It turned out that John hadn't been exaggerating. Isabelle Rochev was a terrible human being.

And what was worse: she was staying at the Queen Mansion for the duration of her time in the States.

Felicity had the extreme displeasure of having to run into her first thing in the morning, on her way to the Queen's workout facility, out by the greenhouse. Felicity wore a pair of tattered sweatpants and grungy old SCCC shirt, her uncombed hair pulled up in a messy ponytail and the flyaway hairs held back by a tight elastic headband. Isabelle, on the other hand, looked like she just stepped off the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog, in a burgundy silk negligee, the cups of her breasts lined with black lace. And, of course, her hair was perfect.

"Oh," Felicity said in surprise. "Ms. Rochev. Wow, you're — I didn't expect — I mean, what are you doing here?"

Isabelle's eyes narrowed as she glared at Felicity. "I should be asking you the same question," she answered coldly. "Aren't you supposed to be Mr. Queen's executive assistant?"

Felicity blushed. "I am. I just...extenuating circumstances made it so that I have live in the mansion. For the time being."

Isabelle's frown just deepened. "Don't you think it's inappropriate for a secretary to be living in the same house as her boss?"

Felicity stiffened at the way she said the word secretary. She wanted very much to snap back that she wasn't just Oliver's secretary, but she couldn't even say that — the way he'd been treating her lately, she certainly didn't feel that way.

Instead, all she could say in response was, "It couldn't be helped." And before Isabelle could lob another accusation her way, Felicity turned on her heel and practically jogged down the hall to get to the workout facility.

While she was on the treadmill, she pretended that with each step she was crushing Isabelle's head with her feet.

And as she ran, she planned.

Oliver wasn't letting her into the Bratva planning meetings, which was seriously hampering her ability to do her job. And Isabelle Rochev was here, from Moscow. That had to mean something was happening. Maybe Rochev was trying to hand down an order from the main cell. Maybe she was checking up on things. Maybe she was here to help strategize in the war against the Triad.

Finding out why she was there wouldn't be difficult — after all, John was still in all the meetings, so he'd be able to keep everyone briefed. He was the scout; he was supposed to get all the information and pass it on.

But it was her job to get close to Oliver. It was her job to get to know him, to get into his head and predict what he was going to do in any given moment to help the FBI to best develop a strategy to take down the Bratva.

Right now, she was failing miserably at doing her job. And if there was one thing Felicity hated, it was not being able to do her job to the best of her abilities.

She slammed her fist into the machine in frustration.

When she had finished her run, Felicity walked back to her room on her exhausted legs. Luckily, Isabelle was nowhere to be seen.

Another silent day at QC passed, followed by another silent car ride back to the mansion. Felicity was starting to worry that she would lose her ability to speak soon enough.

After another solitary dinner, Felicity decided to bring a book out to the living room out by the foyer. Even though she wasn't in on the meetings anymore, she knew Oliver had a boevik meeting. She wanted to position herself near the entrance when they came in, to see if they would say anything of note on their way to Oliver's office.

The first to arrive were Gold and Fyers. The two of them barely even glanced her way as they breezed right past her, but then again, she hadn't expected them to.

Sin and Roy showed up a few minutes afterward. They were talking to one another under their breaths, but when Sin spotted Felicity, her face broke into a genuine smile.

"Yo, Blondie," the younger woman greeted her. Felicity felt warmth and relief seep through her in spite of herself.

"Hi, Sin," Felicity answered. "Hi, Roy. How are you guys?"

"Good," Roy answered, reaching out to bump his fist against Felicity's. "But what are you doing out here? Why aren't you in the boss' office?"

Felicity grimaced. "Your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, the meeting's going to get a little crowded tonight. Isabelle Rochev is here."

Sin and Roy both groaned. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Roy grunted.

"What the fuck is that uppity bitch doing here?" Sin growled.

"Maybe the guys in Moscow got tired of having her up their asses, so they sent her here to annoy us for a while instead," Roy answered darkly.

That made Felicity giggle.

"Well, whatever the reason," she continued, "you're stuck with her for the night. Sorry about that."

Sin and Roy exchanged wary glances.

"You're beyond lucky, Blondie," Sin muttered under her breath. "You don't have to deal with her judging glare."

"Oh yes I do," Felicity answered. "She's staying in the guest room next to mine."

