8. Elena
ELENA
T he only sleep I got was in the form of my body caving to sheer exhaustion.
The Volkov men hadn’t acted like killers.
Yet.
The staff who came to this guest house didn’t treat me like I was a captive.
Yet.
Instead, I met all of the men who assisted Adrik. Maksim was the one who’d been in the car with me. He came with the others to interrogate me, warning me that if I lied, it’d show up with his research report. Investigators were checking me out, and I didn’t have the energy to laugh at that.
“Then prepare yourselves to be shocked by how little of a life I had,” I joked weakly.
I cringed after the self-deprecating moment. Then again, it wasn’t like I could sink any lower than I had. I was held at a Mafia family’s compound. Perhaps sentenced to be killed. Stuck with this identity of being complicit with knowledge of dangerous men’s businesses and financial records.
Viktor seemed like a smartass, not that I was in any position to judge. Nikolai struck me as an easygoing guy at first, but after a while of him checking me out, I felt flustered and na?ve to have so quickly dismissed my worries of being raped.
Lev was quiet, more perceptive than any of the others, while his older brother looked like a grumpy hard ass. Alexei was the one who seemed the hardest to convince of my story.
“It’s not a story,” I told myself when I woke up. A story implied fiction. And I hadn’t made up anything. Just like I hoped that being useful to them would make them not want to kill me, I prayed that being honest and upfront would enable them to believe me.
Or to start believing me.
An array of clothing was delivered to me with breakfast. No matter what I told the butler—or maybe he was another guard—I couldn’t reject any of it.
It was too much. Designer garments. New shoes!
My God, that was the surest sign of how no one had ever pampered me.
I wore out shoes until they were practically coming apart.
My father had never paid me well, or even competitively, and I was frugal to live within my means and salary.
After I tried things on, I settled on a new outfit. I left the tags on the majority of the things so I could talk sense into one of them and they could return the surplus.
When Adrik arrived, though, I wondered how I would be seen now. I refused to lower my guard despite having a wardrobe, food, and privacy to reside in a whole house all to myself, not an apartment bordered by loud neighbors.
He stood at the door, sizing me up, and I struggled with the worry that he was interested. Or that he wasn’t.
God. What am I even thinking?
My thoughts were scrambled. His proximity could do that to me, and I warned myself away from letting my mind be screwed up with the long looks he gave me.
“You left the tag on,” he observed coolly, neutrally and almost deadpan.
My cheeks heated up and I twisted at the waist to see where.
He reached out, his big hand coming toward my neck, and I froze in fear. When his long fingers snaked over my skin, I prayed that he wouldn’t notice how I shivered. I hoped he wasn’t so observant as to notice how I responded to his touch at all.
With a deft snap, he removed the tag and shoved it into his pocket.
“It seemed like too much,” I admitted.
“Not used to people caring about you?” he asked as he let himself in. Snapping his fingers, he wordlessly prompted a couple of men to bring in boxes.
I stepped back, watching them enter and set the things in the dining room. Quickly enough, I recognized the basics of a PC system.
“I…” Shaking my head instead of answering with words, I watched them efficiently set up a computer station.
No. I’m not used to people caring about me.
I’m not familiar with the concept at all, actually.
And nothing you do or say is going to trick me into thinking you care about me.
Adrik Volkov was an enigma, but he was also the man my father had quite literally given me to.
I’d tread carefully. “Are you interested in my offer, then?” I asked as I came into the room.
“Perhaps.” He gestured for me to sit, and I followed his order. When he pushed the chair in for me, I resisted another shiver of his fingers near me, this time as they curved over the top of the chair.
Within minutes, the men had set up the computer system and tested that I was connected to their secure network.
“There are a few files in a folder dated for April fifth of last year.”
I nodded and went to the folder so I could open it. “Invoices that went to a shell company in the Philippines,” I said, my memory jogged as I opened and maximized the files and spreadsheets. I felt truly pampered again. “Wow, this makes such a difference,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” he asked, looming over me.
I ignored the feeling that he was trying to intimidate me.
He didn’t need to actually stand behind me while I sat.
Just knowing he was in the same room with me reminded me of the larger-than-life effect he had on me.
And with him this close, his body heat reaching me and his clean cologne scent teasing my nose, it was impossible not to notice him.
“Um, this, uh, setup. Three monitors?” I let out a nervous laugh.
“That’s so efficient, instead of minimizing and reopening files on one.
” All the equipment was new and fast, nothing like what I was used to.
Turning slightly, I ignored how close he was to me and cleared my throat. “What, um what do you want me to do?”
“Find the error,” he stated.
“Error.” I shook my head. “There’s no error in here. I remember checking these invoices and sending them through. If I could log into the system that the firm used?—”
“Log in, then.” He tapped a notepad that the men had left. “There is a shortcut to the program.”
I gaped at the lined sheet of paper. “How…?” Whoa. “How did you get this?” I made the mistake of glancing up at him. “You hacked into it?”
He gave me a deadpan expression as a reply.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Okay. Um, I can show you the files and they will correspond.”
Five minutes later, though, I saw that they didn’t correspond. A few fields had been compromised, and the functions of many rows were altered. I highlighted them and explained why they were wrong. “But it wasn’t like this last April. I personally checked it all off.”
I spun in the chair to face him since he’d retreated and had taken up pacing through the room, seeming lost in thought.
