Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Xeniya Morozova
Two weeks passed during which Severin stalked me every day, showing up in all my classes—even the ones he definitely wasn’t enrolled in.
He was a business major. There was no world in which he belonged in Intro to Cybersecurity or Computer Science III.
But the professors didn’t notice because the classes were so big that anyone could technically sit in.
But why would you want to?
Well, because Severin was unhinged and had made it his life mission to be in my business. For no discernible reason. Just because he could.
At least he was actually enrolled in the Abnormal Psych class.
But the last two weeks had been insufferably awkward because Chad made it his goal to always sit next to me, and Severin made it his goal to prevent that from happening.
Unfortunately, I had two sides. So they both sat next to me, muttering under their breath about how much they hated each other.
I gently reminded Severin that he could not, in fact, murder a politician’s son for sitting next to me. Severin simply growled in response.
So second year was going great.
Meanwhile, Rachelle was having a blast watching it all go down. She’d once squealed to me, when they were out of earshot, that “The two hottest guys on campus were fighting over me.”
To which I said, “No, Severin is just an overly protective friend.”
Like a brother. Except we would never be siblings. And speaking of overprotective brothers, Severin had brought my twin brother to Chicago with him, so now I had two alpha mafia assholes interfering in my life.
It was all fucking amazing.
I just wanted a normal life, and they were ruining it. Severin had even ruined my Americanized nickname the first time he heard it.
He’d asked, mockingly, “Sienna?”
“It’s easy. Americans can’t pronounce Kseniya,” I responded. Kseniya was the Russian spelling of my name, but to make it easier for everyone, I had spelled it with an X since I was twelve.
“So it has nothing to do with wanting to distance yourself as much as possible from the Russian mafia?”
I glared at him. I hated how well he could read me. “No, it’s not.”
“You haven’t gotten any better at lying.”
So now I felt like a fraud, too.
I huffed and shot to my feet when class was dismissed. Chad and Severin had acted like preening peacocks for the entire class, and I’d had enough. I wanted to get away from both of them.
I stormed out, but Severin was on my heels because he was my new shadow. Everywhere I went, he went.
I whipped around, stopping him in his tracks. “Stop following me. Stop stalking me. And stop coming to classes you are definitely not enrolled in.”
“No.” He didn’t deny any of it. It was just a fierce and resolute no.
“Yes.” I stomped my foot and stepped into his space. “Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because you can’t be trusted alone.”
I crossed my arms. “I’ve been surviving here just fine without you for two years.”
He said nothing to that. He only squared his shoulders and stared down at me.
I huffed again, done with him. I turned on my heel and walked off. Let him follow if he wanted. I would no longer acknowledge his existence.
He caught up and grabbed my bicep, forcing me to stop and face him.
“You don’t see how they all stare at you,” he said through clenched teeth. “Like they want to devour you.”
“Who?” My brows crinkled.
“All of the boys on this campus.”
I blinked twice. “Wait, you follow me to every class because boys stare at me?”
He gave one sharp dip of his chin. “You’re sheltered, Xeniya. You don’t know what college-aged boys are like or what they could do to girls like you.”
“A girl like me, who carries multiple weapons on her body at once?” I asked dryly. “You’re not my brother. You don’t need to be overprotective. Ilya is here. He can do that all on his own.”
Severin crossed his arms, and now we were angry mirrors, but he still said nothing.
“Why do you even care?” I asked, staring into his darkening eyes. “Why? You’re not following Nika or Katya around. Why me?”
“Because Ilya is following Nika and I am sure Kaz has his sister’s protection covered.”
“So that’s all this is? Protection?” I shook my head. “You’re my bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“Why not have one of your bodyguards do it? Why do it yourself?” I asked.
But he didn’t respond. He just started walking toward my lab class, and when I didn’t move to follow, he said over his shoulder, “You’re going to be late.”
I was going to be late, but that was not his fucking problem. But with a groan, I followed because I was a good, perfectionistic student.
When we got to my lab, Severin stopped and placed his hand against the doorframe, blocking me from entering. “I have an important Bratva meeting tomorrow at an archery range. I want you there. I left you an outfit on your bed.”
“Okay…” I drew the word out.
“Come as Sienna, your new self.” He nearly rolled his eyes. “And I would like you to miss or shoot mediocre on all your shots.”
