Chapter 5

Chapter Five

T atyana woke up swathed in luxurious cotton sheets, her shoes missing and her wrinkled skirt stiff around her body. She sat up slowly, trying to piece together what had happened.

She didn’t have a headache. She didn’t feel any aches at all save for the uncomfortable sensation that occurs when you sleep in dress clothes.

“What the hell happened last night?” She remembered her meeting with the terrifying CEO of SMO International, the cool professionalism of Elene Beridze, and shaking hands…

Shaking hands on thirty million dollars.

“Oh fuck!” She swung her legs out of the bed and set her feet on the floor, looking for her shoes.

She didn’t know where she was, but she had to get out of there. Forget her back pay. She’d been insane to go after it. She had to get home. She had to get back to her mother. Being a waitress was an option. Working in a soul-sucking job at the utilities authority was an excellent option.

Tatyana just had to get away from that handshake.

She raced around the hotel room only to come up short when she saw her battered suitcase sitting in the closet next to her shoes, her trainers, and the slippers she’d stuffed in her carry-on.

“What is happening right now?”

She walked over to the bathroom, and all her toiletries were laid out on the counter, supplemented by high-end hotel items. A robe was neatly folded on a cushioned bench.

Tatyana stepped back and looked—really looked—around the hotel room where she’d been sleeping.

Gold and marble and gilt mirrors.

A giant king bed, a generous sitting area near draped windows with a view of the city. What looked like French doors leading out to a wrought iron balcony that curved around the room. Persian rugs over dark, polished wood floors.

There was an espresso maker in the small kitchenette with a stack of shiny aluminum coffee pods and a giant bowl of fruit next to a tray of fresh pastries.

On the table near the kitchenette, her messenger bag was sitting next to something that looked like a letter. Tatyana walked over and rifled through her bag to check that everything was still in place before she picked up the letter.

Dear Miss Vorona,

I hope you’re feeling better this morning. My greatest apologies for the stressful day you experienced yesterday. According to my secretary, you failed to take a lunch or dinner break while you were waiting for me, and that might have contributed to your illness. I sincerely apologize for my late arrival, and I hope you’re feeling rested today.

I took the liberty of booking a room for you at the Admiral and having your bags moved over from your previous accommodation to make sure you are comfortable in Odesa since you’ll be staying for an extended time. Please speak to the concierge, Marina, should you need anything.

Ring the front desk when you are ready for breakfast and it will be delivered.

Your accommodations and all travel expenses while you are in Odesa will be covered completely by SMO International, of course, as all of us are eager to work with our new consultant on her upcoming project.

I have included my personal number at the bottom of this letter when you feel ready to come back to the office. Please use it when you’re rested and ready to proceed.

Sincerely,

Elene Beridze

P.S. The entirely of your wages for your last six months working for ZOL have been transferred to your personal accounts in Sevastopol on Mr. Sokolov’s direct orders, but I would appreciate if you could fill out the employment paperwork I have sent to your email address as soon as possible. I’m sure you can appreciate that my own bookkeeper would prefer that the necessary paperwork for your official intake is filled out promptly.

Mr. Sokolov has also instructed me to issue you a small retainer for your upcoming work to cover your expenses while you are consulting with us. We can discuss details when you come into the office later.

Tatyana dropped the letter on the table and immediately looked for her phone, which she found plugged into the wall with a charging cord she didn’t recognize.

“Oh God, oh God.” She tapped furiously to open her banking app, only to see all the money she was owed was already in her account. Along with an additional seven hundred thousand rubles.

And a separate transfer of eight million rubles.

Tatyana dropped her phone, and it rattled when it hit the marble counter.

Sokolov had deposited roughly one hundred thousand US dollars in her bank account overnight. She had no idea how or why the man had done it, but?—

Of course you know how.

Of course you know why.

Sokolov was as corrupt as Zara had been. Probably more.

Tatyana picked up her phone and sat down on the sofa overlooking the harbor as morning light poured through the gauzy drapes and her toes rested in the plush carpet of the luxury hotel suite.

She stared at the number again.

It was much harder to back out of a deal when doing so meant returning money. And, of course, it was a large reminder that one hundred thousand was only a fraction of the money Tatyana could make should she find the money Zara stole.

“Checkmate, Mr. Sokolov.” She felt a band tightening around her chest.

Tatyana, what have you done?

Someone knocked on the door, and she blinked back the tears that were threatening her eyes. She smoothed her hair back, shook out her wrinkled skirt, and tried to straighten her sweater before she opened the door.

A young woman in an elegant navy-blue suit was standing in the doorway next to a rolling rack filled with clothes in black garment bags. A pile of shoeboxes was lined up under the hanging rack.

“Good morning, Miss Vorona. My name is Lorala, and I’m the hotel stylist. Marina asked me to bring these clothes up for you to try on. She had to guess your size, but she’s usually very accurate. I brought a range of items from the boutique downstairs for you to try on.”

Tatyana stared at the rack of black garment bags, then glanced down at her wrinkled shirt. “Ms. Beridze ordered clothes for me?”

She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or embarrassed. Probably both.

“Oh no, Miss Vorona. Mr. Sokolov asked Marina to help you dress.” Lorala glanced at the polyester skirt Tatyana had bought years ago and her creased sweater. “He mentioned that you would be working at SMO and told her a more appropriate professional wardrobe was necessary. All of this is compliments of the hotel.”

“Mr. Sokolov ordered the clothes.” Tatyana’s cheeks were burning. “How… thoughtful.”

Lorala’s chin tilted up. “But if you’d be more comfortable in your own clothes, I would be happy to have yours dry-cleaned. We have a one-hour cleaner nearby, and I will take them myself.”

