Chapter 6 - Sienna
It had been a week since Avit stopped following me to class. In his place, he sent Wexler. That was his one condition—someone had to accompany me at all times.
Naturally, Mandy asked where Avit had disappeared to, and I told her he decided to switch to online classes instead.
When she noticed Wexler trailing behind me, I lied again and said that after my father’s incident at work, he’d become a little paranoid and wanted to make sure I was safe.
Mandy, of course, gushed about how sweet and protective my father must be, how lucky I was to have him.
I forced a smile through her praises, then quickly changed the subject, asking if she’d seen Dan around since I hadn’t spotted him since the incident with Wexler.
Mandy told me that Dan had gone to live with his grandmother, who was sick in Australia, and decided to finish his master’s degree there.
Even though that was the story Dan fed her, something in my gut said otherwise.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Avit, or maybe Wexler, had threatened him.
Because of me, he’d been hurt and forced to uproot his entire life to the other side of the world.
And I couldn't help but feel guilty that just for him showing a gentle gesture to me, he had to pay such a harsh price.
Even though Avit no longer came to campus with me, we still ate breakfast together every morning, and he still brought me dinner sometimes at night.
Part of me kept expecting to see him lurking around campus, to catch him breaking his own rule and pretending he hadn’t.
But he didn’t. He kept his word and gave me the space I needed to focus on my midterms.
And yet, somehow, his absence unsettled me. The more space he gave me, the more off balance I felt.
Not only that, but he didn’t seem interested in consummating our marriage. The only time he had touched me was that day in his office.
Disappointed, are we?
No…it's just…
Maybe he isn’t the monster I’d thought him to be.
In fact, he seemed…kind of sweet, in a possessive, dangerous sort of way. And yet, I no longer felt threatened by him. The more I tried to keep my guard up, the harder it became to maintain it.
Stepping out of the campus building today, I let out a long, relieved sigh. My last exam was over, and I had the next seven days to relax. During the week, the results would be posted online.
When Wexler dropped me off at the house that afternoon, I found myself instinctively heading toward Avit’s office before I even realized it.
But he wasn’t there, and I couldn’t explain why I felt a flicker of sadness.
Shaking it off, I went to my room, took a shower, and curled up under the covers, looking forward to the rare stretch of downtime.
***
The next day, I woke up around ten. Oversleeping wasn’t something I usually did; maybe it was everything that had been happening lately. On my nightstand sat a tray of pancakes, bacon, and orange juice, along with a neatly folded note from Avit asking me to see him in the office when I woke.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he’d been in my room while I slept. Was it a gesture meant to reassure me that I was safe with him, or a quiet reminder that he could enter my space whenever he wanted?
I sighed, quickly freshened up, and left the untouched breakfast behind as I reluctantly made my way to his office.
When I got there, I knocked on the office door.
“Come in,” Avit called.
I stepped into the office just as Avit looked up from the file on his desk. Something about his desk was different, but before I could figure out what, he spoke.
“Good morning, Sienna.”
“Good morning. You needed me for something?”
“Yes. Since you have the week off, it’s time to start your part of the deal.”
That’s when it clicked. A second laptop sat on Avit’s desk, a chair placed neatly behind it.
I crossed my arms, annoyed. “So you’re planning to babysit me while I work? Like when you trailed behind me at school?”
“I want results,” he said flatly.
“And you think if I work in my room, you won’t get them?” I snapped. “You really think I’d risk lying when my father’s life depends on it?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen countless people in your position before, desperate and grasping at straws just for another day to live.” He leaned back slightly, voice turning cold. “Let’s not forget that’s how we ended up married.”
“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not one of those countless people that you mentioned. I'd prefer to get it done in my room.”
How dare he think I’m incapable of holding up my end of the deal!
Was it because I was a woman? Was he one of those arrogant assholes who thought we were all weak, that brains and grit belonged only to men? And a woman's place was to bear children and stay at home?