My nose wrinkled. I hated being bad at anything. I especially hated it when surrounded by the Bratva boys. So Severin asking me to suck at archery on purpose was a big ask, and he knew it.
But Severin was a tactical and logistical expert. It was why, during the War Games, when we were on separate teams, I worried. His tactical brain would beat mine any day.
Severin loved chess, and he always knew what move you were going to make ten moves before you made it.
It was maddening. But I wouldn’t let this ruin a mafia deal for him.
Although I could be a brat, so I made him wait a beat. “All right, I can do that.”
“Great.” He held my classroom door open and let me enter. He did not follow… for once. My brow furrowed. What was he up to?
“I’ll see you later. I’m walking you home from class.” And with that, he was gone.
Severin Volkov gave me whiplash.
You know when you read a book, and the male main character sends the female main character a dress in a beautifully wrapped box?
And she slowly unties the perfectly tied ribbon, opens the gift, and finds a spectacular dress—more like a work of art than an actual garment.
Often described as glittering like the stars and dripping in elegance.
This dress was not that.
This dress looked like a Pepto-Bismol had a baby with a Powderpuff girl. It was short tulle, mixed with a hint of lace that flared at the waist and ruffled under the trim.
I looked like a walking ball of cotton candy—which would look lovely on so many other girls but was tragic on me.
After all, I was known for my resting murder face. So today I was cosplaying as Murder Barbie, I guessed.
What the fuck was he up to?
And did I have to pretend to be a sweet, perfect doll?
I wasn’t sure, so when I arrived at the archery range, I came in quietly and tried not to make a scene, which was impossible because half the guys there had trained with me.
So they gawked and made it very much a scene. To which I said, “Well, I am a girl, and I can wear whatever I want.”
Kaz saw through it right away and strolled up to me, hands in his pockets, a cocky, far-too-satisfied grin on his face.
“Shut up,” I said. “Not a fucking word.”
His smile widened. “Oh, I have got to know why you look like Valentine’s Day vomited all over a toddler’s dress and you decided to squeeze into it.”
“This is obviously not a toddler’s dress.” I crossed my arms, the motion bringing attention to my very exposed cleavage. “If anything, it’s a dress for a nine-year-old’s birthday party.”
Kaz cackled. “So dare I ask why?”
“I don’t know.” I kept adjusting the fabric at my waist. “It’s all part of Severin’s plan, which you are not going to ruin.”
He held up his hands in fake surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“You very much would dare.” I scanned the crowd. Severin was in the middle of an important conversation with someone definitely from the Chicago branch of the Bratva. I turned back to Kaz. “Which is why you will say and do nothing to mess up whatever deal Severin is negotiating.”
Kaz dragged his hand down his face. “Fine, but only because of you.”
“He’s going to be your Pakhan one day. You should probably drop your rivalry sometime soon.”
“He won’t be for years. If anything, Aleksandr will cling to life until we’re eighty just to spite us all.”
A low groan gathered in my chest. Kaz was right. Aleksandr would outlive us all just because he was that cruel and evil.
After a while, I settled into the range, picked out a compound bow, and began loosing arrows at targets… poorly, pretending to mind my own business. But the whole time, I listened.
They were negotiating trade deals, access to ports, rail, and shipping routes, but the Chicago boss was trying to price-gouge Severin into a bad deal.
The Chicago boss was young for a Bratva brigadier, probably only thirty, but he carried himself as if he were much older.
He was young, but he was a force at the bargaining table.
Severin didn’t seem concerned. He was levelheaded, steady, and patient. I would have been none of those things, which was why I was not a boss.
I liked screens, patterns, and technology. I hated dealing with people. People were so… frustrating.
Eventually, the Chicago boss said, “Why don’t we settle this with a little game?”
“Oh? What were you thinking?” Severin raised one manicured eyebrow slowly, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. This was what he wanted. What he’d been waiting for.
“If your little princess shoots better than my man, we’ll lower our percentage by half.”
There it was. The reason he’d dressed me like this. He was playing chess, but he had rigged the board.
Severin rubbed his chin and pretended to think deeply. “Which man?”
A wicked smile stretched across the mafia boss’s face. “I’ll even give you my worst shot. Sergei, come over here.”
A young man roughly our age walked over. He was scrawny and tall, like he hadn’t grown into his height yet.
“Best of six?” Severin asked.
“Perfect.”
