Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
VIKTORIA
T wo weeks later.
I was a fool to think that Artem would really give me my freedom.
The very next day, the bursar's office asked me to come in to meet with them. When I did, they handed me a check for all the fees I'd scraped together to pay them for the current semester.
Artem had paid my tuition and room and board fees, not only for the current semester but for the next year and a half.
I just didn't know why. I knew he killed my father and younger brother, but men like Artem wouldn't put me through school as some kind of penance to soothe a guilty conscience.
From what little I had heard about the Ivanovs, if Artem was inclined to make amends for anything, I wouldn't even make the top one hundred.
Still, most mafia men would just marry me off to become someone else's problem. Or forget about me altogether.
Artem's presence haunted me, though I hadn't seen him since that night.
In the stillness of my dorm room at night, I'd find myself replaying our encounter—the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his touch.
Each night, I forced myself to push these thoughts aside, yet they returned with stubborn persistence, intruding on my dreams when my defenses were down.
I hadn't seen the rest of my family either, which confirmed my suspicions.
They were gone. Finally.
I knew I should mourn them, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
The only thing I felt was relief.
I let myself believe in the fantasy of freedom, and it felt amazing.
For a few brief, wonderful moments, I felt light.
I didn't look over my shoulder or overthink every action.
I could breathe.
I let the rush of adrenaline and the promise of having a life cloud my mind, so the first time I saw a man in a black-on-black suit following me, I thought nothing of it.
I was in Virginia after all, just outside the capital.
Maybe he was a secret service agent for one of the other students.
It had been made abundantly clear to me that most of the students came from the best boarding schools around the world. Many of them were the sons and daughters of diplomats, politicians, and CEOs. Surely one of them was important enough to warrant security.
Then I saw more.
Not always in suits.
Sometimes they were dressed to fit into the crowd of the college campus, but when I saw the same faces over and over, all watching me, even as they kept a respectful distance...
I knew the truth.
The first few days, I tried to ignore it.
Tried to convince myself I was being paranoid. There was no reason for Artem to have me followed.
Maybe it had nothing to do with the Russian mafia.
Maybe I was being targeted by a cult?
Maybe a frat house had determined I was going to be the new challenge for pledges.
I could be a target for human trafficking.
A million ideas ran through my mind, but the truth was clear.
Artem had eyes on me.
My freedom was nothing more than an illusion.
The only question was, was I going to allow it to continue?
Each morning I woke with a knot in my stomach, wondering if today would be the day he'd reappear.
When my phone buzzed with a notification, my heart would race until I confirmed it wasn't him.
The memory of his fingers brushing against my skin haunted me—a touch so brief I shouldn't even remember it, yet I did. Vividly. Especially in those vulnerable moments between wakefulness and sleep.
Until I figured out what his plan was, I had to live as much of a normal life as possible.
The last thing I wanted to do was tip him off before I had a plan in place.
My education was important to me. Even if I could only attend classes temporarily, I could live each moment to the fullest and have an escape plan ready when I needed it.
Sitting in my political science center, I had my head down, taking notes while the professor was lecturing about citizenship rights, when the all too familiar creeping feeling of someone's eyes on me crawled up my spine.
I tried to ignore it.
But it was more persistent than usual, as if there were eyes trying to burn a hole in the back of my neck.
I looked behind me and two men, both dressed in suits, were staring at me, watching me. They must have been new. The others weren't as subtle as they should have been, but these two were painfully obvious.
"Viktoria Zatasevo," the professor called, butchering my name with a terrible fake Russian accent. "Is there something in the hallway more interesting than my lecture?"
"No, professor, I'm sorry. I?—"
"Perhaps you would like to give us a different perspective. Surely a young woman who seems so easily distracted would have a profound opinion to share with the class?"
"I apologize for—" I tried to smooth it over, but the arrogant asshole just talked right over me.
"Clearly, your community college background has already provided so much more information than my class ever could. Are we just wasting your time? Perhaps it would be better spent getting manicures, and whatever else it is pretty young women do when they're not serious about their education?"
The entire class snickered, and rage coiled in my gut while humiliation burned my cheeks.
"I am serious about my education," I said between clenched teeth.
"Ah, that is why you are disrupting my class, pulling the focus from the lesson. You're looking for attention. Do that on your own time."
Heat flared in my cheeks. I wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his misogynistic bullshit.
All that would do would be to draw more attention to me. That was the last thing I needed.
Artem may have allowed me to come to school, and even covered my tuition, but I doubted he would do it all again when I was kicked out of this one for shattering a professor's fragile masculinity.
The professor gave me a satisfied smirk as I shrank down in my seat.
He interpreted it as my being embarrassed, and if that was what it took for him to move on, that was fine.
The truth was, I wasn't embarrassed; I was pissed.
Pissed that even though I was free from my father's control, I didn't actually have my freedom.
I was still being controlled by arrogant men.
By the teacher who could only make himself feel powerful by putting down women, and by the mafia boss who seemed to think that paying my tuition meant he owned me.
Mostly, I was pissed at myself for allowing it all.
The teacher went back to his lecture.
A few students were still staring at me, the men with interest, wondering if I was vulnerable enough for them to make a move on. The women with disdain, as if somehow the professor's accusations reflected badly on them, too.,
After he gave us our assignments and dismissed the class, I wanted to run and hide somewhere. Just pretend this day had never happened and maybe drown my frustrations in a pint of ice cream.
I refused to do that. If I did, then it meant they won. I would be damned if I was going to let that asshole win or give him an excuse to fail me.
We had been assigned study groups, and mine was meeting in the library right after class. I made my way there, being sure to hold my head high as I pushed through the masses of students.
The men stayed behind me. Following at what they seem to have assumed was a respectable distance. They should have been double that if they hadn't wanted people to notice, triple if they hadn't wanted me to notice.
As it was, people stared.
I was the Russian girl no one knew. The one who had two men in suits wearing guns always following her.
It didn't matter that I dressed like everyone else, in well-fitting, comfortable clothing in neutral colors. My wardrobe was casual; smart, but plain. I shouldn't have stood out. Yet still, their eyes were on me.
Panic fluttered in my chest with each step. Every gaze felt like a physical touch, every whisper a threat. My skin crawled with awareness that I was being watched, always watched. I couldn't breathe without someone tracking the rise and fall of my chest.
The library was a five-minute walk, but I was tired of the stares, tired of the accusatory looks, just tired of hearing the whispers around me.
People who had watched Anastasia one too many times wondered if I was some kind of lost Russian princess. Others who preferred spy movies assumed I was the daughter of some KGB agent.
Then there were the ones who looked at me more nervously.
The ones whose families probably had connections or knew someone who knew someone. They looked at me in fear and whispered the word mafia .
I hated them the most because they were right.
When my father died, I thought maybe I could shed that life entirely, but it looked like it wasn't going to be that easy.
I turned a quick left into the science building; it was filled with students that were being let out of their class. I ran down that hallway, dodging around the groups of students, until I burst through a back service entrance.
My heart pounded in my ears, my breath coming in short gasps.
The thrill of potential escape sent adrenaline surging through my veins.