Roy and Sin made identical noises of sympathy. With one last wave, they left her and walked toward Oliver's office.

With all of the boevik present and accounted for, Felicity went up the stairs back to her room. Once she was there, she grabbed her phone and plugged her headphones in. Then she opened the transmitter app on her phone and tapped into the secret wireless transmitting listening device she had planted in Oliver's office long ago, as a precaution. At the time, she'd been on good terms with him, so she never thought she'd need to use it.

Now, however, she was glad she did.

The first thing Felicity heard was glasses clinking and a low, collective, "Prochnost." Good, she thought to herself. They were just starting.

"All right, status report," Oliver's voice ordered. "Start with you, Gold."

A deep voice filled Felicity's headphones. "We haven't had any more trouble with the feds. The flow has been steady, and last week we had net profits of $16 million."

Felicity felt guilt well up within her. In her horror over Vertigo's side effects, she had persuaded Lyla and Waller to start going after the lines of supply prematurely. The plan failed spectacularly — it nearly blew her and Digg's cover, and they had to shift suspicion to Ivo because of it.

She didn't shed any tears over the horrible man's death, but she felt responsible for the failed plan they had to abandon. Which meant more and more people were getting hooked on Vertigo and more and more people were dying because of her.

Lyla kept trying to comfort her with logic. It wasn't like she was actually selling the stuff.

But it didn't keep the guilt from gnawing at her.

"Good," Oliver said in an approving tone. "Fyers."

A throat cleared and the man's gruff Australian accent filled Felicity's ears. "Our lines of supply are growing stronger and stronger," he answered. "In fact, we're close to getting the Yakuza on our side."

"Really?" Oliver asked.

"Yes. They've seen the addictiveness of the drug, plus they see the money the Bertinellis are raking in and they want a cut. They're willing to let us use their distribution lines for forty percent of profits, but I think we can negotiate them down to twenty."

"No," Oliver said immediately. "Fifteen percent is the most I will do."

"That's going to be impossible," Fyers growled.

"Then they can forget it," Oliver said. "Every day, more and more people are getting hooked on Vertigo and we are the sole suppliers. If the Yakuza wants to do business with us, they'll have to do it on our terms. You make sure they know."

A feminine chuckle followed his pronouncement, and Felicity felt a stab of annoyance when she realized it was coming from Isabelle.

"Well look at you, Oliver," she purred in a voice that could only be described as seductive. It made Felicity want to retch. "Just four months ago, you refused to deal Vertigo. Now you're talking about opening lines of distribution."

Sharp hatred surged through Felicity's veins. She talked as if the deaths of hundreds of people in Starling City didn't matter. She talked as if the steady loss of Oliver's humanity was a good thing. God, how she wanted to run this bitch over with a van.

Thankfully, the Bratva captain didn't answer her.

"Roy," he said.

"The Triad's been laying pretty low ever since the hostage incident at the gala," he answered. "My sources are telling me that they put significant resources in trying to attract Blood to their side, and with him dead, all of his followers have broken ranks. It's going to take them a while to make their next move. They're at their most vulnerable, so I say if we're going to make any moves, now is the perfect time to do it."

"You're right," Oliver said. There was a grim kind of triumph in his voice, and it made Felicity's gut heavy with dread.

"So what's our first move, boss?" Roy asked.

Felicity heard a throat clearing somewhere in the room. Then Isabelle spoke up.

"Our strategy will be two-fold," she told the room. "First, we will take over their distribution lines. We will get their clients to make the switch from opiates to Vertigo, which will be a big financial blow to them. Simultaneously, we will start to target their lieutenants. They have three of them: Yao Fei, his daughter Shado and a man named Ben Turner."

Someone in the room made a noise of acknowledgement. "Ben Turner," Gold grunted. "Isn't he that freak who calls himself the Bronze Tiger?"

"Oh, right," Roy joined in. "The guy with the blades on his brass knuckles."

"Or bronze, as the case may be," Digg murmured.

Chuckles rang through the room.

"So if that's the plan, how are we supposed to get to them?" Sin demanded. "I don't know if you know this since you're not from around here, but Triad lieutenants don't generally just walk around out in the open in the middle of the day unguarded. That's why they've managed to stay alive this long."

Felicity couldn't help but laugh unkindly at Sin's open hostility toward Isabelle.

