Chapter 45 Welcome to Russia, Again
Ivikaa's eyes fluttered open - slow, disoriented.
A soft hum echoed in the distance. Not a machine... not quite human either. She blinked once. Twice. The light above her was sterile, cold. White.
She sat up, instinctively - and froze.
This... wasn't a hotel room.
The walls were a pale ash grey. The curtains were too heavy. The windows too narrow. The air too still.
She turned her head, taking it in - the polished wooden floors, the single velvet armchair in the corner, the table with nothing but a steaming cup of black tea... and a locked door.
Her heartbeat picked up. Not panic - not yet - but a kind of awareness that slithered beneath her skin.
Where was she?
She stood, bare feet brushing cool floorboards, and walked to the window. Frost clouded the edges. Outside, snow fell - gentle, constant, indifferent.
Definitely not New York.
Her hand went to her phone.
Gone.
She scanned the room again - this time, with sharper eyes. No clocks. No charger. No suitcase. Just one thing: a deep red scarf folded neatly on the chair.
It was Maya's.
Ivikaa inhaled slowly, piecing the fragments together.
She had left with Maya.
But where the hell had they arrived?
And why... did this place feel like it was waiting for her?
The door opened with a slow, metallic groan.
Ivikaa blinked against the dim yellow light spilling in - her pulse still trying to catch up with the chaos in her head.
A man stepped in.
Broad-shouldered. Wolf-like smile. Scar cutting across his cheek like a brutal souvenir from someone else's rage. But not someone else.
Hers.
The moment she saw his face, her breath locked in her chest.
Dmitri.
No. No. No.
The last time she saw him, she was 22 - sharp-tongued, Paris-hardened, and invincible in heels. Until she wasn't.
Until she woke up bound in a half-lit flat near the outskirts of Saint Petersburg - the first time her family's power hadn't been enough to protect her.
She'd been kept captive.
She'd been touched.
He tried to cross a line -
And she'd crossed his face with the jagged edge of a porcelain lamp.
She remembered the scream.
She remembered his blood.
And now, here he was. Scars still raw, eyes colder than the Russian snow outside.
"Добро пожаловать обратно в Россию, моя дорогая," he said, smirking.
(Welcome back to Russia, my darling.)
Ivikaa's spine stiffened.
But wasn't she in New York just hours ago?
The plane. Raha. The snow hadn't even melted off her boots-
Her eyes darted to the walls. Nothing familiar. White, sterile. Not New York. Not even close.
Panic flared - but it didn't show. She swallowed it, like she'd learned to.
"You drugged me," she said calmly.
He tilted his head. "You always were quick. No wonder your father feared me."
She didn't answer.
Just took a breath, slow and steady.
This time, she wasn't 22.
This time, she wouldn't just leave a scar.
"So... remember me?" Dmitri's voice slithered through the air like oil over ice.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the long, pale scar running down the side of his cheek - a permanent reminder of a girl who refused to be broken.
"One to give me this beauty?" he asked, his smile all venom, the tone underneath dangerously quiet.
Ivikaa didn't flinch. Just stared. Eyes calm. Jaw locked.
A knock interrupted the moment.
The door creaked open and a suited guard stepped in, speaking in clipped Russian. "Boss is asking for you."
Dmitri nodded and dismissed the man with a flick of his head.
Then, turning back to Ivikaa, his voice softened into that haunting Russian drawl.
"Follow me."
Ivikaa didn't move. Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to him - cold, disgusted.
Dmitri chuckled darkly. "Same old fire, huh?" He stepped closer, breath like poison. "Well, just so you know... we have some of your little friends here too. What were their names?" He pretended to think. "Ah. Yes. Maya. Raha."
Her stomach dropped.
He smiled, all teeth and cruelty. "Now... follow me," he said, this time in a voice tight as wire.
Ivikaa didn't speak.
But she walked.
Down the corridor that smelled like steel and smoke. Past guards who looked like they hadn't blinked in years. Into a space that made even her breath hesitate.
A glass hall - enormous, cold, and gleaming under a silver light. It looked like a crystal museum built for war. Floor to ceiling glass, polished black marble, and at least a hundred armed men in every direction.
All in black.
All silent.
Eyes forward. Posture lethal.
Every inch of the room screamed precision. Discipline. Power.
Ivikaa felt it - the chill that wasn't about temperature.
She wasn't in New York anymore.
She was back in Russia.
And Russia remembered.
Ivikaa's eyes darted across the massive glass chamber, but they didn't rest until they landed on him - the one seated at the far end, surrounded by silence and power.
