Instead, she made it more difficult on herself by forcing herself to buy liquor. Which meant going out … entering a store and being around people. She didn’t like doing that—didn’t like the idea that she might have to talk to a strange man who gave her a bad vibe. Although, all men she didn’t know gave her that vibe.
She was quick to find the vodka she preferred—Grey Goose. It would probably kill her father a little inside to know she didn’t like his favorite brand of vodka. Russians had their ways, after all, but she needed something a little smoother than the brand he liked. At least with her Grey Goose, she could mix it strongly with something else and drink it down fast. It wasn’t like she actually liked the taste of liquor. She just liked the way it allowed her to sleep without—
The ring of her phone stopped Viktoria’s inner monologue, which frankly, was probably for the better. She didn’t need to keep trying to justify to herself why she was drinking or how it wasn’t a problem.
One didn’t need to drink all day, every day, to have an issue.
She didn’t want to think about it.
“Viktoria, here,” she said, answering her phone as she sat the bottle of Grey Goose on the counter for the cashier.
“Sestra.”
She scowled at Konstantin’s greeting. “What do you want, Konstantin?”
“You’ve been to your therapist?”
“How do you know that?”
“Your attitude.”
“Oh, not because you have me followed?”
“Well, that is for protection, and you never see the person, do you?”
Viktoria’s face felt like it was going to permanently stay in some form of a scowl or frown for the rest of her life if she didn’t get this shit under control. She also wasn’t stupid enough to miss the fact that Konstantin purposely refrained from saying he when it came to the solider for the Boykovs who occasionally kept an eye on her. He’d made the mistake of telling her it was a man once, and that hadn’t ended well when she’d realized a strange male followed her around pretty regularly. He tried not to make the same mistake a second time.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Nineteen dollars, twenty-three cents,” the girl behind the cash said.
Konstantin, on the phone, said calmly, “Have you picked out a gift for Kolya and Maya’s baby shower yet?”
“Have you made that Italian wife of yours any more Russian?”
“There’s no need to be purposefully hurtful.”
“That depends on who you ask.”
Konstantin grunted under his breath. “You really do make it a chore to be pleasant, Vik.”
And …?
“Did you just call me to remind me of the party?” Viktoria asked. “Because I will be there, and with a gift, brat.”
“And with a kind attitude, hmm?”
“I’ll try.”
Konstantin sighed. “Best I can ask, I suppose. And no, that isn’t why I called. It was just something I remembered when you picked up the phone.”
Oh, good.
Something else …
“I have a job for you to do,” Konstantin said, “at the Compound.”
Viktoria’s brow dipped. “I rarely go there … and what kind of job?”
“The only thing we ever ask you to do for the Bratva.”
Ah, yeah.
“A tattoo, then,” she muttered.
“Stars, actually.”
Viktoria’s jaw felt like it was flexing harder with every second because now it was starting to ache. “On a man?”
“Details,” her brother countered, “and we can deal with those tomorrow when you get here.”
“Kon—”
“Tomorrow at twelve in the afternoon, yes? Be here.”
He hung up.
She cursed him to hell and back while paying for her vodka.
• • •
Viktoria hated the Compound. No, that was too nice. She despised the place. It was huge, old, and smelled like it, too. In her memories from childhood, this place had never done anything good for her. The only time she remembered her father bringing her to the Boykov Compound was if something bad was going on, and he didn’t have a choice but to have her tag along, too.
She purposefully tried to avoid the maze of warehouses—and one old factory—that made up the Compound because unlike her brothers who had their offices here, there was nothing about the place that comforted her.
Like now.
Because she was lost.
Fuck.
That was the thing about the Compound. It was far too easy for someone like her—who wasn’t familiar with the many hallways, stairwells, and connected warehouses—to get lost by simply taking a wrong turn. She was sure her brothers could navigate this musty-smelling hellhole with their eyes closed. After all, they’d spent the majority of their life behind these walls, under the watchful eye of their father.
Her?
Ha.
She had no idea where she was.
Viktoria felt like she had now been walking around the Compound aimlessly for at least twenty minutes—a good estimation. She could absolutely call her brother, and have Konstantin come find her, but she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Knowing him, he would likely take great enjoyment from the fact she had managed to get lost and needed him to come find her.
He probably already knew she was lost.
She glanced up and saw a camera pointed in her direction at the end of the hallway in the right corner. A blinking red light told her the thing was live and watching every movement that happened in the hallway. No doubt, her brother was watching those cameras, and just waiting for her to call him for help.
Nope.
She would figure this out on her own.
Viktoria stuck her middle finger up to the camera as she passed it by. Just in case her brother was watching her and
