous. “At least not to the public eye.” She stills.

“I made up a plan to sweep away all rumors. Nobody knew about the plan except me. I figured that I wouldn’t let you in on it for it to come across more real, intense.” I gaze at her, trying to stay gentle with her. Yet her dismissive gaze irritates me.

“I had the intention of protecting you, even if that would cause other damage to your feelings. Feelings are invalid when it comes to this world, to these men. I intended he would bluff, and he did.”

‘“I would have never sold you like a fucking toy.’“

She twitches her lip. A lone tear falls from her right eye

“I never intended to hurt you. I would never sell you, Isabella. I just needed a believable story for them to lose attention.”

Isabella

Tears slip silently down my cheeks, trailing hot lines along my face that I can’t seem to stop. I know he’s watching me, I can feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding. It’s as if he’s trying to reach inside me, to find some part of me that still belongs to him. But does it?

“It was an act,” he says, his voice carrying that unmistakable authority that makes it hard to look away. “The whole thing.”

I flinch at his words, the memory of everything that’s happened between us crashing over me like a wave. “Not contacting you,” he continues, his tone measured, “contributed to the image of it being real. It had to look real. It’s how I can best keep you out of my business, out of danger.”

His voice carries a sincerity that feels like it should soothe me, like it should ease the pain and confusion that’s been tearing me apart. But it doesn’t. His words, as much as I want to believe them, are too little, too late. The trust I had in him is shattered, lying in pieces at my feet, impossible to put back together.

I can’t help but want to believe him, to cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason behind all the pain. But it’s harder than I ever imagined it would be. He’s broken something inside me that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fix.

“I don’t trust you,” I admit, my voice trembling with the weight of that truth. It’s not just anger or betrayal that I feel—there’s a deep, aching sadness too. “You completely shattered me, Aslanov. Your world… it’s changed me. I don’t know who I am anymore, but I know I’ll always be afraid of you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and we just stare at each other, the silence between us heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. His presence, even now, chained and supposedly vulnerable, still radiates that dominance, that power that he wields so effortlessly. He doesn’t need to say anything to control the situation, to make me feel like the weaker one.

Finally, I bury my face in my hands, my fingers tangling in my hair as if I can somehow pull myself together, pull myself out of this nightmare. But there’s no escape from what he’s done to me, what he’s made me feel. The confusion, the fear—it’s all too much. I don’t know how to think, or how to process any of this.

The silence stretches on, his Russian accent still echoing in my mind, a reminder of the world he’s dragged me into, the world that’s consumed me.

“I don’t believe you,” I say finally, my voice raw, stripped of all the defenses I’ve tried so hard to build. It’s not just a statement, it’s a plea, a desperate cry for something real, something that isn’t just another lie or manipulation.

Aslanov

I feel my anger rising, a hot surge of frustration coursing through my veins. “Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you?” I demand, my voice rising with each word. “Do you know the risks I’ve taken; the sacrifices I’ve made to keep you safe? My reputation at last.”

Isabella recoils at the intensity of my anger, her eyes filling with tears as she shrinks away from me. She holds her chin high. “Fuck your reputation. ”

“Fine,” I growl, my frustration boiling over into anger. The chain rattles in the room, and if it were not the mere fact I restrained myself, I’d be closing her in. She stills, fear. “You see, Isabella,” I say through clenched teeth, my voice dripping with frustration. “I could have sold you off, I could have left you in here to rot .” Her eyes widen in alarm at my words, a flicker of fear crossing her features. “But instead, I’m sitting here like a fool, and just started a war over you with a very unsettling moron.” She is biting her nails as she stares at the wall. “So please, you have to believe me.” She shakes her head, and I mentally bang my head against the wall.

Another tear rolls down her cheek. I regret what I have done, and I want to make it up to her. I need to. She’s my woman now, mine to protect. And it will only be a harder job if she doesn’t comply. If she doesn’t trust my intentions. I feel the need to hug her, to comfort her. But I’ve forced myself upon her many times, she needs to come at me at her own pace. And it’s not looking like she is ready to be near me at all. At last, she speaks up, shoving my confession aside, something else more important to her.

“Do you…traffic women?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, her face facing the opposite direction.

My heart clenches at the question, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. I take a moment to compose myself, knowing that this is a conversation I can’t afford to mishandle. “No, Isabella,” I reply firmly, “I don’t traffic women.”

Now she finally looks at me. The relief that washes over her face is tangible, her shoulders visibly relaxing as my words sink in. “But I saw…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she recalls the time in the jail.

“They were transported to a safe house.”