He raised a brow. “Mrs. Safin, is there a reason you don't want to work under supervision?”
I rolled my eyes. “There are many reasons, Mr. Avit, but I'm sure you've drawn your own conclusion about the matter.”
“I have. And I believe you're not as good as you claim. You just made the deal with me to gain time to figure out how to save your father, despite your denial of grasping at straws. In your room, you can have someone else do the work and send you the results.”
I laughed dryly. “Right. Because the only thing a woman can do well in the eyes of a man like you is cook, clean, and bear children.” I scoffed. “Just admit it. You want to supervise me because you’re a controlling monster.”
His face went blank, and his eyes turned cold. “I am Bratva, Mrs. Safin. Control gets things done. If you can’t deliver, you’ll see exactly how much of a ‘monster’ I can be.”
Whether it was the extreme calm in his voice or the flash of rage I saw cross his face, this was the first time I had actually been terrified of Avit—not of what he could do, but of the man himself.
It was as though what little warmth that had come through the past two weeks had vanished and was replaced by Antarctic temperatures.
He was right, though. He was Bratva and probably did more unspeakable things than I’d ever imagined.
Violence was a constant in his world, and hurting my father and me was just another means to an end.
And then it hit me; every time I thought I was pushing back, testing him, asserting control, it was all an illusion.
I wasn’t in control. I had never been in control.
Every “choice” I’d made, every step I thought I’d taken for myself, existed only because he allowed it.
He could strip it all away in an instant.
Avit hadn’t been nice to me because he was a good guy; he was being nice because he needed me.
If I didn’t give him the answers he wanted, he could get rid of both my father and me.
I hadn’t worked this hard just to be snuffed out like some damn rat in an alley.
“I’ll get you the results,” I said, matching his tone.
I just wanted to get this over and done with, so that my father's life as well as mine could be out of limbo.
“Good.”
I stalked over to the desk, sank into the chair and got to work.
Over the next few days, I sat next to Avit and began digging into the information that he provided. But it was hard working right beside him.
I couldn’t help but notice his quirks—the precise way he returned anything he used back on the desk, the way his cologne seemed to seep into every corner of the office, the mutterings under his breath while he worked, or the hand that ran through his hair when a file frustrated him.
It was impossible not to notice, and sitting so close was a really bad idea. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting, every sense hijacked by him, and even though I tried to force myself to focus, knowing what was at stake, I just couldn't.
But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the times when he actually stood over me, hovering, one hand leaning against the desk.
I hated it. Every moment of it. I wasn't supposed to feel attracted to someone like him.
Someone I'd never have a future with…someone who was not only dangerous, but a criminal.
There was no way I'd give up my moral compass for someone who was just using me until he got what he wanted and would dump me like trash afterwards.
Today I was sitting behind the desk, and Avit wasn’t there. He’d gotten a call about three hours ago and left abruptly without a word. I finally felt like I could breathe again, until he stalked back into the room.
His hair was tousled, his jacket slung over his arm, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. And damn, if I thought he looked good all put together, this more “relaxed” version of him was even hotter. Still, every muscle in his body was tense, and a fresh bruise stood out on his face.
He placed his jacket behind his chair, sat and spun his chair towards me.
“It's been five days, Sienna. And still no luck. Is there something you're not telling me?”
“Me? In case you've forgotten, I'm using the information that you gave me. Maybe some of the information is…faulty,” I stated through clenched teeth.
“Or maybe you've been bluffing about your skills this entire time, just like I knew you were.”
“Just because you couldn't find anything out doesn't mean I can't! You probably gave me wrong information so you'd have an excuse to go after my father and keep me as a damn piece in your sick game!”
“You really think I'd waste time and resources and marry you for a lark? Bratva men don't marry outside Bratva. Those few that do? They regret it.”
So now he regrets marrying me when it was his own damn idea?
