Chapter 6 Tatiana
TATIANA
Iwake in a groggy funk, feeling hungover and overly tired. When I finally finished the bottle and passed out, it was four a.m. and Lena had already been sleeping for two hours. Not even half a bottle of Russian Standard could soften the edges of my panic to help me sleep, and now I'm regretting it.
My back is stiff from the angle I slept in on the couch, and my head throbs with every heartbeat.
I stagger to the kitchen to get some aspirin and water and as I pass the window, I look out mindlessly, like every day when I wake up.
Except today, it's midafternoon with just a few minutes until I have to get ready for my shift and the sun is fully up.
My eyes catch on something new outside, a different car parked directly across from the building entrance where Lena's car is usually parked.
It's a black sedan with dark tinted windows that I've never seen in this neighborhood before.
It's odd but not alarming, but my body feels tense anyway, probably just leftover anxiety from last night.
After that detective told me there was nothing the police could do to protect me unless there had been a credible threat, I think I lost all hope in the system.
Which only made my spiral into a drunken oblivion worse.
I stagger to the kitchen cupboard for a cup as I try to force myself not to think about that detective's face—cold as ice and blank as a stone.
It was a major fucking waste of time telling him.
The water cools my throat, but the pills scrape down to my belly, still raw from too much vodka.
My muscles are sore from crying, though Lena tried to comfort me.
Bless her heart, she is just as lost as me.
We talked about her going to stay with her sister across town, but she won't leave me.
Now I feel like my fucking smoke break doomed me to be paranoid my whole life and may well have dragged her into something she has no part of.
This is so fucked up. How can the casino have no cameras there?
I swear, at first I thought it was cool.
I could get away with sneaking out for a smoke break and get some air on nights when I'm super stressed.
But now I'm wondering if there's a reason Dimitri doesn't keep the back entrance secure.
But I'm just as dumb as any other schmuck who just blindly trusts that their workplace is safe.
We all know he's into some fucked up stuff.
After a long, hot shower and a few more glasses of water, waiting for my aspirin to kick in, I dress and grab my swipe badge from yesterday's clothing.
Today is cooler, so I pick a pair of black slacks rather than the skirts I usually wear, and given the unwanted attention from my boss yesterday, I may never wear those skirts again. Then I head out to work.
The car is still there when I walk out of the building and it unnerves me a little bit.
I can't see through the tinting to know who's inside or if someone is watching me, and I start to wonder as I turn south toward the bus station if it's not a coincidence that the car showed up the day after I reported a murder.
I keep my eyes and ears open while walking, though I try not to glance over my shoulder.
If they really are following me and they know I've figured it out, they may escalate things.
But it's impossible to miss it when I have to cross the street to the bench where I'll wait for the three p.m. bus.
The black sedan sits at the stoplight two cars back while I walk across, and my entire body grows cold instantly.
Those mooks are following me. It's the same black car with dark tinted windows, I'd swear to it.
It makes every hair on my body rise to attention as my heart kicks into high gear, but I manage to settle on the bench next to a large man with crumbs in his beard who seems to be waiting on the bus.
I'm usually not a Chatty Cathy, but today I strike up a conversation to keep whoever is in that car disinterested in me.
"Going downtown?" I ask, and he turns to look at me with disinterest.
"Going…" he grunts, and he jerks his chin up as he looks down at my trembling hands. "You okay?"
I glance at the car, now moving as the light shifts to green and traffic starts moving again. I still can't see into the windows, but I'm no fool. Whoever is in there is watching me.
"Yeah, fine," I tell him as the car passes and all I see are taillights. They may be gone for now, but I get the feeling they'll be back. "Thanks…"
"You look sick." The man scoots away from me but he says, "Should I call someone?"
"I'm not sick. I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. "Thank you, though."
Luckily, we're saved by the bus. It pulls up in front of us and a few people stagger off before the man mounts the steps.
With one more glance up the street in the direction the car vanishes, I climb aboard and sit right behind the driver, because I think I may be sick and I'm closer to the trash can if I do.
The rest of my walk to the casino isn't much better—this time fully looking over my shoulder every few seconds.
And when I walk in, Linda catches me before I make it three steps toward the floor.
"Tatiana, I need you to go up to the penthouse office right now.
Mr. Gravitch wants to see you immediately. "
My stomach drops and I feel the blood drain from my face.
"Can't it wait until after my shift? I need to get to my section.
" This is ridiculous. I don't want to have to deal with his pushiness after the night I've had.
I just want to work my shift in peace and try to figure out what the hell I'm going to do.
"He said immediately, which means now." Linda's expression is firm and I can tell she's not going to budge on this. "Take the elevator up and don't keep him waiting."
I want to argue, but I know it won't do any good.
Dimitri owns this place and when he summons someone, they don't get to refuse.
I nod and turn toward the elevators while I'm already preparing my refusal yet again.
He's relentless, always watching me and making sure when he visits the floor, it's to sit in my section every single time.
I have no interest in some sexcapade with a man more than ten years older than me, and given that he's my boss, it would only end up with my being jobless when he tires of me.
And Dimitri is dangerous. Not just because of his behind the scenes criminal acts.
He's just the sort of man I'd fall for—a bad boy, handsome, well off… Maybe not the kind I'd take home to Mom, but definitely the sort I’d catch feelings for, and I can’t have that. Now, more than ever.
The elevator ride up feels like it takes forever, and my reflection in the mirrored doors makes me look terrified and exhausted.