She didn't waste time. "Where are Raha and Maya?" she demanded, voice sharp like a crack in crystal.
Dmitri glanced at Nikolai. A subtle nod was all it took.
But before he could speak, another man rushed in, breath ragged, voice urgent - speaking in rapid Russian. "That girl's killed six of ours."
Dmitri snapped to attention. "Who?"
The man's lips tightened. "The bitchy one."
Nikolai's fingers twitched slightly - the only sign of emotion."Bring both of them. Now."
Moments later, ten guards stormed in.
Two of them dragged Raha forward - trembling, mascara streaked, her eyes red from crying. She looked like someone who had just learned the world wasn't made of soft things.
Ivikaa's heart clenched. One glance at Raha, and memories hit her like glass shards - of herself at 22, crying in silence, kidnapped from Paris, scarred without mercy.
She took a step toward Raha-
But then she saw Maya.
Covered in blood.
Head high.
Eyes cold.
"She killed six!" someone shouted.
"I'll kill all of you!" Maya snarled, her voice animalistic, eyes burning wild.
Ivikaa froze.
Maya Awasthi? Her PA? Her schedule-obsessed, soft-spoken assistant?
She didn't have time to think.
Dmitri raised his gun at Ivikaa's temple. "If she kills one more of my men, I'll kill your lady."
Raha gasped in terror.
Ivikaa held her ground. Scared.
Maya, in contrast, didn't blink.
She spat toward Dmitri. "As if you can."
The room crackled with tension.
Then, a voice boomed like thunder.
"STOP!"
All heads turned.
Nikolai Mstislav stood. His gaze locked on Maya. He took a few steps forward, slowly, like a predator circling prey.
His eyes narrowed. "I've seen you before."
He came closer, studying her face. Then he snapped at the guards, "Leave her."
He grabbed Maya's wrist and led her to the luxurious black sofa at the side of the hall. Without care, he threw her onto it.
But Maya - now fully transformed - didn't flinch. She sat up slowly, flipped her bloodied hair back, and smirked.
She raised a single finger and beckoned him closer.
And when he obeyed - curious, hypnotized - she traced her nail along the edge of his lips, slow and deliberate.
"You forgot me, my love, I am Maaaayaaa..." she whispered, voice like poison wrapped in silk.
The air went still.
Ivikaa and Raha stared, stunned.
This wasn't the Maya they knew.
This wasn't the assistant who booked flights and carried snacks.
This was someone else entirely.
Someone dangerous.
Someone Mafia.
Nikolai's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, studying Maya with a chilling sort of focus - like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
His voice dropped low, dangerous with recognition:
"Maya... Jay."
The room froze.
Even Dmitri, who had swaggered in moments ago with threats and smirks, suddenly looked like he'd swallowed a blade.
Raha blinked in confusion.
Iva's breath hitched.
The name - Jay - it echoed like something from a nightmare disguised as legend.
Nikolai didn't blink. His next words were sharp. Final. "Inform Viren Ambani his daughter is in Russia."
Everyone stilled.
"And inform Rudra..." His lip curled into a smirk, almost amused. "...that his sister just walked into my house."
Then, without looking away from Maya, he added:
"Take them to the secured room. Not a scratch. If anything happens to either of them..." His voice dropped colder than ice. "...you'll answer to me."
Everyone knew who him was.
The one who named her.
The one who once burned half of Siberia in silence.
And Maya - she just smiled.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Silence fell - the kind that wasn't empty, but loaded. Like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Iva turned to Maya, eyes narrowed, breath sharp.
But before a single word could leave her lips, she heard a soft, broken whimper.
Raha.
She sat curled in the far corner, hugging her knees to her chest, her usually vibrant face streaked with tears. Her lips trembled, her kajal smudged, and in that moment, she looked like a child caught in the crosshairs of a nightmare.
"I want to go home," Raha whispered, so faintly it hurt. "I want Mama... Papa... Adi bhaiya..."
That last name landed like a shard in Iva's chest.
She dropped beside Raha, gently pulling her into her arms. "We will. I promise. I'll get us out," she said - but it sounded more like a plea than a vow.
Then her eyes flicked up.
To Maya.
Her Maya - who used to stress over broken planner tabs and the wrong shade of lipstick for runway events. Her PA, who always carried an extra charger, and whispered sarcastic remarks under her breath during boring gala speeches. Who once cried over a cat stuck in a Paris alley.
Who had just killed six men like it was muscle memory.
Who the hell are you?