I rested my bow over my shoulder and tentatively ambled over, still saying nothing. I hated talking for no reason, and there was nothing to say. I was his knight, and I would do my job.
Severin leaned in, his breath caressing my neck and his lips hovering over my ear. “Shoot poorly on the first and average on the second.”
I nodded as he stepped back.
“You’re going to do great,” he said with fake reassurance, squeezing my shoulder as if he were giving me a pep talk.
I felt the urge to shake him off, but I didn’t.
I really did not appreciate pretending to be bad at anything, or the fact that he was making me look bad in front of all these misogynistic assholes. But that was the game we played.
Yeah, I was definitely going to have resting murder face today.
I swung my bow off my shoulder and stared at Sergei.
“Ladies first,” he said in a thick Russian accent.
“No, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to let me go second,” I snapped.
That was probably a little too harsh.
“Fine, fine, pretty girl. I’ll go first.” And he did. He loosed his arrow quickly. His form was only okay.
He hit six points. We were shooting six arrows, and the highest score per arrow was ten—a bullseye. I needed to look mediocre while staying within range to win.
I swallowed, raised my bow, nocked my arrow, and loosed. I hit five points. “Oh, yay.” I pretended to cheer like the role required. “I got on the board.”
But I made sure to shoot Severin a glower while Sergei nocked his next arrow.
A seven.
I nodded, grabbed a new arrow, aimed, nocked, and loosed, intentionally hitting a seven, too. This time, I said nothing. I simply glared daggers at Severin, imagining all the ways I could kill him.
The score was 12-13.
Sergei went again and hit an eight, but the whole time I hadn’t moved my gaze off of Severin.
We were having an intense conversation without words. No words required. Heat grew in my chest like an uncontrolled wildfire, and I didn’t know if it came from anger or some other emotion pulsing between us.
He cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth lifted, almost as if he were saying, Now go show them your worth.
A rebellious part of me wanted to lose intentionally, to make him eat his arrogance and plans. But I couldn’t do that. He was my future Pakhan, and I knew I had to respect him and the way he chose to make deals.
I was his tool, so I would be his tool, even when I wanted to aim directly at his heart.
I picked up another arrow and felt the fletching between my fingers. I closed my eyes and caressed it, imagining a bullseye—perfectly at the center of the target.
I cracked my neck, settled into position, and lifted my bow. I aimed, nocked my arrow, and loosed.
And smiled.
A fucking bullseye.
Because I was, indeed, that good.
I turned to Sergei and winked. His face paled because he knew, in that moment, there was nothing he could do. He was going to lose.
The new score was 22-21. I was finally in the lead, and I would keep it for the rest of the match.
Sergei shot again—another eight.
But I stepped up and, without even questioning it, nocked and loosed, hitting the same spot I’d just hit and splitting my previous arrow down the middle.
32-29.
We went again. Sergei hit a six, and I split my arrow again, getting a third bullseye.
I smirked at Severin. He simply nodded. The rest of the crowd was rumbling. The New York branch already knew what I was capable of and wasn’t surprised. But they were on edge, ready for a fight, because the Chicago branch was pissed.
All stiff, fury dripping from their features. They’d been played, and they knew it.
We didn’t need to take our final shots, but we did. Sergei hit seven again, and I landed another split-arrow bullseye because, yes, I was showing off.
Don’t bring the best shooter to a range and expect me to sit out on all the fun.
I was going to show these assholes how deadly I could be.
The final score was 52 to 42.
I won easily.
“You cheated,” the Chicago boss growled.
Severin shrugged. “As I recall, this was your game and your choice of players.”
Everyone in the clearing reached for their guns except Sergei and me, still stuck at the line with our bows.
The tension was a live wire. Any sudden movement, and everything would explode.
I held my breath. My bow was ready. Why didn’t I have my gun on me?
Someone was going to die.
Everyone was tense except Severin, who simply stood there, hands in his pockets, smiling at the Chicago boss.
What the actual fuck?
No fear at all. He was a puppet master playing with everyone’s strings.
Then the Chicago boss laughed and lowered his gun. “Oh, I knew I’d like you, cousin.”
Cousin?
“Nikolai, let me introduce you to Xeniya Morozova.” Severin gestured to me.
“Ah, the Morozov girl. Your reputation precedes you.”
I… what?
What the fuck had just happened?