Chapter 6 - Fiona

When I wake up the following day, Boris is gone.

I stretch languidly in bed, taking my time and letting my back pop. Last night, Bor-y Wor-y wasn't very happy that I'd gotten free from the little tie-up he had me in, and he made that perfectly clear as he tied me to the armchair, kind enough to leave the book in my lap when he left. He sent a servant into the room with me to keep a watch over me, and I recognized the man's shoes—it was the butler from the hallway before.

"Hey, man," I said, "sorry about the whole tricking you and your girlfriend thing."

His eyes were hard and distant but darted to mine at the word girlfriend .

"Mary-Anne is not my girlfriend," he said, crossing his arms.

"Aren't you kind of young to be a butler?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I thought butlers had to be old as hell. Then again, what do I know? I've never even seen a butler in real life. I kind of thought they were a myth. Like Bermuda."

"First of all," the butler had said, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Bermuda is a real place, and second, I'm not a butler—I'm a housecarl."

"A what ?"

"I take care of the house, manage small tasks, fix stuff, that kind of thing."

"Sounds like a butler to me."

The man pressed his lips together, pointing his exasperated look elsewhere.

"Do you mind flipping the page for me?" I'd asked, nodding my head down at the book. The butler stood and crossed the room, flipping the page as carefully as possible without touching me.

"Did Bor-y Wor-y tell you not to touch me?" I asked, looking up at him through my eyelashes. When he didn't answer, I cleared my throat. "I wonder what happens to employees who break the code of conduct by having intimate relations with—"

"Yes!" the butler said quickly. "We were all warned not to lay a hand on you."

"Interesting," I said, slipping my hand free of the tie and turning the page before putting my hand back into the loosened loop. The butler had looked at me with wide eyes, which made me laugh.

"I don't know why he hasn't just used handcuffs at this point," I said, shrugging, "though I do know how to get free of those, too. When I was a little girl, I used to dream about getting kidnapped the way other little girls dreamed about princes and stuff. I thought it would give me a real chance to show off my skills. But this is a whole other thing together—getting kidnapped by a member of the Russian mob? The little girl inside me is freaking out."

"It's not—how do you know about the Russian—" the butler started.

"Hey, man, you don't have to worry about me," I said, "I understand what it's like to be the help. But you have to understand my position, too. I may be enjoying this a bit, but I also need to make sure I don't let my guard down. So, here's what's going to happen—you're going to tell me everything you know about Boris and his family, and I won't breathe a word about you and Mary-Anne. Sound good?"

He let out a sigh, his entire body deflating.

"Oh, and what's your name?" I'd asked, flipping the page again. "Seems unfair that you know mine, and I don't know yours."

"Ivan."

" Ivan ?" I'd laughed. "Bit on the nose, isn't it? You don't look like an Ivan."

He'd just sighed again, then reluctantly answered most of my questions. That meant that by the time Boris came back to the room last night, showering and hunkering his big body down on the couch, I knew a lot more about him than he probably thought.

Now, I know that while Boris isn't the leader of the Bratva—which is what Ivan called the Russian mafia—he is the leader of a local branch, which gives him a lot more power than the rest of the suckers here. He has three brothers—Roman, Viktor, and Anton—and a sister named Anya. According to Ivan, Viktor is the one I need to watch out for. First, because he's the most likely to go off-script and kill someone, and second because he's apparently royally pissed about the knife-to-the-leg thing.

I sit up in the bed and look around the room. Boris is already gone, the room steaming from the shower, but no sight of the big man.

Heading to the connected bathroom, I shudder when I realize the only thing in the shower is a three-in-one men's soap. Groaning internally, I use it to clean my body, feeling clean but ridiculous as I towel off. My hair, which is used to particular shampoo and conditioner, rebels against the soap, somehow being both dry and greasy at the same time.

When I hear the door to the bedroom open, I turn, running into the room, stopping short when I see its Boris, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes me in, his eyes wandering up and down my body.

My brain tells me to drop the towel. I tell my brain that's an insane idea and tighten my hold around the top of the towel. Boris's eyes narrow in on my hand there, gripping the only thing that's keeping me from being naked in front of him, and I take a stuttering breath.

I need to get control of this situation again.

"Hey, Bor-y," I say, fighting to keep my voice level as his eyes track me through the room. I come to sit in my favorite armchair, keeping one hand on the towel as I run my other hand through my hair. "If you're going to keep me here, I need some stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah—first of all, the only thing I have to wear is that housekeeper's uniform because you never returned my clothes."

"Well, when you knock out one of my staff, I'm not sure you deserve to have your clothes back. Besides, she had to wear them home since she had nothing else to put on."

"Tell her I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, I'll do that if she ever comes back to work."

I laugh a little at that, feeling triumphant when my laugh makes him smile.

