Chapter 11
VIKTOR
Anya somehow becomes more despondent over the next few weeks.
At first, I just assume it’s stress. The last few weeks haven’t been exactly peaceful for either of us.
Grinkov’s men are more concentrated in their efforts to find her in Brighton Beach.
The smaller families are tightening their operations, closing warehouses early, shifting product routes, and testing loyalties.
Sergei and I are both functioning on very little sleep.
Anya’s shift is different, though. She started sleeping a lot, like maybe she was depressed. Unfortunately, that was understandable given the situation.
Then, one day, she just seemed to give up any semblance of hope. She’s gotten quieter.
There’s no spark to her anymore, and she’s stopped acting so recklessly. She hasn’t tried to make any more escape attempts. She doesn’t challenge me anymore.
I can’t say exactly when the shift happened. One day, I find her standing in the kitchen cutting up fruit. When she sees me, she doesn’t glare or even pretend to threaten me. She doesn’t say anything biting to remind me that she’d stab me in my sleep with her knife if given the chance.
“Everything okay?” I ask her, mostly to see how she reacts.
“Yep,” she replies calmly, giving me nothing else.
She’s obviously lying. She doesn’t even try to hide it.
“I’m glad to see you eating,” I say, trying to start up any interaction.
“I’m not doing it for you,” she says without looking up, but there’s no real heat behind it. She’s just saying it as a statement of fact.
She grabs her bowl of food and carries it to the stairs without even glancing at me.
Anya has never given up a chance to show me exactly how much disdain she has for me. In the past she might have even shoved me or shown her teeth.
Now she keeps a precise distance.
Later that night, I review security cameras from my properties in Brighton Beach. It’s descending into chaos. Mikhail’s men continue to terrorize small businesses, putting pressure on families to bring Anya back to him. Everyone is a suspect now. No families are above warning.
Anya is mine. The thought comes uninvited and sharp.
She hates me, but I couldn’t want her more.
She’s kept a very pointed distance since we had sex, but that hasn’t done anything to dampen my feelings for her.
I watch her whenever I can, though she’s become very careful to avoid all cameras.
She moves through the house like a ghost, careful to never be caught.
It’s infuriating, but I also have some amount of respect for how easily she’s learned the patterns of this house.
A knock at the door pulls me away from the feed. Sergei enters without waiting for me to answer.
“It’s getting suffocating out there.” He sighs warily, sinking into a chair next to me and looking at the feeds with me.
“I see it.”
“You see Brighton. It’s getting worse everywhere. They’re pushing further inland. They’re starting to terrorize Bensonhurst too.”
“That’s a huge overreach on Mikhail’s part,” I say, cutting my eyes at him. “How far is he going to take this?”
“He’s going to tear the city apart until he finds her, Viktor,” he answers gravely. “You and I both know that.”
I lean back in the chair and fold my arms.
“He’s just hoping someone is going to panic and turn on us.”
“He wants you to panic,” Sergei says pointedly.
“He’ll be waiting a long fucking time for that.” I chuckle darkly.
I don’t panic. This house is a fortress. We’ve already survived one month without being terribly touched by the chaos of it all. We can make it through another if we have to. He’ll give up eventually.
Sergei’s gaze flickers slightly, but he says nothing. I know what he’d like to say, though. He wants to berate me for dragging our business into this. He wants me to give Anya back and end this whole nightmare. He thinks I’m being selfish.
“We increased patrols?” I ask.
“Yes. And I moved shipments to alternate routes.”
“Good.” I nod.
“We’ll have to increase it again, probably. Grinkov’s men are leaning on the smaller crews,” he adds. “Their extortion is getting bolder. They’re forcing the smaller families to pay them for protection. Mikhail is reminding everyone what happens when you cross him.”
“I didn’t cross him,” I say calmly. “She didn’t want to be with him, and she’s not. If I hadn’t taken her, she would’ve disappeared and this would still be happening. At least we have some leverage here.”
Sergei studies me carefully.
“You aren’t going to use her as leverage,” he says pointedly. “If you were going to, you would have contacted him already.”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair.
“No, I’m not,” I admit. “She’s a human being. She’s not a pawn.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” he says carefully. “You’re not in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress, and she’s no damsel. Her father has more property than you do. What is this really about?”
I ignore him.
“Keep pressure on our contacts in Red Hook,” I tell him. “If anyone starts talking to Grinkov’s men too eagerly, I want to know about it immediately.”