That's what she wanted to scream.
Instead, she asked it flatly. Hollow.
"Who are you? Mafia?"
Maya didn't look fazed. She was wiping blood from her knuckles with a folded napkin like it was jam. She met Iva's eyes with that same unnerving calm.
"You were 22. Paris. Kidnapped. The world moved. But no one knew how much you broke. Your father couldn't trust just guns. He needed ghosts. Ones who don't leave trails so he hired me to protect you. And I am not mafia."
Iva stared.
It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.
Her mind reeled.
All this time?
All those late nights, those perfectly timed exits, those weird bruises she never explained - the way she always knew when something felt off.
She wasn't a secretary. She was a weapon. Dressed in heels and sarcasm. And I - I never saw it.
Raha whispered, "You... you killed them. And you were smiling."
Maya turned to her, and for a second, softened. "I smiled because they didn't get to hurt you. That's all."
Then she straightened and said it again - this time to Iva.
"I'm your father's weapon. You were never supposed to know."
Iva's thoughts tangled in each other.
Weapon. My father. Protect me?
Why didn't he just tell me? Why make me think Maya was a friend - a planner - a normal person?
And yet...
And yet, part of her understood.
In this world of power and politics, her father had gifted her something priceless: a silent sword at her side. A guardian hidden in plain sight.
"So what now?" Iva asked, her voice low, still processing the shards of truth stabbing through her.
Maya crossed her arms and leaned back against the steel wall.
"Now? We survive. I kill anyone who comes through that door with bad intentions. And you two... breathe."
Iva glanced at Raha, who still whispered, trembling: "Adi bhaiya..."
And for once, she hoped Adwait did come like a storm.
Because this time, they were going to need fire.
Raha sat curled against Iva on the cold bed, her small fingers clutching the sleeve of Iva's shirt as though it was the only anchor she had left.
"I want to go to Papa," she whispered, voice raw and broken.
Iva's heart clenched.
She smoothed the hair away from Raha's damp forehead and kissed it softly. "You'll see him soon, I promise," she said in that steady, mothering tone she never realized she possessed until now. "He'll come for you. Your Adi bhaiya too. Just rest for now."
Raha gave a weak nod, her breathing slow, shallow. Within moments, exhaustion pulled her into sleep - her small body finally going limp against Iva's side.
And Iva just sat there. Watching. Guarding. Thinking.
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Later that night, the steel door creaked open again.
Dmitri's voice echoed off the cement walls, laced with mock cheer.
"Dinner time, ladies."
Iva looked at him like he'd spoken a foreign language. "We're not hungry."
"I'm not here to offer choices," Dmitri said smoothly. "Just hospitality. Besides, your family's been informed."
Iva stilled. "...What?"
"Your father knows where you are. So does Rudra."
Raha's eyes narrowed. "You planned this?"
Dmitri tilted his head with theatrical innocence. "Not exactly. You were... a delightful surprise. Collateral damage, maybe. The real party's with Rudra."
A pause.
"See, your dear brother? He double-crossed us," Dmitri said, now tapping his finger against his temple as if recalling a fond memory. "And no one double-crosses us. So maybe this is payback. Or maybe it's just fun."
Iva's jaw clenched. "You're playing with fire."
Dmitri leaned in. "Good. It's been cold in Russia lately."
He turned and motioned for them to follow.
Raha stirred, blinking at the light spilling in through the hallway. Iva helped her to her feet, whispering soft comforts.
They were led into an opulent yet clinical dining hall - too lavish to feel safe. Everything gleamed in crystal and silver, but the men at every exit with rifles made it feel more like a prison masquerading as a palace.
Iva sat stiffly. She didn't touch a single thing.
Her eyes were fixed on Dmitri, and her thoughts were on Rudra.
He better be coming. Because this isn't just a payback - it's a trap.
And this time, the stakes were her sister.
Her silence.
And her survival.
The dining hall was carved in sterile grandeur - all high ceilings and white chandeliers, like something out of a dictator's palace. But the opulence couldn't mask the fear choking the air.
Iva sat with her back straight, chin high. She hadn't touched a single dish on the long, ornate table. Only the bowl of fresh fruits near her hand showed any sign of interest. She picked at a grape absently, more for distraction than nourishment.
Raha, on the other hand, looked pale. The heavy scent of meat, wine, and spices overwhelmed her senses. Her small face crumpled, and she turned away from the table with her hand over her mouth.
"I think I'm gonna-" she whimpered.
One of the guards stepped forward, metal glinting from the side of his holster.