He questioned me about a few more details, and I couldn’t escape how much this reminded me of a course I took in college where the professor would personally challenge us about other scenarios that could’ve happened to produce results.
He’s testing me.
While I enjoyed a challenge and I could talk about accounting and spreadsheets all day long—numbers and formulas were my love language—I wondered what it meant that he wanted to “hire” me.
I would still be treated as an asset. Not a person.
The only changes were that I wouldn’t work for my father at his firm, but directly here, under these Mafia men.
But would it be so bad?
So far, it was already freeing. My father had strict schedule expectations. With my pay, I couldn’t afford these kinds of clothes or this quality of gourmet food! And the bed I’d used last night was so much nicer than mine.
But deep down in my heart, I cringed at the fact that I would still be used. I’d still be subjected to maintaining the secrets of financial trails these criminals needed to cover up.
“Who would be able to do your job at Morovov Financials?” he asked bluntly.
I shrugged. “No one.”
He raised his brows.
“I mean it. No other office staff handled those accounts.”
“What about your father?”
I shrugged again but winced. “I doubt it. He didn’t ever actually do anything. Just acted like the owner and overlord.”
“Then who would be running things now ?” he asked before ordering me to log back in and check the current information that pertained to accounts tied to their client profiles.
I furrowed my brow as I took notes and checked what was going on. As I went, I explained that some things were already scheduled as repeated, routine transactions. But other things didn’t add up.
He ended up taking a seat next to me as I showed where financial irregularities popped up. I pointed out the information I’d always worked with and then the newer things input as recently as last night, after my… capture or handover.
“I always assumed that the clients like you had an internal team or at least a designated administrative officer who’d prepare the information that was sent to me at the firm.
I had no direct communication. No names.
It was all just dumped onto my drive to wade through and sort.
” I glanced at him to check that he was still with me.
“But if these new spreadsheets are to be trusted…” I grimaced and shook my head.
“What?”
“Well, they’re off. I know I haven’t touched them. I’ve been here in your custody. But based on the slight differences, my first guess would be that there is evidence of internal sabotage. Either at your end, with whoever processes things before they come to me, or at the firm.”
“Again, that’s why I want to determine your father’s reasoning to give you to me.”
“I…” I lowered my face, feeling ashamed. “I thought it was because you were mad about the mistake and being, um, who you are, he was worried that he’d be killed. So he offered me to you instead.”
“He cares that little about you?” he asked, piercing me with an intense stare.
I couldn’t stop the bark of a laugh that burst out of me. “What? Of course, he did. I mean, he cared about keeping me where I was and doing what I did.”
He never cared about me , though.
“Your father is under the impression that we will continue to employ his firm to handle our selective requirement of banking services.”
I gave him a dubious expression. “Weird. When I was the one who did it.”
“Who could replace you?”
“At the firm? No one.”
“He could hire an outsider.”
I shrugged. “He’d have to.”
Sitting back in the chair, he studied me. The more he did it, the more I could brace myself for his scrutiny. I bet I’d always wonder what he saw in me. What he noticed and what could bother him.
“Then I’ll do the same.”
I raised my brows. “Huh?”
“I’ll hire you, as an outsider. You can work with the bookkeepers in house and track what your father’s firm is doing with our accounts. Any discrepancies, you interfere from here and correct them.”
My mouth hung open. I wasn’t going to be killed. I wasn’t going to be released, either. As much as it pained me to acknowledge that I could only survive if I were useful, I wouldn’t toss away the opportunity to, well, to live.
Every day for the rest of the week, I “went” to work.
I showed up on time, ready to stay at the desk in a large study in the mansion where I guessed Adrik lived.
Maybe all his brothers and cousins lived there too.
It was the biggest residence I’d ever seen, but not once did I run into any of the other Volkovs who’d interrogated me that first day.
Adrik wasn’t with me constantly, but one of his bookkeepers would be there. A guard was always present. I was never alone, but the more I dug into the assignment of acting as an oversight or quality check person, my fear of being hovered over or micromanaged faded.
I pointed out mistakes in the files when Adrik asked for a report.
And it seemed like as the first week evolved into a second, he was making more of an effort to be present, attentive and listening to what I said, not dismissing me.
With time, he and Maksim, too, became increasingly worried that someone at my father’s firm or elsewhere could be messing with their accounts.
As I shifted into my role, I picked up on cues and clues.
When to speak. When to wait and defer to the men in the room.
When to jot notes and when to show someone something that stood out to me.
I learned in the process of being there and enmeshed in their setting that Adrik was more of an interim leader of the Bratva family.
The one night I asked if he’d just taken over the leadership, though, I learned the lesson of trespassing.
“You are asking too many questions,” he warned in that gruff tone.
I pressed my lips closed and damned my cheeks that heated in embarrassment.
It was only one question.
But I heard him and heard him well. It was one question too many.
“Sorry,” I said, backing off and lowering my gaze. “I meant no harm.”
And I didn’t mean to make the stupid choice of wishing I could learn more about him and his family.
Because where the hell would that go, El? What are you thinking?
I wasn’t here as a guest, despite them all giving me space and privacy with that guesthouse for me to stay in. I wasn’t here as his woman, duly reminded when I was escorted out of the mansion at the end of each workday.
I was just a thing. A tool to use. Not a person to value.
But that was a fate I could keep to myself, a fact I could cry myself to sleep over every night without anyone the wiser. Especially Adrik. Because he’d never convince me that he cared.