She gapes at me. “But I thought—”

I cut her off, “No, I do not participate in the mistreatment of women. However, I cannot speak for everyone.” I aim at the girls in the conference room. Some men do participate in that world, but I have never. She takes a deep breath in, trying to steady herself, and I feel I might have entered an interrogation room.

Isabella

Whether to believe it, I don’t know yet. However, he is answering questions, and I have so many. I nod at his answer. There is something in me that breathes relief. I now turn my attention towards him, moving my body around, facing him. I sigh, it’s bothering me and it’s laying heavy on my chest so here goes nothing. “I went into your office while you were gone.” I purse my lips, expecting a snarl, but I get the opposite.

His face remains unbothered, “I know.” He raises an eyebrow, “I have cameras.”

My mouth shapes into an O. I should have guessed that. I swallow the stomach acid down. It feels wrong to interfere with his personal life, although he has done so with mine in deeper ways.

“What happened to you?” The question leaves my mind fast, no doubt. My mind races back to the pictures inside of the box. The horrors I’ve seen.

Aslanov takes a deep breath before answering, his voice tinged with regret. “The woman in the picture,” he begins, his gaze distant as he recalls the events of the past. “I bargained with my captors, traded my freedom for hers.”

My heart clenches at the thought of what he must have endured, the agony he willingly endured to protect someone he loved. “And then what?” I ask softly, dreading the answer yet needing to know the truth.

He hesitates for a moment before continuing, his voice barely audible. “They tortured me,” he admits, his words heavy with the weight of his memories. “Every method imaginable.”

I gasp in horror, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his captors. “And what about her?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.

Aslanov’s gaze darkens with sorrow as he speaks of the woman he once loved. “We were never the same after that,” he confesses, his voice tinged with regret. “She couldn’t bear what had happened, what she had seen.”

I feel a lump form in my throat as I listen to his words, the tragedy of their story unfolding before me. “What happened to her?” I ask softly, dreading the answer yet needing to know the truth.

“She ended her life,” his gaze on the floor as the rough statement waves through the cell.

“I thought it had been my fault, but later I found out that she had been betraying me for a while. She had been woven into the entire plan of trying to blackmail and destroy me.” His voice dripped with anger—pain. “She would have left me there, to die.

“Dominik saved me.”

My chest falls and rises rapidly. The story waves through my veins.

“He saved a monster,” he continues.

The statement rumbles deep into my bones, a monster. Yes, he is. For all that he does, for all that he has done, there is no denying.

“She-,” my mind wanders. The only woman he’s ever let in betrayed him. “She betrayed you? But you knew her, you loved her. How could she have hidden that; how could one ever do something like that?”

The silence overtakes the cell again. A certain tension spreads between the four walls and us as his next words cut like a knife, “I did…” He pauses while pain hints in his voice, “…but abuse can feel like love. Cold waters can feel inviting when you’re numb from the chill.” My gaze focuses on him now. Is he talking about himself…or me ?

“I guess I was freezing.” His gaze now intensifies on me. “I knew, so I saw it in you, I recognized it. You were numb from the chill .”

It’s the truth. I’ve been numb to love and affection all my life. I’ve never known what it felt like to feel warm, to not crave. It was the raw and bare truth and somehow that made me feel sad. Like someone recognizing it meant for it to be real, to be visible, to exist.

“At first it felt good to be on the other end—to warm the numbness—instead of being numb for so long. I enjoyed playing with you. You were such an easy prey.”

His words sting as he continues, “But not long after I recognized myself in you, and whenever you would hurt, I would hurt. I guess your trauma was interfering with mine, I didn’t want to play with you anymore. I wanted to care for you. But I think I’ve forgotten how that is supposed to be done.”

Hot tears stain my skin. Realizing it has been the truth. And realizing that I know so little about this man in front of me. I only know of the evil, the terrors. Nothing personal. Nothing that shaped him. Nothing as to why he became the villain in this story. Had he been feeling something different than he led on? Had he cared? I had been craving the attention he had been giving me. The fear made me feel something, and that was better than nothing.

Because being given the wrong attention and punishments is better than being neglected . A hot tear rolls down from my cheek to my jawline, falling onto the fabric of my dress.

The truth hurts, and even though I knew it deep down and was aware of it, hearing it out loud burns my bones to ashes.

So does the next question. I swallow poison down as the words that tumble out next make my heart skip a beat.

“Was your care real? The kiss…” I pause, “…was it real?” I whisper. Barely able to force the sentence out of my throat.

I’m met with silence from him, but none in my head. Blood rushing back and forth making my ears drum.

“Yes.”