Chapter 34
Varvara
I’ve been sitting with this for three days now. Three days of wondering how to broach the subject. I have no idea if it’s even possible, but I know I have to do something except sit around here being Lev’s woman.
A couple of weeks ago, I would have relished it.
Not having to go to work, not having to be leered at and touched.
Not having to get a taxi home in the middle of the night and rush to the front door of my flat.
But this? This isn’t a productive life. I’m not exactly qualified to do anything, but I was making my way, contributing legally to society.
Does the Bratva even pay taxes? Probably not.
At least not on any of their illegal earnings.
But that begs the question of whether my idea would even be legally recognised as a job.
“What are you frowning about?” Lev asks over coffee. “Do you need something?”
Placing my cup down, I nod. “Yes, actually. I do.”
“Name it.”
“I want a job.”
His face tightens fractionally. “We talked about this. You don’t need to go back to work.”
“Who does that benefit exactly?”
“Me. And you.”
“Not me. What am I meant to do all day… and don’t say wait around to ride your cock, because that isn’t a meaningful life, Lev.”
“It is when I’m the one you’re riding,” he counters, his dark humour flashing in the morning light. “I don’t want you out there where I can’t see you. London is a cesspit, and you’re a target.”
“I was a target when I was working at the club, too,” I say, leaning over the table. “I need something else.”
He sets his mug down with a deliberate click. The air in the room shifts, becoming heavy with his possessive energy. “You want a business? I’ll buy you a gallery. A boutique. Pick a building in Mayfair, and it’s yours.”
“I don’t want to own a place you buy. I don’t want to own a place. That’s not what this is about.”
“You want to go out and work for someone else when I can give you anything you want?”
“Yes. But not just anyone.”
His eyes narrow, and he sits back. I have his undivided attention now. “Who did you have in mind?”
I inhale deeply, and then I chicken out and pick my cup back up. “You know what. It’s fine.” I stand up and walk away from him, out of the dining room and through to the sitting room. Opening the French doors, I step out into the hot sun and perch on the edge of the fountain, shoulders hunched.
He follows me.
Of course he does.
“You can’t just say you want to do something and then back out. What are you afraid of?” he asks, standing in front of me.
I look up at him, squinting in the bright sun. “I’m afraid you will think it’s silly. Afraid you will say no. Afraid everyone will say no.”
“Everyone being?”
“Baron,” I state flatly.
He frowns. “Baron? Why would his opinion matter?”
“Because I want to work for him,” I say in a rush before I chicken out a second time.
Lev steps back, his face completely blank. “No. Absolutely-fucking-not.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a Bratva pakhan, Varvara. He doesn’t run a legitimate firm with an HR department and a pension scheme.
The people who work for him deal in death and high-stakes extortion.
I spent my entire life trying to keep my personal interests away from his direct oversight.
I won’t hand you to him on a silver platter just because you’re bored. ”
“This isn’t because I’m bored, Lev. At least not all of it. He said I was part of the family now. If I’m a Voronov, I should contribute. I want to contribute.”
“How? What exactly are you thinking of doing? Being a soldier? Going out there and being a criminal, using violence to get your own way. No offence, moya sladkaya, but you aren’t exactly built for it.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m not talking about guns and broken fingers. I’m talking about being his assistant or something. I’m not qualified to do books, and I’m definitely not qualified to fiddle with them, but I can be useful.”
“An assistant. Do you have any idea what he does to people who drop the ball, Var? He doesn’t give you a performance review. He gives you a shallow grave.”
I stand my ground. I’m tired of being hidden away while the world burns around me.
“I’m not asking for a job at a bank. I know what he is.
Sitting here waiting for you to come home with blood on your knuckles is driving me mental after less than a week.
I want to be useful to the family I’m supposedly part of. ”
He stares at me. His blue eyes are cold. “You think you can handle Baron as a boss?”
“I handle you.”
He takes my waist and yanks me against his chest. I feel the hard line of his body. “You don’t handle me, Varvara. I let you think you do because I like the way you look when you’re bossy. But Baron won’t find it charming. He’ll find it annoying.”
“Then let me talk to him. If he says no, I’ll drop it. But let me try. I’ve got enough drive to want to do this to survive his study.”
