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"This asshole has completely lost it," Lina thought, inhaling the bitter smoke of her cigarette through her plump lips while holding her phone in her hands. "Thinks I'm just some fucking whore now, huh?! I'll bury him alive when I get my life and body back."
She stood in the bathroom, leaning against the sink. The mirror in front of her reflected her new appearance: dark hair with a slight wave, straight bangs, eyes slightly squinted and emphasized with eyeliner. The cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth, smoke swirling around, mixing with the smell of cheap air freshener. Lina hated this body. Hated every part of it. But most of all, she hated Arman, who was now calling the shots.
Just a week ago, she was Viktor. A man who was feared and respected. A mafia leader who held half the city in his grip. And now? Now she was Lina. Nothing. An illegal immigrant barely scraping by, working as a waitress in the bar she used to own. A bar that now belonged to Kristof, her former right-hand man who had taken the mafia boss’s place instead of Viktor, and who didn’t even know who she really was. And no one, except Arman, remembered who she truly was.
Arman Smirnov. Her former bodyguard, her pawn. Now, he was the only one who knew the truth. The only one who remembered Viktor. The only one who could help, especially with her immigration problems. But he demanded his price for that help.
The phone in her hand vibrated. A new message.
"Lina, where are you? Did you take the photo? I'm waiting."
She gripped the phone so hard her fingers turned white. "Asshole," she hissed through her teeth. "You think I'm your fucking bitch now?!"
But what was she supposed to do? No papers, no money, no connections. She was trapped. And Arman knew it. She needed to figure out who brought that fucking medallion that turned her into Lina and find a way to get her life back, and for that, she needed to stay in the US and preferably keep working at the same bar, where, on the second floor, was once her main office.
She lifted the phone again, trying to catch the right angle. Her beige top slid off one shoulder, exposing skin. The sweatpants she wore were old, with a barely visible pattern. She looked tired, but in her eyes, there was still a spark of the confidence she once had. The same confidence that used to make people tremble before her.
Lina pressed the button and sent the photo to Arman. The reply came almost instantly.
"What the hell is this photo? I asked for something sexy, not a face like an angry cat. Show me your tits. And make your face more feminine, send me a kiss."'
She gritted her teeth, feeling rage rise in her, and stared at the phone screen, losing all sense of reality for a moment. Her fingers clenched on the screen, and something inside her chest seemed to snap. — Is he out of his mind? — she hissed to herself. A storm of emotions flooded her mind: shame, anger, disgust, but at some point, all of it compressed into one point — desperation...