Dangerous beginnings / MADE MEN BOOK 1

Peccator - Sinner

The anger within me simmers, a result of my own vulnerability. I resent the fact that she's managed to breach my well-guarded fortress, unraveling the layers of detachment I meticulously maintained. The anger isn't directed at her, but at the unfamiliar emotions I finds stirring within me.

And with one swift motion I swipe everything off of the bar I am sitting at. My hand covered in glass and blood.

Every interaction with her peels away another layer of my self-imposed indifference, and this gradual unveiling sparks frustration.

I need to make up my mind about what to do with her. Whether that is to get rid of her for good, leave her alone or take her in.

I am needed back in Moscow, my men need me and I have been gone far to long. There are meetings and business to be made. The Russian mafia never stands still and my alliance in New York has been settled. That has been my cover for being here, now it's time to make a decision.

Isabella

The whole work day was uneasy. I've been very quiet and set in the back while watching everyone work to find someone that I know very personal now. He is everywhere and his actions linger everywhere. The horrific actions he undertakes. That same man made me reach my climax yesterday.

I swallow with everything bad thought entering me. I'm a imposter, I'm a liar. What will happen to me if they find out? To be honest I don't care, I know it's not going to be as bad as disobeying him.

I work only mornings on Wednesdays and therefore I am extremely grateful today. Pushing my way through the heavy doors I feel relieved once the cold air hits my face.

My phone buzzes and the caller being someone I did not expect it from; my mother. I haven't spoken to her in weeks, months even now. We didn't end things on good terms last time and that is all because of him; my stepfather. He is a manipulative piece of shit and pushes my mom into the wrong direction. It has always been like that, ever since I was little. Memories of the abuse entering my mind.

My mother never said anything. She was scared, but I was just a child and she did nothing to protect me. There did not go a week by where he had not been hitting me, kicking me or locking me up in the basement. Yes, daddy issues are real.

Contemplating whether to answer, I sighed and finally pressed the phone to my ear. "Mom?"

There was a pregnant pause before her voice, filled with uncertainty, reached me. "Hey, sweetie." She pauses before adding, "I was wondering if you could come over for dinner tonight. We could talk it out."

My mind raced as I grappled with the decision. The wounds of the past still fresh, but a flicker of hope sparked within me—a chance to confront the past and, perhaps, pave the way for healing.
Maybe she changed and maybe this would do me good. I would lie if I would say I have not been missing her.

"Okay, Mom," I responded, my voice betraying a mix of apprehension and determination. "I'll come over for dinner. But he isn't home right?"

"No,no he works the night shift." I nod. "Okay, I'll be there at 5, kay?"

I can feel her smile through the phone as she excitedly thanks me.

Guess I'm eating somewhere else tonight.

It's 5 PM sharp and I'm outside my old childhood home. Bad memories can't seem to stay away as I knock on the door. My mother opens not a couple seconds later. I smile, a little awkward.

As the door creaked open, I mustered a smile, my awkwardness barely concealed. The air seemed heavy with unspoken tension, a silent echo of the past that lingered within those familiar walls. My mother greeted me with a tight hug, her eyes reflecting a mixture of remorse and anticipation.

"Isabella, it's so good to see you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

I nodded, my gaze briefly meeting hers. "Yeah, it's been a while."

The ambiance of the house felt strange, a blend of nostalgia and apprehension. As we settled into the living room, the remnants of my childhood surrounded me – the faded family photos, the worn-out furniture. Yet, an unspoken truth hung in the air, a truth that had shattered the illusion of a happy family long ago.

The strained atmosphere hung over the dinner table like a heavy cloud, each bite accompanied by the unspoken tension that lingered in the air. My mother attempted to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"So, Isabella, how's work been?" she asked, her voice carrying a forced cheerfulness.

I glance at her, a silent acknowledgment of the delicacy of the situation. "It's fine, Mom. Just the usual routine." A lie.

The facade of normalcy shattered when my mother, sensing the growing discomfort, took a deep breath and addressed the elephant in the room. "Isabella, I know things haven't been great between us. I want to make amends, to rebuild our relationship."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile bridge attempting to span the chasm that had widened over the years. I sigh, my gaze meeting hers. "Mom, I appreciate that, but it's not just about us. It's about him."

Her eyes flickered with a mixture of guilt and sadness. "I know he's made mistakes, but people can change. I believe in giving him a chance."

I bit my lip, struggling to convey the pain and fear that lurked in my memories. "Mom, he hurt me. I was just a child, and you knew. How can I forget that? You know he won't change."

A heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the distant sounds of the neighborhood outside. My mother's gaze fell, a weighty acknowledgment of the past. She spoke in a hushed tone, "I was scared, Isabella. I thought things would change, but I felt trapped."

Anguish welled up within me, a conflicted mix of empathy and frustration. "I needed you, Mom. I needed you to protect me."

Her eyes welled with tears as she reached out, her hand trembling. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I want to make things right now, if you'll let me."

The sincerity in her voice tugged at my heartstrings, but the wounds ran deep. A heavy feeling I have always felt when I was a child.

Therefore I let no man touch me, ever.

Amidst the conversation and the attempt to find common ground, a sudden chill gripped the room. The front door swung open unexpectedly, revealing a figure I had hoped to avoid – my stepfather.

A wave of anxiety washed over me as his eyes locked onto mine, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" His voice dripped with condescension as he sauntered into the room.

My mother's expression shifted from anticipation to dread, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil his presence brought. I clenched my fists, a surge of anger rising within me. This was not a man I wanted to face, not now, not ever.

"Isabella, what a surprise," he sneered, his tone laced with a twisted sense of pleasure.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, my discomfort palpable. "Just here for dinner, nothing more. With that, I also have to leave now."

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Already? Well, that's a pity." He drops his workbag and rushes over to the diner table. I'm standing up, facing him. My mother shakes at the table and of course she does nothing. It was a mistake coming here.

He stands in front of me. I immediately feel like the child again, the 6 year old me.

His hand reaches out towards me, and with that the healed scars burst open again.