Chapter 8 Vivika
VIVIKA
The city looks different from the back seat of a luxury sedan. The streets I've walked a hundred times transform into something foreign and unfamiliar through the tinted windows as we pass. I press my palm against the cool glass and watch St. Petersburg zip past.
It's the first time I've been out of the estate since they took me five days ago, and my heart hasn't stopped racing since we pulled out of the driveway. I can't believe these men actually expect me to pass for a Mafia leader, and I can't believe that I'm foolish enough to attempt it myself.
Lev sits beside me, his thigh almost touching mine, and his brother Fyodor is behind the wheel navigating through traffic.
They're talking about something—business, routes, names I don't recognize—but I'm barely listening.
My mind is too busy trying to stop from racing.
I don't even know why I'm doing this other than those young women Lev said I could save. He hasn’t shared a single detail of what will happen or what I have to do except to ride along and pretend I'm Ana.
I don't know if I believe Lev's promise to give me a good future. I don't know if I can trust a single word that comes out of his mouth. But his promises are all I have to hold onto.
I could open the door at any stoplight and run for it, but I know they'd find me eventually. And I do want to help those women even if I don't understand how my pretending to be someone I'm not actually helps.
So I stay. I keep my hand pressed against the window and my mouth shut, and I watch the city pass by until the buildings grow taller and the car slows.
"We're here," Fyodor says, pulling the car to a stop in front of an imposing stone building with columns flanking the entrance and a brass plaque beside the door that reads Imperial Credit Union in elegant Cyrillic script.
Lev opens his door and steps out, then turns to offer me his hand.
I take it without thinking, letting him help me from the car, and his fingers are warm and strong as they close around mine.
It's an odd feeling, holding his hand. Every other time he's touched me, it's been to control me, not to help me. And this feels personal and intimate.
He doesn't let go right away, holding my hand for a beat longer than necessary before releasing it and placing his palm on the small of my back instead. That feels all the more sinful and awkward because I like it. No man has ever treated me this way.
"Remember what we practiced," he whispers low enough that only I can hear. "Confident. Commanding. You own every room you walk into."
I nod because my throat's too tight to speak.
We walk through the glass doors together, Lev's hand a steady pressure against my spine, and the interior of the bank opens up before us in a sweep of marble floors and crystal chandeliers and teller windows staffed by women in expensive suits.
It's the kind of place I've never set foot in.
People like me don't belong in places like this, and I feel like a fraud the moment I cross the threshold and hushed whispers spring up around us.
But I'm not Vivika Rozhkova right now.
I'm Ana Veche.
And Ana Veche belongs everywhere.
I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders like Lev taught me, letting my gaze sweep across the room with cool disinterest. I've been practicing for days. I can do this.
The woman at the nearest window looks up at our approach, and I see the recognition flash through her eyes before she manages to school her expression.
She knows who Ana Veche is. Or who she thinks I am.
I swear I see a hint of fear on her face too, like for some reason Ana is intimidating to her, just like Lev said.
I hate that it brings credibility to what he's told me, but I also feel rooted now.
Because if what he says is true, then maybe I really can trust him.
"Good afternoon," Lev says, stepping up to the window with me at his side. "We're here to make a deposit."
The woman's eyes flick between us, her smile now strained at the edges. "Of course, sir. And may I ask the name on the account?"
"Gravitch Holdings." Lev slides a folder across the counter with smooth and unhurried movements. "And I'd like to introduce my new colleague, Ms. Ana Veche. She'll be working closely with our organization going forward."
The woman's gaze locks onto my face, and I can see her studying my features. It's like she's comparing them to whatever mental image she has of the real Ana. I meet her eyes without flinching, letting a small, cold smile curve my lips the way Lev taught me.
"A pleasure," I say, and my voice comes out steady, nothing like the terrified tremor I expected.
"The pleasure's mine, Ms. Veche." The woman's voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers as she reaches for the folder. "It's… unexpected to see you here. We weren't informed you'd be visiting."