"Anyway," I say, "I need shampoo, conditioner, good body wash, exfoliator—"

"Just tell Ivan what you need," Boris says, crossing the room and grabbing his jacket. I feel ridiculous, chatting away with the man who kidnapped me like it's nothing, but if I'm honest, this is the most relaxed I've been in a long time. Lounging around, meals brought to me, napping, watching television—since starting business school and this internship, I haven't had a lazy Sunday in weeks. During the weekdays, I just work and work, hustling my ass off to try and get ahead. During the weekends, I spend my time catching up on laundry, trying to make appointments, cleaning my apartment, and meal-prepping before I fall into bed. I am exhausted on Sunday and ready for the week, but still highly strung.

"Where are you going?" I ask, following him, still in just my towel. I watch his throat bob in his neck when he turns back to me, looking like he's struggling to keep his eyes on my face.

"That's none of your business," he says, right when a voice calls from outside the door, "Brother, are you ready to stake out the Allards, or what?"

"Allard?" I ask, searching Boris's face. It's a stone wall, but one that I can read. I laugh. "You're wasting your time with that. Maybe Mr. Allard is caught up in some shady stuff—he never lets me near the books, and that's probably for a reason—but he's not an evil person. He's certainly not involved in the mafia , okay? I would have noticed, working for the guy for months and months."

Boris stares at me, his mouth slightly open.

"You really didn't know?"

"You have the wrong guy, Bor-y," I say, stepping toward him. Over the past few months, I've been working for Mr. Allard; he's taken me under his wing. Like the father I wished I always had—one who cared for me instead of preparing me for the next apocalypse. Mr. Allard had groceries delivered to our apartment once a week—organic produce, prepared meals, and healthy ingredients. Obviously, Olive was his priority, but he liked how driven I was.

I think about a time he'd pulled me to the side, his voice low so the other interns wouldn't hear.

"I see you, Fiona," he'd said, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. "I see all the late nights you've been putting in. I just want you to know that your efforts aren't in vain. My daughter isn't interested in this company, and I'll need someone to take over my enterprise. Perhaps, if you keep heading in this direction, that someone can be you."

Even thinking about that, the way he had talked to me, like I was so full of potential, fills my heart with something warm. Mr. Allard showed me he was proud of me—something my father never did.

"If you're so sure," he says, "then why don't you come along for this one, Fiona? Since you seem to have such a good handle on the Allards."

"Mr. Allard would never kidnap someone and force them to get married," I counter, to which Boris lets out a menacing laugh. For the first time since I first saw him in the office, a shot of fear ran through my chest at the sound.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Boris says, stepping close to me, his voice low and uncompromising. "And don't you ever, ever compare me to that fucking sleazeball of a man again. Got it?"

I swallow but don't answer. He stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, Ivan appears, diverting his eyes when he sees I'm in just a towel.

"Here," he says, holding out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that's much too big for me. Then, to my surprise, he produces a tablet. "Mr. Milov has instructed me to let you order what you wish from this. It won't allow communication, and I'll be watching you the entire time, so don't think about trying to message anyone or call for help."

"Oh, Ivan," I say, running a hand down his arm and watching as he flinches away from the touch, his eyes darting to the door. "I wouldn't dream of it."

I take the tablet and click around, ordering a bunch of stuff. Why shouldn't I get what I want if it's going on Bor-y's credit card? Reparations for kidnapping me, I think. First, I head to a beauty site and order everything I need to take a good shower—the best shampoo and conditioner, body scrub, body wash, razors, and plenty of creams and serums. I get a full line-up of skincare I never would have been able to afford on my own. Perfumes.

I glance at Ivan, who looks bored and unbothered about the cart's total.

"Is that all?" he asks when I hand him the tablet so he can pay.

"No," I say, pulling it back and adding more—makeup, treatments, an expensive hair dryer, everything I can think of that I've ever wanted. When I hand the tablet back to him, he processes the transaction without blinking an eye.

How much money has Boris cleared for me to use?

We repeat that process as I buy myself clothes—luxury loungewear, exercise clothing, and even a few sparkly dresses. Ivan raises an eyebrow at me, but I just shrug.

"I'm stuck here," I say, "I might as well have some fun. What do you want, Ivan? I'll throw something on here for you."

He doesn't answer, so I throw some extra candy on my order of snacks and drinks. Surely, there will be something Ivan likes. He looks like a Red Vine kind of guy, I think, so I throw those in the cart, too.

Halfway through the shopping extravaganza, a server arrives with lunch—Monte Crisco sandwiches and fresh coleslaw. I've never eaten this good in my life. After finishing lunch, I get back to shopping.

When it's all said and done, I've easily spent more than $10,000 of the Bratva's money. Ivan runs through the delivery dates for the different things, which are all expedited to arrive in the next few days.

It's staggering to think about what my life would be like if I had this kind of money at my disposal. My student loans paid off. My other debt, gone. No rent—I wouldn't even have to work.

Unless my work involved doing something with the Bratva—maybe teaching them how to bind people more effectively?

There's a knock at the door, and I go immediately, assuming it's another server, but with dinner this time. Instead, when I open the door, it's Boris, looking dark and handsome in a plain black suit.

"You think the Allards are respectable people?" he questions, his eyes roaming over my face. His voice is terse. "Come with me."