Virtue In Vices: Hacked Affections

02-Opening Gambit

I've been in California for a month now, and the mix of emotions I feel is indefinable. There's the constant fear of being caught, the draining task of erasing every piece of CCTV footage that might have captured me, and always having to move from hotel to hotel, city to city. Despite it all, there's a strange thrill in the air-I'm more than just happy; I'm alive.

Today, I lay sprawled on the bed, the dim light seeping through the curtains casting long shadows across the plain room. I let out a heavy sigh and resign myself to the reality: it's moving day again. I hate packing, I only bought some new clothes a few weeks after I fled Russia, I was too terrified to even peek outside during those first few days.

I didn't just burn down the mansion for the thrill of it-though I admit, setting Rafail Gusev's mansion ablaze was exhilarating.
No. It had to look like an attack.
The Gusev Bratva has had a long-time rivalry with the Volkovs, it became worse when I entered the picture and information leaked to them about the chip. Their hatred worsened and they threatened Rafail to kill me.There were two maids in the house-Ania and Kira, they were probably burnt to a crisp by the time the fire got put out, can't say I feel bad though, they were bitches.

So while the police run tests, he would have already come up with the conclusion that I'm one of them. He'd blame the Volkovs, unleashing his fury without a second thought. The plan was perfect-Rafail would trap himself in his vendetta, and by the time the police pieced it together, he'd have already made a bigger enemy of the Volkovs and dug his own grave-because boy do the Volkovs have connections.

I know my plan worked because Rafail didn't start tearing the whole of Russia apart to find me until two weeks later-I guess the forensics department had their hands full.. I could only imagine his shock and rage when he realized I had outsmarted him. Smiling, I snuggled deeper into my duvet, granting myself five more minutes of rest. My flight to San Francisco wasn't for another three hours. Screwing over Gusev could wait until after my two-month break.

~~~
Or maybe not.

Chaos had unfolded. I had a plan, so why was everything falling apart? Did they know I was there? Did they follow me here? Panic surged as a flurry of questions raced through my mind, each sip of my Negroni at the hotel bar counter sharpening my anxiety further.

Two days ago, as I made my way to San Francisco, I spotted two familiar Russians at the airport. They weren't Rafail's men exactly, but they were connected to him. Maybe I was just being paranoid; after all, we weren't even on the same flight. Still, as a precaution, I decided to stay at somr fancy hotel for a few days- its the last place they would expect to find me, hiding in plain sight. Besides I don't have to worry about cash, not yet at least.

I scan the bar, its ambiance perfect-a blend of subtle lighting and a low hum of casual conversation. I felt a flicker of normalcy. "Screw it, no one knows me here," I decided, beckoning the bartender. No one here knew me. "Make me a tequila. Manhattan," I call out to the bartender immediately aware of my jumbled request. I'm losing my mind.

I promised myself I wouldn't drink too much, but that resolve quickly crumbled because after 3 more I lost count "Whoa, I need to pee," I announce to no one in particular, giggling as I clumsily rose from my stool. My head was foggy as I wobble to the bathroom, patting myself on the back when I find it. "Yay! I did it," I mumble to myself. A blonde woman walks out brushing past me. "It's the women's bathroom that's for sure" I smile

I glare at my reflection in the mirror as I wash my hands. "I look like shit," I pout playfully before bursting into laughter. "But like hot shit." The giddiness fades as nausea hits. "I should get some sleep," I murmur, leaning heavily against the bathroom counter. I feel sick.

I sway slightly making my way back through the hallway to the elevator. "Do you need help, miss?" a hotel employee in a crisp red uniform asks with concern. I flash her a smile and shake my head, which I immediately regret as a new dizziness overwhelms me. I stumble into the elevator, clutching my head, trying to remember my floor. "Was it 30 or 36?"