"I don't generally inform people of my movements.
" I let a hint of ice creep into my tone, the way Ana would.
"It tends to complicate things." My tone is dry as a bone and I look down my nose at her.
This feels so awkward, so out of place. I'm not a rude, callous woman.
I'm kind and soft and eager to please. But it seems to do the trick.
The woman nods too quickly and busies herself with processing the deposit. I stand beside Lev with my spine straight and my expression remote, playing the part of a Donna who considers bank tellers beneath her. It feels so wrong, like wearing someone else's skin.
When the transaction's complete, Lev guides me toward the door with his hand still pressed against my back. I can feel the woman's eyes on us as we leave, and I practically hear her reaching for her phone the moment we're out of sight, making a thrill run through me.
I did it. I actually did it.
"That was perfect," Lev mumbles as we step out the door. "Absolutely perfect. You had her eating out of your hand."
His praise warms something in my chest, a glow of satisfaction that spreads through me like honey. I shouldn't care what he thinks of me. But I do. God help me, I do.
"She'll report back to the Veches," I say as we reach the car. "That's why you chose this bank, isn't it? Because they do business here too."
"Smart girl." Lev opens the door for me, his dark eyes glinting with approval. "Word will spread fast. By tomorrow, everyone who matters will know that Ana Veche has resurfaced."
I slide into the back seat, my heart still pounding with the adrenaline of what I've done, and Lev climbs in beside me. Fyodor pulls away from the curb without a word. These men aren't messing around.
"Where are we going?" I ask when Fyodor doesn't turn back toward the highway. Lev never said we were going somewhere new.
"My place," Lev says. "Fyodor's dropping us off."
My stomach clenches at the words, anxiety and anticipation tangling together in my chest. His place? I don't understand why he wants me to go there. The other place was fine with me. I'd gotten used to it, and this means adjusting to a whole new atmosphere and environment. But I don’t protest.
The drive takes us to a different part of the city, a residential stretch where the buildings are smaller and the streets are lined with bare trees that'll bloom beautifully in a few months' time.
Fyodor pulls up in front of a modest townhouse with a dark blue door and ivy climbing the brick facade, and Lev opens his door before the car has fully stopped.
He helps me out just like he did at the bank, and this time, his hand never leaves mine as he leans into the car.
"I'll check in tomorrow," Fyodor says.
"Do that." Lev closes the door and the car pulls away, leaving us alone on the empty sidewalk.
Lev waits for a second before leading me inside, and only once we're in his living room with his chunky leather furniture and crackling fire does he let go of my hand.
"Drink?" he asks, moving toward a sideboard lined with crystal decanters.
"Please."
He pours two glasses of something amber and expensive-looking, handing one to me before settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to him.
I sit, but leave a generous space between us, and take a sip of the whiskey.
The warmth spreads through my chest, loosening some of the tension I've been carrying since we left his uncle’s home earlier.
"So, what happens now?" I ask, cradling the glass in both hands. "What else will I have to do?"
"A few more outings like today. Public appearances where people can see your face and spread the word that Ana Veche is back." He swirls his drink, watching the liquid catch the firelight. "The hard work is mine to do. All you have to do is show up."
"And then?"
"And then, if everything goes according to plan, you'll be done…" I frown when he doesn't elaborate about what "done" means and when I'll go home, but things have been pleasant today. I don't want to start something that will make this frustrating.
I take another sip, larger this time, letting the alcohol warm my belly. "Tell me more about how your family will pressure the Veches to stop the trafficking."
Lev studies me for a moment with dark eyes. Then he leans back against the cushions and begins to explain. "The Veche family expects Ana to be gone because that's the line they've fed people. Yaros has told everyone Ana is away visiting family, but we have intel that suggests he removed her."
My eyebrows go up and he tips his glass up, finishing his drink, then continues.
"My uncle thinks we've stumbled upon a mutiny.