The woman in question cleared her throat. "You all will start tailing them for every waking moment until you have taken them out," Isabelle answered, her voice cold with disapproval. "And since you were smart enough to ask the question, Sin, you will be in charge of tailing and eventually taking out Shado. Thank you for volunteering."

Deathly quiet fell over the room, and even though Felicity was two floors above it all, she too was holding her breath.

Roy's incredulous voice was the first to break the silence.

"You can't be serious," he demanded. "Shado is one of the deadliest members of the Triad, second only Chien Na Wei. There's no way Sin can take her on by herself!"

"She won't be by herself," Isabelle answered coolly. "You'll be helping her, Roy."

Fury welled up inside Felicity. Forcing Roy and Sin to take on the most dangerous Triad lieutenant just because they didn't like her was reprehensible. How she longed to march down there and punch the stuck up harpy in the face.

The rest of the meeting went by rather quietly. No one seemed willing to cross Isabelle after she came down so hard on Sin and Roy — Gold was assigned to take out Ben Turner while Fyers volunteered to kill Yao Fei. There was a kind of glee when the Australian spoke up for his assignment, like he'd been looking for an excuse to hurt the old Triad lieutenant for years. The excitement in his voice made Felicity sick to her stomach.

The minute Oliver dismissed his boevik, Felicity pulled her headphones out of her ears and fell back on her bed, her arms pressed over her closed eyes. She knew to expect terrible things from Isabelle, but this...this was cruel.

She had to do something. But the problem was, no one was supposed to know that she heard every word of that meeting.

No one within the Bratva, anyway.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, she pushed her phone and headphones away to grab her laptop off the corner of her bed. She pulled the screen open and once her computer roused from its sleep, she hacked into the secure FBI server and pulled up her chat with Lyla.

L. I need help.

Seconds later, the letters appeared across her screen in response.

What is it?

With lightning fast fingers, Felicity explained the situation. She concluded with, Can we help R and S do this?

There wasn't a response for a long minute, and she could feel herself getting more and more anxious with every passing second of silence.

Finally, Lyla responded.

Did you really just ask me to direct FBI resources to help two known Bratva operatives to commit murder?

Felicity's heart sank at Lyla's response. But her handler was far from finished.

To answer your question, absolutely not. I am not doing anything that would facilitate the murder of anyone, whether it's an innocent or a Triad member.

Shame welled up inside of her. Shame and disappointment. Of course Lyla wasn't going to let FBI agents help Roy and Sin take out a Triad lieutenant. She should have known better than to ask.

But that didn't take away the feeling of desperation she felt at the thought of those two bright-eyed boevik trying to kill a dangerous woman by themselves.

Lyla seemed to have correctly interpreted Felicity's silence, because she continued.

I know this is your first undercover mission. I know that sometimes it's difficult to prevent yourself from feeling sympathetic toward the people you're supposed to be investigating and working against. But don't EVER forget that this is the Bratva. These are the bad guys. And if you need more convincing, just remember all those files you read and all the briefings you sat through before you took the mission. These are dangerous people, and the world will be better off without them.

Felicity sighed, and her head fell to her chest. With heavy hands, she reached toward her keyboard to type the two hardest letters she'd ever had to write.

OK.

Lyla must have told John about her conversation with Felicity, because the burly, undercover bodyguard pulled her aside while Oliver went into a closed door meeting with some QC investors.

"You don't have to reprimand me, John," she muttered. "Lyla already reamed me pretty hard for even asking."

"I wasn't going to reprimand you," he answered gently. "I was going to tell you that I felt the same way."

Felicity looked up so fast that she nearly gave herself whiplash. "You do?"

He nodded. "I've been at this a lot longer than you have. If you've gotten attached after only a few months, how do you think I feel? Roy and Sin were just kids who grew up on the streets, who didn't have any good influences to turn to, so they got caught up in some dangerous things. But against all odds, they turned out to be honorable. They never kill if they can help it, they refuse to sell their drugs to kids."

"So what can we do?" she asked desperately. "If we can't get the FBI to help us, we're screwed!"

"No, we're not," he insisted. "We'll just have to do this on our own."

Felicity snorted. "And how are we going to justify this to Lyla? Or Waller, for that matter?"

John shrugged. "It was part of my cover as Oliver's counselor. Besides, the Bratva aren't the only dangerous ones out there — the world will be a lot better without Shado in it, too."

