Page 81 of Sin Wager
"Contained. Local police are investigating a territorial dispute between rival criminal organizations, exactly as planned. Federal authorities show no interest in the case, and media coverage will focus on general crime statistics rather than specific details."
The conversation washes over me as I study Misha's profile, noting the sharp angles of his face and the premature lines around his eyes from the stressful life he lives. He's beautiful in a dangerous way, like a perfectly balanced blade that could cut you if handled carelessly. The combination of physical appeal and lethal capability creates an attraction that goes beyond simple chemistry.
"Excellent work," Misha tells the fixer. "Your handling of this situation has been exemplary. I'll make sure the family leadership knows about your contributions."
Nikolai nods and turns toward me, and I see something unexpected in his expression. Not the dismissive assessment I've grown accustomed to from men in his position, but something approaching respect.
"Ms. Kovalenko," he says formally. "Your cooperation throughout this operation has been noted and appreciated. The family won't forget your service."
The words create a strange tightness in my throat. Recognition from someone like Nikolai Barinov carries weight in this world, acknowledgment that I've proven myself worthy of consideration rather than simple tolerance. It's not the kind of validation I ever expected to want, but receiving it feels oddly meaningful.
"Thank you," I manage, unsure what other response would be appropriate.
He nods again and heads toward the door, pausing only to deliver a final report. "The track will reopen next week for normal operations. All systems have been tested and cleared, and security protocols have been updated to prevent similar incidents."
The door closes behind Barinov as he heads out, leaving Misha and me alone in the office where this all began tonight. I feel exhausted and ready to go home and rest. With Sonya off my back and Misha promising to pay for Elvin's treatment, I deserve some time off work at the track. But not too much. I still love these horses too dearly to be away for too long.
"He respects you," Misha observes, moving back to where I sit. "That's not easily earned from someone like Nikolai."
"Does it matter?"
"In this world, respect is currency. It opens doors, creates opportunities, provides protection when circumstances become dangerous. Having Nikolai's good opinion could be valuable in the future."
The future. That word keeps recurring in our conversations. What does the future look like for a woman pregnant with the child of a Bratva operative? What kind of life can we build together when violence remains an occupational hazard?
"Tell me about Elvin's treatment," I say, deflecting from questions I'm not ready to answer completely. "What exactly did you arrange?"
Misha's expression softens as he settles into the chair behind his desk. "There is a private oncology clinic in central Moscow. It has the best cancer specialists money can buy, with access to experimental treatments not available through public healthcare. No expense spared and no corners cut."
Relief floods through me with such intensity that I nearly sob. The crushing weight of financial desperation that has driven every decision for months suddenly lifts, replaced by hope formy brother's survival. Elvin will have every possible advantage in his fight against the disease that threatened to take him from me.
"How much will it cost?" I ask, though I suspect the answer will be beyond my ability to repay.
"Already handled. The bills will be paid in full, no debt incurred, no future obligations created. Consider it a wedding gift."
"Wedding gift?" The words catch me off guard, sending my pulse racing. My eyebrows rise and my shoulders tense.
"Did you think I'd let the mother of my child remain unmarried?" His smile warms his entire face. "We'll need to make this official, both for the child's sake and for your protection within the family structure."
The proposal isn't romantic in any conventional sense. There are no flowers, no ring, no declarations of undying love spoken under moonlight. But I can respect that it's as practical as the man sitting in front of me, as practical as the life I need to live to survive. And I feel comforted by that.
"Is that a proposal?" I ask, grinning at him.
"It's a statement of intent. I want to marry you, Vera. I want to give our child my name and my protection. I want to build a family that can survive whatever challenges come our way."
Misha leans forward and studies me intently. His dark eyes are stormy but nothing like the gunmetal of the sky out the windows behind him. The desire in his eyes is penetrating, reaching my soul.
I think about my old life, the simple routine of stable work and quiet evenings at home with Elvin and Batya. The predictable rhythm of days defined by honest labor and modest aspirations. That life seems impossibly distant now, separated from my current reality by months of violence and moral compromise and dangerous love.
"I love you," I say quietly, and this time, I'm choosing them carefully. Because I'm not some teenage girl with a lovesick heart. I'm a woman with needs and desires, and I'm walking into this with full knowledge of who he is and what it means for me. "I love you despite the danger, despite the violence, despite everything that makes loving you complicated and terrifying."
He rises from his chair and moves around the desk to where I sit, pulling me to my feet and into his arms with gentle insistence. His embrace surrounds me with warmth and the familiar scent of expensive cologne mixed with the more primitive smell of male exertion.
"I love you too," he murmurs against my hair. "More than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. You've become my weakness and my strength, my greatest vulnerability and my most powerful motivation."
His arms tighten around me, and I feel the solid reality of his body against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. These simple physical facts ground me in the present moment, anchoring me to what we have together rather than the uncertainties of what might come.
"What kind of life will our child have?" I ask, voicing the fear that lurks beneath my happiness.
