Dangerous beginnings

Poena - The Punishment

Isabella

I return to Ada after my brief bathroom break, my mind is a whirlwind of fear and anxiety. The text messages lingers in my thoughts like a haunting melody. I can't escape the feeling of being watched. Like I am soon to meet my ending.

I have a feeling that Ada senses my unease, observing me closely. The normally bustling police department seemed to close in around me and Ada as we delve into the details of the Russian mafia.

I have nothing to loose anymore now. I best can find out as much information as I can.

The more I find, the tighter the knot in my stomach becomes.

"He's a ghost, Isa," Ada yells in frustration. "No one, literually know one, knows what he looks like. His true identity is shrouded in secrecy, and those who might have had glimpses of him never lived to tell the tale. He's like a shadow, weaving in and out of the criminal underworld with a deadly finesse." She signs.

My mind races as Ada continues to paint a grim picture of his ruthlessness. "He's a strategist, a puppet master orchestrating the game from the shadows. The mark you saw carved into the victims' bodies is his calling card – a symbol of the Bratva's dominance. Crossing him is a death sentence."

''Only dead bodies carry the symbol.''

''No they don't'' I wide my eyes as I realize I speak my mind. He has the symbol on his hand.

Ada stares at me. I quickly speak to her, ''It can't be right?'' Hoping she wavers it off.

She shrugs her shoulders. I thank god in my mind.

''People say he is very charming, word goes around he has a good talk ready.''

His voice rings through my ears. Deep, Russian and smooth.

As the day unfolds, I can't shake the feeling that the noose is tightening around my neck. Every glance, every shadow seems to conceal a potential threat.

His message lingering in the air. I didn't reply, what the fuck am I supposed to reply to that?

The weight of the secret I carry presses down on me, and the fear of discovery loomed like a storm on the horizon.

Aslanov

I sit in the jet, we have been flying for over an hour now. I am on my way to the loose end, to her. I am going to deal with her. She will pay for sniffling around in my business. I will reach New York time around 7 PM.

The jet hums with the steady rhythm of its engines as it cruises through the darkened skies. My gaze is fixed on the sprawling city lights below. The quiet intensity of the cabin mirrors the storm brewing inside me.

As I sit in the plush leather seat, surrounded by the luxurious trappings of the private jet, the cold metal of my gun rests against my side. The dim cabin lights cast a shadow on my face, emphasizing the sharp angles and the icy resolve etched across my features.

I glance at the Rolex on my wrist, the hands ticking away the minutes until our arrival in New York. The anticipation in the air is palpable, a blend of calculated vengeance and the adrenaline of the hunt. To hunt her. My mind replays the events that led me to this point.

After a couple of hours the jet's descent into the city begins, the lights of New York growing larger, a beacon signaling the battlefield. I don a tailored black suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs. The scent of my cologne mingles with the subtle leather aroma of the jet's interior.

The crisp night air hits me as I step onto the tarmac, the distant city lights reflecting off the polished surface of my black tinted Porsche. The low hum of the powerful engine resonates through the air as I approach, and with a touch of a button, the sleek car purrs to life.

I slide into the driver's seat, the leather embracing me like a second skin.

I throw the bag next to me and take of my jacket, New York is not as cold as Moscow.

Let the fun begin.

Isabella

As the workday drew to a close, my nerves are on edge.

The city streets buzz with the energy of people rushing to conclude their workday. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows along the crowded sidewalks, my nerves are on edge. An unshakable anxiety settles within me.

I think I am turning paranoid.

I walk through the throngs of people. Every corner turned, every shadow cast by the dimming streetlights, makes meglance over myshoulder, a reflex born out of a growing fear.

Fear for him. I can just taste it on my tongue.

The anonymity of the crowds offering little comfort.

The words Ada had spoken earlier in the day reverberate in my mind. The pictures of his victims, faces frozen in terror, haunt my thoughts, adding a layer of dread to my already anxious state.

I quicken mypace, the clicking of my heels against the pavement echoing my unease.

As I reach my apartment building, a sense of temporary relief washes over me. Little did I know that the danger I fear had already infiltrated my sanctuary.

Unaware of the imminent threat, I fumble with my keys, my hands trembling slightly. As I open the door, the ominous stillness of the apartment greets me, a silence that betrays the presence waiting in the shadows. The illusion of safety shattered, as I step into my apartment. The door falling shut behind me with a loud bang.

I freeze on the spot. I swallow acid down my stomach.

His dark silhouette reflects the moonlight behind him. He looks- tense and unforgiving. I don't move a muscle, I am frozen to the spot where I am standing. As far away from him as possible.

He is in my apartment, the Head of the Bratva. He is sitting on my desk chair, smoking a fucking cigarette.

His black gloved hands bring the cigarette up to his plump lips, smoke filling the room.

Minutes pass and if nothing happens I might pass to.

Fuck.

His presence looms large, a menacing force that seems to distort the very air. The black gloves on his hands exude an aura of control, and a bad omen. The cigarette between his lips glows like a malevolent ember, its tendrils of smoke curling and dissipating into the room.

As I stare at him, my mind races through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Paranoia, regret, and a profound sense of vulnerability intertwine, creating a symphony of dread.

But maybe something else to, excitement, perhaps.

You fool Isabella.

Every fiber of my being screams for escape, yet my limbs refuse to obey, anchored by the weight of his presence.

Ada's words linger in my mind, ''Nobody knows what he looks like and people who know, have not lived to tell.''

And so does the picture of the man in the news.

I manage to stammer out a response, my voice barely audible. "I... I didn't mean to provoke you." The excuse sounds feeble, drowned out by the weight of the truth—the truth that I had indeed been sniffling through his business.

And of course I knew that would fucking provoke him.

And in this moment I wish I never had.

I swallow my proud as his voice lingers through my ears. The blood pumping through my body makes my ears static.

"Are you asking for my forgiveness Kotenok?"

I close my eyes at the sound of his voice.

His deep Russian accent sounds more Russian than ever, making me think he has been staying in Russia for the past months.

His voice reaches deep within me, filling my bloodline. Poisoning me from within.

I reply back in a mere whisper "I- I think you don't forg-"

"Undress", he orders. Cutting of my apology.

Heavenly father.