"Eat," he growled, moving toward her. "Boss said everyone eats."
Raha flinched.
"Don't you touch her," Iva said coldly, rising halfway from her seat, hand protectively in front of Raha. Her voice was ice and warning.
The man didn't listen. He moved closer.
Maya, who had been silently watching from the far end of the table, finally looked up - slowly - like a cobra noticing movement.
Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, shifted to Nikolai at the head of the table.
And then she spoke. Calm. Low. Lethal.
"A scratch on her," she said, her voice slicing the room into attention, "and Jay will kill you."
The entire hall went still.
Jay? Who the hell was Jay now? Iva didn't ask - not in front of these monsters - but she mentally filed the name right under the ever-growing list titled: People I don't know but should probably fear.
Even the guard froze mid-step, something cold and primal flashing through his eyes.
Nikolai lifted his glass, sipping slowly before setting it down with deliberate quiet.
"I suggest," he said mildly, "we let the girl eat what she wants."
The man backed away, muttering something in Russian under his breath.
Iva looked at Maya - really looked.
She wasn't trembling. She wasn't confused. She wasn't even pretending anymore.
Her face was calm, expression unreadable, but her presence now? It was violent. Grounded. Electric.
Jay will kill you.
That name - like an invocation. A warning. A prophecy.
Iva swallowed hard and looked down at her plate.
And for the first time since landing in Russia, she realized-
She didn't know Maya Awasthi at all.
After dinner, the guards ushered them back toward their quarters, but Dmitri lingered behind, blocking Maya with a twisted grin.
"What do you want?" Maya asked flatly, arms crossed, stance unmoving.
Dmitri tilted his head, mocking her calm.
"It's none of your business, you fucking bitch," he spat and shoved her with the barrel of his gun.
She didn't flinch. Not even a blink. That unnerved him more than any threat.
Nikolai, watching from across the hall, chuckled lowly. "Seems like our lady here-" his eyes landed on Iva, "-is still amazed by the development happening around her."
Iva didn't respond. She stood still, regal despite the chaos. Despite the cracks inside her.
Nikolai set down his glass and adjusted his coat.
"I want to talk to Iva. Alone," he said. "Please, come to my study."
He didn't wait for agreement - just turned and walked away with the certainty of a man who knows no one says no to him.
Raha instantly grabbed Iva's hand. "Iva, no," she whispered, voice trembling.
Iva looked down at the girl - her eyes still wet from earlier. So young. So fragile. Too familiar.
She cupped Raha's face gently. "I'll be okay," she said softly, like a promise, even if she didn't fully believe it.
Maya didn't speak. But her eyes were locked on Dmitri, as if memorizing pressure points.
Iva followed Nikolai through the long marble corridor, each footstep echoing like a countdown.
Because no matter what this man wanted...
She knew one thing:
No one asked her for a conversation.
Unless they meant war wrapped in words.
As Iva walked through the gleaming corridor, led by silent guards and shadowed by memory, her chest felt tight - but her steps never faltered.
The light bounced off mirrored walls, but all she could see was the past.
Nine years ago.
A different room. The same country. The same smell of steel and blood in the air.
And the same mafia.
The same men who had stolen her innocence and left a scar across her soul.
Back then, she'd been just young - all fire and fear tangled together. She still remembered Dmitri's face - how she'd clawed it, carved her resistance onto his skin when he tried to touch her, when no one came.
She had screamed back then.
Now?
She walked in silence.
Her breath was steady, but inside... the old terror clawed at her ribs. The weight of that old abyss whispered to her again - let go, fall, no one's coming this time either.
But she shoved it down.
Because she couldn't afford fear.
Not now.
Not when Raha's fingers had clung to her sleeve like a lifeline. Not when Maya was bleeding war and mystery and still somehow tethered to her. Not when she was the only one keeping them from becoming collateral again.
If she fell into that abyss now, she wouldn't crawl back. Not this time.
Adwait, her heart whispered.
She bit her lip.
Oh, how she missed him. Missed his voice, missed the way he said her name like it was made of silk and stone. Missed his calm in the storm. Missed how his hand could ground her in seconds. How his silence spoke louder than the world.
And her family - her father's sharp, tired eyes. Twins' ridiculous protectiveness.
Now they felt like characters from another lifetime.
Please come soon, she thought. Someone. Anyone.
But outside, her face remained unreadable.
Because no one here would get to see her break.
Not now. Not ever again.
Kidnapped, again. Same mafia, better wardrobe - and this time, she even brought friends.
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