She started to feel a seed of hope sprouting inside of her. Maybe it was possible. Maybe she and John could do this on their own.

He smiled a little at the relief he could see on her face. "He cares about them too, you know."

She looked up in confusion. "Who?"

"Oliver. After he dismissed everyone last night, I watched him lay into Isabelle for pulling that BS. He said it undermined his authority as their captain, but between you and me, I'm certain it was because he didn't want them to have that assignment."

"Then why didn't he give it to someone else?" Felicity pointed out. If he was their captain and if he did care as much as John claimed, why didn't he stop it? She was not only getting annoyed by Oliver's cold attitude toward her, she was getting annoyed that he stood by and let Isabelle take over.

"As much as he wishes it were otherwise, Isabelle's really the one in charge," he answered. "While she's in town, anyway. Anatoly sent her after everything went down at the chamber event."

She sighed. If she had known that night would have been the cause of so many problems…

"So how are we going to help Sin and Roy?" she asked.

"We'll figure it out once we get back to the mansion. They're meeting us there tonight at midnight."

Felicity nodded. If Oliver was going to keep on ignoring her — as he had been doing for the past few days — she'd at least be able to start working on a plan during her considerable amount of down time.

Once Oliver got out of the meeting, the three of them headed back to the QC building where he locked himself up in his office once more. With a sigh, Felicity took her seat at her desk and immediately started mapping out several plans to bring to Roy and Sin later tonight.

Later that afternoon, someone in the financial division called Felicity to ask her to come down and pick up some reports Oliver had to read. Once she got down there, she got caught up in some polite chit chat with Marty. She asked him how his wife was doing, and the older gentleman answered with great pride that she was doing a lot better, thanks to the wonderful doctors at Starling General.

After they said goodbye, Felicity walked back through the maze of offices to the executive elevator. She thought back wistfully to her first day as Oliver's assistant, when she asked him to sign a get well card for Marty's wife, and how he had so thoroughly surprised her when he gave her that P.O. box and asked her to surreptitiously forward all of Marty's medical bills to him.

It had only been a few months ago, but that Oliver seemed to all but have disappeared. Instead he was replaced by a monster she hardly recognized. A man who didn't care about selling dangerous synthetic drugs. A man who didn't care about sending his two most honorable lieutenants to their near certain deaths. A man who didn't care about any of the human lives he was ruining.

The FBI sent her to take down this man. This was the man detailed in all their Bratva files.

The problem was, she believed so fervently that the other Oliver was still there. And that Oliver, she didn't know how to take down.

Felicity got off the executive elevator and made a beeline for Oliver's office. Inwardly bracing herself for another sub-zero encounter with her boss, she knocked gently on the door before swinging it open.

"Oliver, I — "

But the sight that greeted her made every muscle in her body freeze.

Oliver was sitting in his desk chair, just where she had expected him to be. But Isabelle Rochev was sitting on his lap staring over her shoulder at Felicity. His gray silk tie wrapped around her hand, and her dark burgundy lipstick was smeared across her mouth.

The rest of it, Felicity found on Oliver's face.

"Can we help you, Ms. Smoak?" Isabelle's smirk was a triumphant one.

The subtle emphasis on the word "we" in her question was like the final kick in the gut, the fucking turd cherry to top the shit sundae. Felicity felt every single muscle in her body go cold, and her brain separated itself from the rest of her, like it was having way too much difficulty trying to process what it was seeing.

After a long, stunned silence, she finally answered.

"I was just bringing by some reports the financial division wanted you to read," she said mechanically. Somewhere, in the back of her disconnected brain, she felt immense relief that her tone didn't betray her feelings.

It might have helped that she didn't even know what she was feeling.

Oliver shifted in his seat in a way that forced Isabelle to slide off. He straightened the knot in his tie and leaned forward over his desk.

"Go ahead and leave them here with me," he told her, his voice completely smooth. "I'll get to them later."

As if on autopilot, she walked forward and set the files down on the corner of his desk, trying as hard as possible not to make eye contact with him or Isabelle. Once she had completed her task, she fled his office back to the sanctuary of her desk.

It was weird that just seconds ago, she had been reminiscing about the good, kind and generous Oliver she'd met in her first few days under his employ.

Now, she started to doubt whether that Oliver even existed anymore.