I step close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat. "Thank you," I tell her gently, knowing the only way to make this woman mold herself to my will is to coax it out of her. Ordering her only frightens her. But I'm a fast learner. Vivika needs to feel like she matters and she's being noticed. "For being willing to help. For trying as hard as you have. I know this isn't easy for you." And fuck, do I notice…
"I don't have much choice," she whispers.
"You have more choice than you think." I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face with my pinky, curling it around her ear. Her skin is warm and soft, and she shivers at my touch. "Fuck, you're gorgeous… I'd love to…" I stop myself from saying what I want to say because I need her to comply.
She swallows hard, her eyes searching my face. "Will I be able to go home? When all of this is finished?" She's still pleading for that, and I can't even answer her. She could end up dead before this is said and done, and not by my hand.
Yuri said she's a tool, useful only as long as she serves our purposes. But tools who've served their purpose are put away, and in my world that means she's dispensable. But when she looks at me like I have the power to save her, I don't know how to speak. I lose my mind. I want to keep her forever just like this—naked and frightened and fully mine. And if I have it my way, that's how she'll stay.
"I'll make sure you have a good future," I say, and it's not quite a lie, but it's not quite the truth, either. "When this is over, you won't have to worry about anything. I'll take care of you."
Something flickers in her eyes, and she nods as if accepting my words even though she has no reason to trust them.
I step back, putting distance between us before I do something I'll regret. "Get dressed. We have more work to do before dinner."
She reaches for the robe draped over the chair beside her, pulling it on and tying it tight around her waist. The silk clings to her curves, showing them off, and it doesn't help my self-control at all, but I force myself to look away. I have to focus on the planand the timeline and the thousand things that could go wrong in the next two days.
But underneath all of that, I'm already thinking about how I can spin this around and can keep Vivika in my life long after this little stunt is finished. She doesn't have to go back to her shitty apartment and her lonely life.
She could stay.
She could be mine.
8
VIVIKA
The city looks different from the back seat of a luxury sedan. The streets I've walked a hundred times transform into something foreign and unfamiliar through the tinted windows as we pass. I press my palm against the cool glass and watch St. Petersburg zip past.
It's the first time I've been out of the estate since they took me five days ago, and my heart hasn't stopped racing since we pulled out of the driveway. I can't believe these men actually expect me to pass for a Mafia leader, and I can't believe that I'm foolish enough to attempt it myself.
Lev sits beside me, his thigh almost touching mine, and his brother Fyodor is behind the wheel navigating through traffic. They're talking about something—business, routes, names I don't recognize—but I'm barely listening. My mind is too busy trying to stop from racing. I don't even know why I'm doing this other than those young women Lev said I could save. He hasn’t shared a single detail of what will happen or what I have to do except to ride along and pretend I'm Ana.
I don't know if I believe Lev's promise to give me a good future. I don't know if I can trust a single word that comes out of his mouth. But his promises are all I have to hold onto.
I could open the door at any stoplight and run for it, but I know they'd find me eventually. And I do want to help those women even if I don't understand how my pretending to be someone I'm not actually helps.
So I stay. I keep my hand pressed against the window and my mouth shut, and I watch the city pass by until the buildings grow taller and the car slows.
"We're here," Fyodor says, pulling the car to a stop in front of an imposing stone building with columns flanking the entrance and a brass plaque beside the door that readsImperial Credit Unionin elegant Cyrillic script.
Lev opens his door and steps out, then turns to offer me his hand. I take it without thinking, letting him help me from the car, and his fingers are warm and strong as they close around mine. It's an odd feeling, holding his hand. Every other time he's touched me, it's been to control me, not to help me. And this feels personal and intimate.
He doesn't let go right away, holding my hand for a beat longer than necessary before releasing it and placing his palm on the small of my back instead. That feels all the more sinful and awkward because I like it. No man has ever treated me this way.
"Remember what we practiced," he whispers low enough that only I can hear. "Confident. Commanding. You own every room you walk into."
I nod because my throat's too tight to speak.
We walk through the glass doors together, Lev's hand a steady pressure against my spine, and the interior of the bank opens up before us in a sweep of marble floors and crystal chandeliers and teller windows staffed by women in expensive suits. It's the kind of place I've never set foot in. People like me don't belong in places like this, and I feel like a fraud the moment I cross the threshold and hushed whispers spring up around us.
But I'm not Vivika Rozhkova right now.
I'm Ana Veche.
And Ana Veche belongs everywhere.
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders like Lev taught me, letting my gaze sweep across the room with cool disinterest. I've been practicing for days. I can do this.
