She looks peaceful when she sleeps.
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom and watch her for a moment. Her dark hair spreads across the pillow like a halo. Her lips are slightly parted, and her chest rises and falls in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep. The blanket has slipped down to her waist, revealing the silk bra, and I let my eyes trace the curves of her body without shame. She's beautiful—even more beautiful like this, completely unaware that I'm watching her.
It would've been so easy to take her. She was right there, pressed against me, practically begging me to take her. All I had to do was pluck the low-hanging fruit and she would've given it willingly. I could've done whatever I wanted to her right there on that couch.
And though the sedative I gave her to knock her out worked, I didn't take it.
When I finally have her—and I will have her, that much is certain now—it's going to be on my terms. I stopped pretending a longtime ago that I'm a good man, though the act I've put on this week for her says otherwise. She may trust me, but I'm not the sort of man any woman should get drunk around.
Still, I want her to remember every detail, not have a drunk fumble she'll forget most of by midday tomorrow.
I push off the doorframe and walk back to the sitting room, leaving the bedroom door open so I can hear if she stirs. The fire's burned down to embers so I add a log, and I pour myself another drink from the decanter on the sideboard before settling onto the couch where she was just sitting. The cushion still holds the warmth of her body, and I soak it in as I lean back and close my eyes.
I told Vivika I'd give her a good future—that she could go home, but I knew even as the words left my mouth that I was lying. A woman like Vivika doesn't come along twice. Smart, beautiful, pliable—she's everything I've ever wanted without knowing I wanted it, and now that I have her, I'm not about to let her slip through my fingers.
I take a sip of whiskey and let the burn settle in my chest, my mind already turning over the possibilities. She believes in the mission now. She believes she's helping to save trafficked women, that I'm some kind of hero fighting against evil, and that belief has transformed her from a reluctant prisoner into a willing participant.
All I have to do is keep that belief alive. If I keep feeding her stories about the good we're doing, she'll stay by my side of her own volition. But that's not enough. Belief can fade. Convictions can crumble. I need something stronger that binds her to me in ways she can't easily escape.
I need to figure out what really matters to her and use that to reinforce her desire for me. I never expected it to be this easy. Most women would've put up more of a fight, but Vivika is pliable and perhaps a little too gullible. She's like putty in my hands.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, glancing at the screen. It's Fyodor. I swipe to answer, keeping my voice low so I don't wake Vivika.
"What is it?"
"Yaros…" Fyodor's voice is clipped. "He's sent a notice and he wants to know who was with you at the bank today."
I sit up straighter and lean forward to make sure I catch every detail of this. "What kind of notice?"
"He sent a messenger who almost got himself killed straight to Yuri's door. They know you went to the bank with someone and they want to know who it was." Dimitri pauses. "He's calling her 'the woman claiming to be Ana Veche.'"
"Claiming to be?" I turn the phrase over in my mind, probing it for meaning. "So he's not buying it."
"Hard to say. He's being careful, not tipping his hand. He didn't threaten anyone or demand proof of life. But he's fishing for information, trying to figure out what we're playing at."
I find it odd that there's no demand for proof. If someone showed up claiming to be my sister after five months of silence, I'd want more than a sighting at a bank. I'd want photographs, voice recordings, something concrete I could analyze and verify. But Yaros is just feeling out the situation, and that caution tells me something important about his state of mind.
"But no denial that it could be her?" My brain hurts from thinking too much.
"No denial. Which is interesting, don't you think? If he knew for certain his sister was dead, he'd call bullshit immediately. The fact that he's asking questions instead of making accusations suggests he's not as sure of her fate as we assumed."
I roll the whiskey around in my glass while I think. "Or Yaros killed his sister—or had her killed, which amounts to the same thing, and he doesn't want to let on…" I muse before sipping the whiskey again.
The intel I looked at two days ago was clear on that point. But maybe Yaros really is worried about his sister and he's not just playing a game. If that's the case, he'll strike first, thinking he could storm the gates and save her. The only tell will be how he moves next.
"We've got his attention," I say. "That was our goal…"
"Agreed. The question is, what's the next play?"
Vivika did an incredible job today. I was on pins and needles hoping that the teller would buy it, and for what it seems, it worked. Vivika pulled it off better than I hoped, and now we have to plan what we're going to do to make Yaros really pay attention.
"We escalate," I say. "Another public appearance, but bigger this time. Somewhere Yaros can't ignore, somewhere his people will see us and report back. And we make it clear that Ana isn't just back—she's working with us now. Aligned with the Gravitch family against her own brother." My wheels are turning. Yuri gave this to me and I'm owning it. I will make this whole thing work out, one way or another.
"That'll force his hand," Fyodor mumbles, like he's thinking too.
"That's the idea. He can't let people think his sister has turned against him. He'll have to respond, either by producing the real Ana—which he can't do—or by making a move against us."
"And when he makes that move, we're ready for him."