I try to smooth down my hair and straighten my blouse, but it doesn't help much.
When the doors open, I step into the hallway that leads to Dimitri's penthouse and force myself forward.
I've never been up here before, so I follow the signs past the security office to a carpeted section of hallway that looks homier and finally, to a door with a brass placard that says Penthouse.
I knock on his door and hear him tell me to come in, though if I'm right, he's been watching my every move since I walked through the back entrance.
He knew I was coming. My hand turns the knob, and I push the door open to find him sitting behind his desk looking at something on his computer screen.
He glances up when I enter and gestures for me to close the door behind me.
"You wanted to see me?" I say dryly, trying to communicate my distaste through my tone, but I’m not sure he understands or cares.
"Sit down." He points to the chair across from his desk, and I lower myself into it carefully. "I'm making some changes to the staff assignments and you're being reassigned, effective immediately."
"Reassigned to what?" My eyes flick nervously to the bank of screens on the wall—every fucking angle he needed to track my every step. It's gross. He's fucking obsessed with me.
"You'll be serving me exclusively here in the penthouse.
" Dimitri leans back in his chair and locks his eyes on me, making me uncomfortable.
"No more working the floor. You'll bring my meals, handle any drinks I need, keep the office stocked with supplies.
Your pay will be double what you're making now. "
He's doing what? "I, uh… That's kind of you, but I like working the floor." I can't believe he's this manipulative. To forcibly change my shift at work so that I'm isolated—why? So he can grope me in private?
"This isn't a negotiation," he says firmly. "You'll do as I say or you won't have a job at all." Dimitri's eyebrows rise as his lips purse, and I feel my blood pressure rising. This isn't fair. This is some disgusting setup for him to sexually harass me or something, and I won't stand for it.
"You can't just reassign me without my agreement," I grumble angrily, standing up and hugging my arms over my belly. "I have a contract that says I work the casino floor."
Dimitri stands up too and walks around the desk until he's standing directly in front of me.
He's taller than I am, and he uses that height to his advantage by moving close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
"Your contract says you work where I tell you to work, and right now, I'm telling you that you work for me personally. "
"Why?" I take a step back but he follows, and suddenly, I'm boxed in between him and the chair behind me.
"Why would you suddenly decide you need a personal server when you've been fine without one for years?
" My eyes search his face while my body starts throwing up alarm bells. God, he's good-looking, even up close.
You know those guys you see from far away and you think how incredibly attractive they are but then up close, you see their wrinkles and warts?
Dimitri has zero. A few scars mar his otherwise perfect skin and my God, I think I might cream my panties.
The power moving under that shirt as he shifts and his muscles flex—it threatens to make me think very bad things about a man I should be furious with.
"Because I want you close where I can keep an eye on you.
" His hand comes up and his fingers brush against my cheek in a gesture that's meant to assert his dominance.
"And because you're wasting your talents serving drunk idiots when you could be working directly for someone who appreciates what you bring to this establishment. "
I grab his wrist and push his hand away from my face, but I can't take a step back. "I won't be your personal anything. I came here to work as a waitress and that's what I'm going to keep doing. Find someone else to play your games with."
Dimitri chuckles a low, warm sound that tugs at my chest. God, I hate myself for being attracted to such a jerk.
"You'll get used to it because the pay is too good to turn down.
Double what you're making now, plus you'll still get tips from me for good service. " When he winks at me, I grit my teeth.
"I don't want your money." Even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true because I desperately need money right now.
Between my rent and my cousin's medical bills and helping my mother with groceries, I'm barely scraping by each month.
If I knew this asshole would keep his hands to himself, maybe I wouldn't mind the shift.
It could really help me. But then, men on the floor grope me all the time too.
At least it would only be one of them, and he is super hot.
"Yes, you do." Dimitri walks back around his desk and sits down like this conversation is already over. "You need it more than most people working here, which is why you'll accept this reassignment and you'll start immediately."
I hate that he's right and that he knows exactly how trapped I am by my financial situation. He shouldn’t have that much information about me at all, though in his line of work, it's no wonder he checks out his employees.
I want to ask him if it's just me he's been snooping on or if he follows and stalks all his waitresses, but I don't want to be a bitter nag. Still, it creeps me out.
I wonder if he's the one who sent that car? Is that what that was about? Dimitri had me followed to see where I live, not the men who killed that guy in the alley? That thought starts to unravel the tension in my chest slightly.
"What about my section on the floor?" I ask even though I already know I'm going to agree to this. "Who's covering it?"
"Already taken care of." He turns his attention back to his computer screen like I'm dismissed. "Go grab your things from the break room and report back here in fifteen minutes. I'll show you where everything is kept and what your responsibilities will be."
It's so infuriating to have my autonomy captured like a prize and flaunted in front of me.
He knows there's no way I can turn this down and he's very glib about it.
I want to protest but I can't. He already said I do it or I have no job.
And I need this job, so I turn and stomp toward the door, making an angry show of how much I hate his choice for me.
"Tatiana." His voice stops me when my hand's on the doorknob. "This is going to work out better for both of us. You'll see."
I don't respond because anything I say right now will just make things worse.
I pull the door open and step into the hallway before letting it close behind me, and it's too late to back out.
Apparently, I'm not just being stalked for having witnessed a murder—potentially. Now I'm Dimitri Gravitch's plaything.
At least the money's good.