My stomach twisted, half with anger, half with annoyance. Yes, our marriage was contractual, but did he really have to make it sound like being married to me was the worst thing he'd ever done in his life?
“If you think I'm bluffing, give me a name, and I'll prove to you that I'm more than capable of getting the job done,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Why the hell did I feel the need to prove myself to him? Ugh.
“Fine.” He spun his chair to face his laptop. “Let's see who's trending online.”
After a few clicks on his keyboard, he turned to me. “Dig up everything you can on Monica Pier. She's been a model for three years.”
I nodded.
Luckily for me, just then Avit got a call and stepped out of the office to take it.
When he stepped back into the office five minutes later, I was leaned back in my chair.
“What's the matter, Mrs. Safin? The task was too hard for you?”
“Quite the contrary, Mr. Avit,” I began with a smirk.
Amusement flicked in his eyes as he leaned against the desk right next to me and folded his arms, highlighting the muscles in his biceps.
“Okay, well, what did you find out?”
I swallowed hard. “Monica Pier, age nineteen, though she claims she’s twenty-two, got her first gig at sixteen.
She falsified her records, not only changing her age but also her name; her original name was Annie Wilson.
After murdering her abusive stepmother, her half-sister, Stacy St. Hill, a police officer, helped cover it up.
Afterwards, she moved from Pennsylvania to California. ”
I continued, detailing her rise over the past three years: the agents she manipulated, the strategic alliances, the financial transfers, and the photos and evidence she used to blackmail and climb in the modeling world.
When I was finished, I leaned back and a smile was tugged on the edges of Avit's lips. “Not bad, Mrs. Safin. I must say I'm impressed.”
My heart fluttered. “So can you admit it now that I'm not bluffing?”
“What I can admit, Mrs. Safin, is that I'm impressed that you can get information on a random person. Which means that the person we're looking for isn't. They've got their bases covered, and they don't want us to find them. The question is, can your skillset go the extra distance?”
I glared at him and shot to my feet. “Are you freaking kidding me? If my skillset can go the extra distance? What about your skillset? You've got ties to the damn mafia and can't seem to find out who my father's selling your shit to!!!”
Avit pushed off the table, eyes narrowing. The air between us snapped like a fragile twig. I took a step back. He took one forward. Again and again, we moved until my back hit the bookshelf.
Instinctively, I raised my hands to brace myself.
He stopped inches away, close enough that the heat from his chest warmed my palms. I met his gaze before I could stop myself.
His eyes were unreadable, not that cold, practiced blankness he usually wore.
There was something else there. Anger? Wounded pride?
His ego fractured because he couldn't get the job done and needed the help of a woman?
Shit. I might’ve just fucked up with my last statement. I think I took things too far this time.
“Normally, when people are complimented, Mrs. Dristovetz, they say thank you.” His eyes bore into mine.
“The fact that you were able to do what you did in such a short time was impressive. You’ve narrowed down our target.
It’s not some random nobody—it’s someone with power, enough contacts to vanish when they want to. ”
Then he placed one hand on the shelf behind me and leaned in, his chest brushing my palms.
“Don’t get too cocky. This deal was your idea. I never asked for your help; you offered it. And if you can’t pull it off…” his lips tilted in a dangerous smirk. “Maybe I’ll have to strike another kind of deal with you.”
His gaze flicked to my lips. And mine to his. With my palms pressed to his chest and his breath ghosting over my skin, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel if he pulled me against him and kissed me…until the only thoughts left were of him.
No!
I shouldn’t be feeling like this.
He forced me into this marriage. Forced me to live with him. He was the enemy. No matter how gorgeous he was. No matter what my body was telling me.
Focus, damn it.
I shoved his chest, and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he stepped back. The second there was space between us, I bolted from the office, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached my room. I locked the door behind me, sank to the floor, and pulled my knees to my chest.
“Sienna, how the hell are you going to get out of this now?” I whispered to myself.