The Contract
Chapter 44
The Contract
Aslanov
“Yes,” I reply firmly, trying to get her out of her head, my voice carrying a weight of conviction. The word hangs in the air between us, steady in its truth. I meet Isabella’s gaze with unwavering certainty, determined to convey the sincerity behind my words.
Her breath catches in her throat, uncertainty flickering in her eyes as she searches mine for any hint of deception. But there’s none to be found. I mean every word I say, and I want her to know it.
“I can’t ignore this shit between us anymore,” I assert, my tone leaving no room for doubt. She hesitates, her gaze flickering between mine as she grapples with the weight of my words. And then, slowly, tentatively, she nods.
“Do you believe any of what I’ve told you?” My voice cuts through the silence as she doesn’t say a word. I can see her lip tremble and know enough from that. She doesn’t trust me and doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m manipulating her, again. And I understand, I understand she is hesitant. I understand her distrust. After a long pause and silence almost consuming us, I speak again.
“I’ll write you a contract.” My chest tightens with the thought of the option I’m offering her. “It’s in my office.” I shove a card to her—a keycard that locks and opens the cell. “Write on it what you want to imply, and I’ll sign it.”
Her voice barely above a whisper, “What do you mean?”
Her tiny hands reach out, slowly, to the keycard. She stares at the card whilst it’s shown in her eyes, she is hesitant.
“It’s in the middle drawer. It’s a contract for a month long. You can write in it what you’d like to imply, what you’d like to feel more at ease, safer, during that month’s time.”
She clutches the card as I continue. “Give me a month to open up. One month to change your mind about me. If you wish to leave after that month,” I pause, my chest filling with poison as I speak the words, “you can. I’ll personally bring you to the plane. You’ll never see me again and I’ll never interfere with your life again. We’ll go back to strangers, and you’ll move on, forget me.”
She stares around and at the door, clutching the card so tightly her knuckles turn white. My chest tightens at her silence and I’m wondering if she will even give me any chance.
“What if I decline your offer?”
Isabella
Staring at Aslanov, I feel like a shell. Exposed and vulnerable. We both came from hurt, and in some ways that made us bond.
Yet there is nothing to my mind that comes when I think of another version of Aslanov. There only exists a bad, rough, dominant, and dangerous man so far. Someone who has been playing me like a violin. Who has been raising fear in me like the tides, and arousal? I push that thought away.
“You can’t pretend your indifference to your feelings towards me .” His voice is like a drug, and I don’t think he has ever spoken this much to me. It’s addictive. I could get used to the sound of his voice.
He’s trying and my brain cannot wrap itself around it. But he’s right. The fear has inflicted arousal, and like he’s said he’s been feeding me for months. He’s been lingering in my mind for months. I’ve provoked him myself, knew the consequences, and yet didn’t care.
But does that mean that I should give him that chance? Wasn’t it just the thought of the danger, the thought of him, rather than the real deal?
I mean, look at this situation. The situation tonight and before. He’s killed people in front of me. I have every right to be terrified of this man. To leave him, to run. But I chose this partly myself, I had come willingly. I decided to come with him, to snitch on my own life. But why? Didn’t I just do that out of fear? Out of desperation? Out of loneliness?
I’m sure he can see my wandering mind, and my doubt when he speaks up again.
“If you decline my offer,” he responds, his voice steady despite the turmoil within, “then I’ll respect your decision. I won’t force you into anything you’re not comfortable with anymore. You’ll be free to go, and I won’t stand in your way. You’ll never hear from me again, and I’ll ensure you’re safely taken wherever you want to go.”
He pauses, letting the words sink in before continuing, “I understand if you don’t want to give me a chance, especially considering everything. Take your time to think it over. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it .”
This side of him feels like I’m not here like I’m dreaming. What could a month possibly offer me, us? But what do I have to lose? It’s not like I have someone waiting for me back in New York, and no job either.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I state before my mind wanders more. I need time and space. I push myself off the ground and make my way over to the door. It opens with a click once the keycard reaches its scanner. I push the heavy door open. It feels weird, being able to get out of a cell myself.
My gaze turns to him, he’s staring at the ground, and I think he’s beyond far away from hope. He looks defeated. He doesn’t bother to even stare at me. It’s like I’m staring at a stranger, just another man with the same physique.
I breathe in a deep gallon of air as I step out of the cell, the door closes itself with a loud bang behind me. It feels surreal leaving him in there, and it gives me flashbacks to the time in prison. A time when I had been frightened of him. He had been playing with me till the point he saved me.
Could he ever be someone different than the man I know? He’s been like this for nearly ten years. Why me?
While so many questions and doubts fill me, I make my way up to his office. He had been knowing about my run in here, cameras. God knows where else he has them. I find myself pulling all the drawers open, and eventually, my eyes land on a black file. It’s a contract, with the Bratva mark inked on it. These contracts are used for business in extreme cases, they never get broken. And exactly like he had told me there was the agreement he had offered me.
A month.
Staring at the contract I realize he has been making this in advance. It’s been here for a while. He’s been thinking about this, that something would happen.
After hours of agonizing over my decision, I finally put pen to paper and wrote down my terms and conditions on the contract. What do I have to lose? Giving Aslanov a chance might just be the push I need to break free from the fear that’s held me captive for so long.