He nods, leaves, and I return to the feeds. Anya is in her room with the door shut. She used to pace for hours. I’d be able to hear her in my room. Now, she stays in there, door shut, making no sound at all. I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing in there.
Earlier that afternoon, I’d given her permission to go into the small yard behind the house with one of the guards. She walked the perimeter once, slowly, eyes scanning the fence line. She didn’t try to test it or make a break for it. She just watched, cataloging.
When she came back inside, she didn’t slam the door or accuse me of trying to keep her caged in like an animal. She didn’t look at me, but she did murmur a quiet “thank you” for letting her go outside. The distance between us is widening, and she’s losing more of herself every single day.
The next morning, I decide to test her. She’s sitting at the table when I enter, a plate of eggs in front of her. She’s wolfing them down like they might be her last meal. That, in itself, is notable.
“You’re hungry today,” I say casually.
She looks up, unsurprised to see me. “That isn’t a crime,” she says calmly.
“Not unless you’re storing up all your energy for another escape attempt,” I suggest in jest.
She sets her fork down carefully, not looking up from her plate.
“I haven’t given you any reason to doubt me,” she says calmly, though I can see unrestrained anger bubbling just below the surface. “I haven’t tried to escape, I haven’t tried to starve myself, I’ve been a perfect hostage. You have no reason to question me.”
“That’s what worries me.” I try to laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Since when are you even remotely compliant?”
“I decided it’s a waste of my energy to fight you,” she replies, still looking at her plate. “This is a better situation than being with Mikhail. I’m a hostage, but at least I have some freedom.”
I want to push her on that, to know more about what happened between her and Mikhail, but I know better than to ask her personal questions. She’ll shut down even more, somehow.
I arch my eyebrow and try to force her to look at me, but she refuses.
I can’t explain it, but that worries me more than anything.
It’s like she’s afraid of me, or maybe she’s afraid of how she’ll react to me.
She’s been so careful and controlled since the day we lost control in this very kitchen, but this is so much worse.
It’s like she’s become a shell of herself.
“You’re not trying to run anymore,” I tell her, letting her know that I’ve noticed.
“What’s the point?” She shrugs. “You were more than happy to remind me that Mikhail is searching the streets for me. If I tried to run, I’d just be going from one captor to the other.”
“Is that really all this is?” I ask.
She finally looks up, narrowing her eyes at me. “What’s your problem?” she shoots back, the tiniest spark finally in her eyes. “You made it very clear a long time ago that there’s no point in running. Now you’re mad that I’m not trying?”
“I’m not mad,” I tell her calmly. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m not yours to worry about,” she spits.
There it is. The fire is still there.
That night, I sit at the kitchen table with intelligence reports spread out in front of me. Sergei has flagged three names of men who have been seen speaking with Grinkov’s soldiers more often than usual. One of them is tied to a warehouse in Sheepshead Bay.
If that warehouse flips, we lose a shipping lane. I mark it for immediate attention. Anya enters quietly and pours herself a glass of water.
“You look busy,” she says mildly.
“I am,” I confirm, not looking up at her.
“War has that effect,” she says calmly.
“We aren’t at war,” I state. “Mikhail is just posturing. I’m not terribly worried about it.”
She studies me over the rim of her glass.
“Do you really think you can outlast him?” she asks. “Do you think that, at the end of the day, he’s just going to give up on me and move on? His pride is way too big for that. It’s been over a month and he hasn’t stopped his assaults. How do you see this playing out?”
“I haven’t really thought it through to the end,” I answer honestly, rubbing my eyes to stave off an impending headache.
“Maybe you need to start,” she says tensely. “For both of our sakes. We can’t stay in this place indefinitely. This isn’t a life.”
“Is that why you’ve been so distant?” I ask, meeting her gaze.
“How can I possibly be distant when I’m locked in a house with you?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, eyeing her. “You’re emotionally distant.”
“When exactly were we close?” She laughs, but the sound is off. It’s too tight and tense, like she’s been caught in a lie.
“I can think of at least one time,” I say, smirking at her.
“That was a mistake,” she snaps, her face growing stormy. “And it will never happen again.”
I just nod and turn back to my reports. “Well, I’m glad we’ve settled that,” I say, not looking back up at her. “Now, unless you’re going to help me go through these reports, I’d recommend you stop distracting me.”
It’s bait and we both know it. In the past, she would plop herself down and try to annoy me until I gave up and went back into my control room. Now, she just nods and walks back to the stairs, to disappear into her room again.