He searches my face, looking for a sign of weakness. I don’t give him one. I keep my jaw set and my gaze locked on his. He doesn’t like it, but I can see the moment he decides to cave. He grabs the back of my head and pulls me into a hard, punishing kiss.
“If he says no, you stay here. No arguments. No fucking sulking. No asking me to talk to him and no more discussion about working in the Bratva.”
“Deal.” Fuck. I have probably just shot myself in the foot, metaphorically speaking, of course. I’ve got one chance to convince Baron Voronov to hire me as his assistant, and if I blow it, I’ll be just Lev’s woman for the rest of my life.
I watch Lev pull his phone from his pocket, his thumb swiping across the screen with the same focus he gives a loaded gun. My stomach does a slow, heavy roll. I’ve just demanded to walk into the lion’s den, and the lion’s nephew is currently making the appointment for my mauling.
“I’m calling him now,” Lev says, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register he uses when he’s dealing with business. “If he’s in a foul mood, we aren’t going. I won’t have him snapping your head off because his morning espresso was cold.”
“I can handle a snap, Lev. I’m not made of glass.”
He doesn’t answer. He just puts the phone to his ear. I sit on the stone ledge, the sun beating down on my neck, feeling the sudden, sharp weight of my own ambition. Am I actually doing this? Am I asking to put myself in the firing line of a man who makes people disappear?
“Pakhan. Varvara wants to see you. It’s business-related.”
There’s a silence that feels like it lasts a century. I can’t hear the other side, and Lev’s expression gives nothing away.
“Yes. Now,” he says, his eyes snapping to mine. He ends the call and shoves the phone back into his pants. “He’s at the Belgravia house. He’s got thirty minutes before leaving for the airport. If we aren’t there in ten, you will have to wait until he gets back.”
“Then we’d better move,” I say, standing up and smoothing my shirt.
He grabs my arm, his grip firm. “One chance, Var. And if he says a single word that makes me think he’s going to use you as a pawn, a human shield or anything in between, we’re out. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
He is grim-faced as we walk back through the house, and he calls to Pyotr. “Have chocolate and vodka waiting when we get back.”
I roll my eyes. “Lev…”
“I have zero faith this will go the way you want it to, and that’s not a diss on you, but on him.”
Pyotr just nods and hands Lev the keys to the Ferrari.
Lev opens the front door and ushers me out into the heat of the late morning, one hand at the small of my back as if I might suddenly make a run for it.
I wouldn’t.
Not now.
Not ever.
I climb in the car, my pulse banging hard enough to make the fresh coffee I drank feel like a bad idea.
Lev gets behind the wheel, and the engine growls to life. He sets off with controlled aggression, which means he’s two seconds from murder or a lecture. Possibly both. His fingers tap once against the steering wheel and then stop, which is somehow worse.
“You don’t have to look like I’ve asked you to drive me to my own funeral,” I mutter.
“I’m considering whether this counts as me delivering my woman to organised emotional damage.”
“That’s dramatic, even for you.”
“It’s Baron. You think he likes you because he made one nice comment to you.
He is a Great White in a tank full of sharks.
There are other pakhans in this city, this country, the world, but none of them are as powerful as Baron.
He knows people in places you don’t even want to think about, they are so high and so well-connected. ”
His words make me shudder, and I stare out of the window, trying not to think about all the ways this can go wrong.
Too late, obviously. My brain has already made a list. Best case scenario, Baron laughs in my face.
Less pleasant, he calls me an idiot. Slightly worse, he tells Lev to keep his woman out of business.
Edging towards dangerous, he decides I’m useful in some horrible, illegal capacity I didn’t think through before opening my mouth.
And worst case scenario, he kills me on the spot for being audacious and above my station.
None of it will do wonders for my ego, especially if I’m dead.
Lev takes the corner into Belgravia hard enough to press me back into the seat. “When we get in there, you speak clearly. Don’t ramble. Don’t try to be funny.”
“I’m offended that you think I have to try to be funny.”
“Var…”
“All right, I hear you.”
“Control your actions, your speech, everything.”
“You think I can’t control myself?”
“You can’t,” he says flatly.
“Charming.”
“I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to stop you from walking into my uncle’s study and accidentally volunteering to help launder money for a cartel because he remained silent for long enough for you to dig your own grave.”