I don’t expect something to come from this. I can at least turn the fear around into something positive. Something that will help me to live a life without fear.
Frankly, he terrifies me.
And there is a part of me that doesn’t believe the part where he will just let me go and respect my decision. I’m afraid to provoke him.
With a deep breath, I make my way back to the cell, the contract clutched tightly in my hand. It’s midnight now, sleep pulling me in slowly. Walking through the empty house fills my heart with unease. I wait before the steel door. I pull out the card, and the green light turns on. As I push open the door, I’m met with the sight of Aslanov still sitting in the same spot, his gaze fixed on the ground.
But when he sees the contract in my hand, his eyes light up ever so slightly, a flicker of hope dancing in their depths. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to give me pause.
“For what reason should I care enough to give you this chance?” My voice comes out hoarse as I inquire, laced with skepticism as I scrutinize his every move. Aslanov’s gaze meets mine.
“None.”
At least he’s honest. I rub my eyes; sleep is coming to me. I’m exhausted, from everything. “Then why should I give it to you?”
He stills. He doesn’t know the answer. The answer is pure egocentric, he wants it. But he hasn’t been deserving of it.
“Beg.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I caught him off guard. “Pardon me?”
“You heard it.” My lips do not twitch and I’m not joking. “Beg.”
A humorless laugh escapes his lips.
Aslanov
A slow, wicked smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I watch her. This little shit is mimicking me. She’s learning quickly, testing her boundaries, trying to assert herself in a game she doesn’t fully understand.
“You have no good reason,” she says, her voice laced with exhaustion and something sharper. “So, if you want it so badly, you can beg.”
I can see the weariness in her eyes, the strain of the situation bearing down on her like a heavyweight. But there’s also that spark, that stubborn defiance that both infuriates and fascinates me. She’s not broken yet, not by a long shot. And that only makes me want to break her even more.
“Beg?” I echo, my voice low, disbelieving. The very idea of begging grates against every fiber of my being. I’ve never begged for anything in my life, and the thought of doing so now, for her, feels like an affront to my pride. Yet, I know that if I want any chance of pulling her back into my grasp, I may have to do the unthinkable.
I’ve made her beg for me before, in situations far more compromising than this. She knows the power dynamic between us better than anyone. She’s playing a dangerous game, and she’s playing it with fire. But being a brat doesn’t suit her, and I can’t wait to remind her of that. The moment she’s mine again, I’ll make sure she understands exactly where she stands—beneath me, at my mercy.
Taking a slow, measured breath, I set my jaw and meet her gaze with an intensity that I know unsettles her. Her eyes, wide and fixated on mine, betray her inexperience. She’s staring at me as if I’m the most captivating thing she’s ever seen. And at this moment, I am. The innocence in her parted lips is almost enough to make me laugh.
But instead, I lean in slightly, letting the tension stretch between us like a taut wire.
“Khorosho,” Alright, I say, my voice tight with barely contained restraint. Fine. If this is how she wants to play it, I’ll indulge her—for now. “Please, Isabella,” I continue, the words foreign and distasteful on my tongue, but necessary for the game. “I’m begging you. Give me a second chance.”
My voice is smooth, almost too calm, a predator soothing its prey. Her eyes flicker with something—surprise, maybe, or disbelief—but I can see that she’s faltering. She doesn’t trust me, and she shouldn’t. But she wants to. That’s her weakness, and it’s one I’ll exploit until she has nothing left to give.
Isabella
He speaks clearly, lethally. Never expected he would do such a thing. He must be desperate to prove something. Red flashes ignite in my face, rising from my neck to my cheeks. Who thought commanding a powerful man would make me feel so good? It’s like all his darkness slips into me and makes me feel powerful.
“How desperate would you want me exactly?” He almost spits out those words, making me form a little smile. He holds up his hands, the chain rattling as his back remains against the wall.
“However desperate you are.”
A dark smirk twists his lips, sending shivers down my spine. He leans against the wall, his presence is overwhelming even though he is far away, “Oh, I’m desperate, Isabella. More desperate than you can imagine.”
The intensity in his gaze sends a thrill coursing through me, mingling with the fear that simmers just beneath the surface. There’s a dangerous allure to his words, a magnetic pull that I can’t seem to resist. His icy tone wavers through me like fire, “Make no mistake, I’d go to extreme lengths for you.” He never dismisses his gaze. “Are you happy now?” He asks, his voice a low danger. “You’ve got the man everybody fears on his knees, begging for you.”
My heart skips multiple beats. The sincerity drips off his words, meaning every single one of them. And I’m not sure if this needs to come over as a sweet note or a threat. How is it possible that even in this position, in this scene he still intimidates me? My mouth opens but no words come out and my throat is dry. I’m not that brave, yet. I clutch the paper in my hand, standing my ground.
“I’ve written down my terms,” I state nearly faintly at the sight and his words. ‘Extreme lengths.’ The words linger through my veins.
And right before his eyes can start to sparkle with hope and accomplishment, my voice cuts the silence this time.
‘‘But I will guarantee you that you’ll have to beg way longer for my forgiveness than I’ve had to beg for yours.’’