6. Viviana

I practice my speech to Mr. Fredrickson on my walk from the train to work, but I don't get any further than "I know I'm late again, but please don't fire me. Think of the children!" before I walk through the front doors.

Cerberus Industries shares the building with three other businesses. I have no idea what the other ones are, but the first floor is a catch-all lobby space. Jackie waves from behind the front desk.

She's been the main lobby receptionist as long as I've worked here. She technically doesn't work for any of the companies that lease space. She's also on the building's payroll as a member of "security" even though she's five-foot-nothing and can barely see over her own desk. Not exactly reassuring to the paranoid amongst us—a.k.a., me.

I wave back, but Jackie stands up and flags me down. Her eyes are wide. My boss must have called down to ask if I was in the lobby yet.

"I know, I'm late," I say before she can. "I'm going to appeal to Mr. Fredrickson's compassion. If that doesn't work, I'll appeal to his laziness. No way he wants to find a new personal assistant right now."

"Based on what I'm hearing, he doesn't need a personal assistant anymore," she whispers. "He's gone."

"Like… dead?" I gasp.

I'm definitely going straight to hell because a small part of me thinks, At least he'll never find out I was late again.

Jackie shakes her head, leaning in closer. "He's out as CEO. All the executives are out. The entire board of directors has been replaced."

I look around the lobby and notice that there are a lot more worried faces down here than usual. The men in suits typically march through the lobby straight for the elevators. They're too important to waste time smiling or waving. No, business must be done. Industrial metals must be sold.

But today, they're huddled together talking in low voices.

"Cerberus?" I double-check. "That's where I work. That's what you're talking about?"

"I know where you work, Margaret. Five years you've been here. You think I don't know you better than that?"

You'd be surprised.

"That can't be right," I insist anyway. "They would have sent an email or something."

"There was no one left to send an email. They were all fired." She says it slowly like it might help me process what is happening. "Security had to drag the CFO away from the doors at midnight last night. He was trying to get in to clean up his office, but he doesn't have access."

"Paul?" I wrinkle my nose. "God only knows what he kept on his desktop. Losing his job will be the least of his worries if they decide to go through his search history."

Jackie snorts with laughter and then quickly swallows it down when she gets a nasty look from a passing suit. Today is a somber day.

"I'm sure your job will be safe," she whispers. "There's no reason to fire everyone. It would make too much work. They need people who know how this place actually runs. That's definitely you."

"Yeah. I'm sure you're right," I say, smiling weakly.

But by the time the elevator doors close, my smile is gone and a full-on panic has set in.

I can't afford to lose this job. Financially, obviously. I have bills to pay and a growing mouth to feed. Dante goes through snacks like a bear bulking up for winter. The amount of food he can put in his forty-pound body is shocking.

But also, I got this job under a false name. A false name I legitimized with very expensive fake documents that I only got by making a deal with the devil himself: my dad.

But that was under duress.

After I left Mikhail asleep in that hotel suite six years ago, I went on the run. Which mostly meant I stayed in motels that didn't charge my card until after I was checked out. It was a simple plan that made it hard to track me.

It also fell apart the moment the exhaustion and morning sickness set in.

One day a couple months after my great escape, I was too busy hurling my guts into a barely-sanitized motel toilet to pack up and hustle off before checkout time. The motel charged my card and dear old Dad was on my doorstep within a half-hour.

He saw me hunched over the toilet. He saw the pregnancy test in the trash. I literally watched my worth dwindle in his eyes as he understood what was happening.

I was pregnant.

No one would touch me now. He couldn't marry me off to the highest bidder if I was knocked up with someone else's baby.

"You're getting an abortion," he announced. "Now. Get up. We're leaving."

"I can't."

He grabbed me hard around the elbow. "Then don't stand. I'll drag you if I have to."

I shook him off. "I can stand. But I can't get an abortion."

"Why not?" he growled.

In that split second, I had a decision to make. The most important decision of my life.

Also the easiest.

I was going to do whatever it took to save my baby.

"Trofim may be exiled, but I have another connection to the Novikov Bratva." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then pointed down to my stomach. "This baby belongs to Mikhail Novikov."

Just like that, I was in my father's good graces again.

Mikhail was still young. Untested. His takeover of the Novikov Bratva was anything but certain. Iakov seemed to be rolling over for his son, but there was no way to be sure Mikhail's mini-mutiny would finish successfully. Not yet.

Besides, my father was happy to have me up his sleeve. A trick card he could whip out when he needed it.

At least, that's what he muttered as he paced back and forth across my room while I tried to keep some water down.

"You said Trofim is exiled?" he asked, changing trains of thought too fast for me to follow.

"Yeah. Mikhail gave him an out. He didn't kill him."

My father resumed his pacing, muttering something about liabilities and assurances.

Then he turned to me, a wicked smile on his face. "How much is your freedom worth, Viviana?"

I can tell you right now: it was worth enough that I don't want to pay that price again. If I lose this job and have to start over, I don't know what I'll do.

The ghosts of my past are swirling around my foggy head as the elevator doors open and I step into the office proper of Cerberus Industries. Twisted metal sculptures line the main hallway, showcasing the kind of quality metals you can expect from Cerberus.

No one likes when you point out that we rarely receive quotes for art installations. Our money comes from the perpetual construction all over the city that everyone always complains about.

Stainless steel for new builds is our primary money maker. Then there's aluminum for vehicle manufacturing, magnesium alloy for aerospace, and copper for—Oh God, what am I going to do with all of this useless information once I'm laid off?

There's an unnatural hush in the hallways.

No footsteps clicking across the tile floors. No catching up on last night's shows while people wait for the machine to spew out their single cup of burnt instant coffee.

I'm too deep in my own head to think about where everyone else is. I'm too busy wondering if I'm going to turn the corner and find my desk packed into a box with my name scribbled on the side. I've never been fired before, but I've seen it in movies. That's how it usually goes.

I'm so worried about what's ahead of me that, for the first time in years, I'm not thinking about what's behind me.

Until a voice I'll never forget calls down the hall.

"Finally. I've been waiting for you."

No.

This is a nightmare. A waking nightmare. I'm hallucinating under the stress. That's the only explanation why he would be here.

"You're the P.A., aren't you? You're late."

I don't move. The wall of windows in front of me looks tempting. I'll throw myself out of them.

Dante.

Oh, shit. Dante.

I can't jump. I can't run. There's no way out. No escape. I don't have a choice.

Slowly, I turn around. I already know who I'm going to see, but the sight of him still knocks me back.

His name rushes out of me in a single breath. "Mikhail."