That Yaros has killed his sister and is covering it up long enough to put pieces in place to take over.
If that happens, we're done. Our goal is to send his family into chaos. "
"And then?"
"And then we apply pressure to come clean or risk losing all of his allies…" Lev sets his drink down and faces me fully. "In that chaos, we seize their trade routes and fortify them, and we stop them from working their business."
I sip my whiskey and let it burn as I think about how sinister this plan is. If Ana's brother really did murder her, who's to say they won't also come after me when they think she's alive and back from the dead? And if not, who's to say an enemy of hers won't also do the same?
I shake the thought loose and remember why I'm doing this. If nothing good comes from this except a few girls being rescued, it's still a worthy cause. I'm still doing a good thing.
"You're doing a good thing," I hear myself say. "Even if… even if all of this is crazy and wrong and terrifying. What you're trying to do for those women… It's the right thing."
Lev studies me as he leans closer, and I watch his eyes dip to my lips. I can tell he's thinking of kissing me. But he restrains himself, which only makes him that much more attractive to me.
"I'll do what it takes," I continue, emboldened by the warmth spreading through my limbs.
"To free those women. Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it.
" I don't intend for my words to sound seductive, but I watch his jaw tighten, and I feel a rush of power that's intoxicating.
This man—this dangerous, powerful, beautiful man—wants me. He's barely holding himself back.
"You should be careful," he growls from low in his chest. "Saying things like that to a man like me."
"Why?" The alcohol is making me feel a little bold and reckless.
"What will you do?" I haven't eaten all day.
I haven't drunk in years, either. I swore off it when I was just old enough to live on my own.
I know it will only cause problems for me, but today it felt acceptable.
How else was I going to calm my nerves? And now my head is spinning.
"Vivika."
"What?" I smile, and it feels different on my face—flirtatious, inviting. "I'm just asking a question."
"You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk," I say, maybe a little too defensively. My head is spinning, but I'm not wasted. He stands, taking the glass from my hands with gentle but firm fingers. "You're not a drinker are you?" he asks, and I scowl.
"I feel fine."
"You won't in the morning." He sets my glass beside his on the table, then reaches down and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. The room spins and I sway against him, my hands landing on his chest. His body is rigid. I can feel the curves of his muscles under my palms. It makes my core ache.
Now I wonder if he drugged me. I mean, I'm not this much of a lightweight. I had one drink, not a bottle, and I wouldn't be feeling it this quickly, would I?
"Lev," I murmur, looking up at him through lashes that feel suddenly heavy.
His eyes drop to my lips again, and he growls as he clenches his teeth.
I'm foolish. I'm throwing myself at him for no reason.
He doesn't want me for anything but his little scheme, and though his eyes scream out how aroused he is and his dick serves notice against my thigh, he's still rejecting me.
"Your eyes say you want me, Mr. Gravitch." Even when I try using Ana Veche's tone and demeanor, standing straighter, he still remains rigid. "Don’t you?"
"If I want what you're offering," he mumbles against my ear, taking his sweet time to let the stubble scrape and the heat penetrate my skin. "I'll take it when you're sober. When you can remember every detail—not like this."
My hand slides across his body, past his belt to the bulge in his slacks that unmistakably proves I'm right, but he removes it from my grasp and picks me up, cradling me as he carries me out the door.
My eyes flutter shut a few times and I know he's drugged me.
I feel helpless and angry, and my eyes well up with tears at the thought of his rejection, but then we're in a dark room and I'm feeling so tired.
"Sleep," he says, lowering me onto a bed.
I try to respond, but my tongue feels thick and clumsy and my eyes are closing without my permission.
I feel his hands on me, carefully removing my shoes and then the constraining dress I've been wearing all day.
His fingers graze my skin as he works, leaving trails of warmth in their wake, and I want to pull him down onto the bed beside me, but the words won't come.
The last thing I'm aware of before the darkness takes me is the weight of a blanket being pulled over my body.