Tatyana felt her embarrassment wane in the face of the woman’s generosity. She had a spare shirt and a pair of summer trousers in her bag, but she knew they were shabby compared to the wardrobe of everyone in the SMO corporate offices.

“That won’t be necessary.” She opened the door for Lorala to come into the room. “I will be in Odesa longer than originally planned. This is very convenient and will save time. Thank you.”

Tatyana would be shooting herself in the foot if she passed up the opportunity for some better clothes. She needed to be taken seriously, and clothes were part of that. She couldn’t let her pride get in the way of professionalism.

The woman was clearly in her element. “I’ll order breakfast for you, and then I can lay out some outfits while you get cleaned up. We’re going to make you look amazing.”

Tatyana was dressed in a muted grey-blue suit that complemented her eyes when she slipped into the car that would take her back to SMO International. Her battered messenger bag was unchanged, but her hair was carefully twisted into a neat chignon, her feet were cushioned in a pair of stylish low-stacked heels, and her makeup was understated and elegant.

By the time Lorala was finished, Tatyana hardly recognized herself, but the stylist was clearly satisfied and promised to bring even more clothes the next day.

“They brought clothes to your hotel room?” Her mother was almost shouting into the phone.

Tatyana held the phone away from her ear and hoped the driver couldn’t hear her mother’s voice. “I’m going to be staying in Odesa longer than I thought. I’m sure this just saves time. That’s why I’m calling.”

“How long will you be gone?” The nerves were evident in Anna’s voice. “I thought you could be a bookkeeper from home? Do you need a new computer? Is your old one not good enough?”

“It’s not about my computer.” Her hand rested on the laptop as if it was a talisman that could protect her. “I’ll know more after I meet with Ms. Beridze this afternoon, but the good news is they’ve already paid all my back wages.”

“Of course they did. Didn’t I tell you they would? There are laws about this, Tanya. They cannot refuse to pay people. That’s not legal .”

“You did tell me.” Tatyana sometimes envied her mother’s simple views in life. Anna knew that corruption existed, but it was something that happened to big people with big money, not ordinary people who worked as bookkeepers. “And you were right, Mama. So I already transferred money to your account, okay? You can pay back Karol and the bill at the grocery. There’s also enough in there for next month’s electricity too, and if you want to go to the movies or something with Gabi, you have some money for that too.”

“Gabi was gossiping about me.”

“I don’t know about that.” This was typical of her mother. She was highly paranoid.

“No, she was. I can tell. She was talking on her phone, and when I walked into the restaurant, she got off her phone and was quiet, so obviously she was talking about me.”

She had no idea what was going on with her mother, but Anna had been like this as long as Tatyana could remember. “We’ll talk about it when I get home. If you want to go to a movie, you could go on your own.”

“What fun is that?” Anna huffed out a breath. “There’s nothing good at the cinema anyway. All the movies are too loud.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and rubbed a circle on her temple. “I’m just telling you there’s a little extra money if you want to do something fun, okay? Take the car to the farm for a visit if you want.” They’d spent all their savings paying the taxes on the place. Anna should enjoy her childhood home. Sometimes it was the only place that made her happy.

Tatyana continued. “In fact, you could take Pushkin and go up to the farm for a week or so. The weather will be better than the city.”

“You think I want to listen to that cat howling for three hours?”

Tatyana pressed her eyes closed. Her mother had been given a grey Siberian kitten when Tatyana was twenty and away at school. Even though she hadn’t known the cat from birth, Pushkin immediately took to Tatyana when she came home for holidays, and Anna had never truly forgiven the animal for preferring Tatyana when Anna was the one who fed and brushed him.

“I know Pushkin doesn’t like his carrier, but he loves being at the farm. Three hours isn’t that much if you’re staying for the week. It’s just an idea.” She noticed the driver turning onto the tree-lined street where SMO was located. “I need to go to work.”

“Don’t cause trouble.”

“I won’t, Mama.” She ended the call and noticed the driver watching her in the rearview mirror. “Parents.”

“I have two of them.” He shrugged. “I know.”

She muttered, “I only have the one, but most days she feels like three.”

The driver chuckled. “What would we do without them though?”

It was a horrible thought, so Tatyana didn’t even entertain it. “Do you only work for SMO? Is this a company car? I didn’t even ask if I should pay you.”

“No, no.” He waved a hand. “I’m always on call. A lot of the upper-level executives don’t drive. At least this car has power steering.”

Tatyana blinked. “Some of them don’t?”

“Mr. Sokolov and Mr. Arakis prefer antique vehicles.”

A flash of something in her memory.

“Relax, Tatyana.”

“Who are you?”

“Oleg.”

Another voice from outside the luxurious old car.

“The concierge is bringing a chair over.”

She’d been in an antique car with Mr. Sokolov the night before.

“ Oleg Sokolov?”

The driver nodded. “Yes, Mr. Sokolov.”

But that was… impossible. The Oleg Sokolov she’d met couldn’t have been over fifty. If he was over forty, she would be shocked.

“What’s to stop me from taking that bag with all your documents and your computer and getting rid of you tonight?”

“Oleg.”

“Maybe I don’t want to give her a percentage of thirty million dollars she didn’t earn.”

Caught in the shock of thirty million dollars and the stressful negotiations with Sokolov the night before, the man’s first name had hardly registered.

It was a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence. Oleg wasn’t a common name. It wasn’t uncommon either.

Because there was no way that the Oleg Sokolov—the beautiful and terrifying man who ran SMO International—was Zara’s own father.