Page 11 of Sin Wager
"What would someone want in return?"
"Nothing you wouldn't want to give freely. Friendship, loyalty… a relationship that benefits everyone involved."
The answer is carefully vague, leaving room for interpretation while avoiding specific commitments. But the way he's looking at me suggests his personal interest extends far beyond whatever professional assistance he might provide.
"Think about it," he says, stepping back far enough to restore propriety while maintaining the invisible connection that crackles between us. "We could discuss it tonight, if you're available. Somewhere private where we can talk freely."
"Tonight?"
"I know it's short notice, but I have a feeling time might be important for your family's situation."
The urgency in his voice matches the anxiety that's been building since Sonya's very first morning visit. If Misha can see through my careful façade after two encounters, how long before others reach similar conclusions? How long before theprotection I've built around Elvin and my father crumbles under scrutiny I can't deflect?
"Where?" The question escapes before I can consider the wisdom of agreeing to meet him again so soon.
"My apartment. It's private, comfortable. We can talk without worrying about who might overhear."
The suggestion should alarm me. Private meetings with men I barely know violate every safety rule my father taught me about navigating a world that preys on young women without protection. But Misha doesn't feel dangerous in the conventional sense. He feels powerful, controlled, a man who gets what he wants through persuasion rather than force.
"I don't know…"
"No pressure, Vera. But if you decide you'd like to explore possibilities that might help your brother, I'll be waiting. Eight o'clock."
He provides an address in a district I recognize as expensive residential real estate where successful businessmen live with their families. The detail reassures me. Predators don't typically invite victims to locations where neighbors might notice unusual activity.
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I ask."
He leaves me standing beside Koschei's stall with my pulse hammering and my mind racing through possibilities that seem too good to be true. Help for Elvin that doesn't require continuing my partnership with Sonya. A relationship with a man who sees value in qualities that others overlook. The chance to build a life based on something other than desperation and compromise.
The risk of meeting Misha privately pales in comparison to the certain destruction that awaits if I continue my current path. Sonya's warnings about new management, the mysteriousbookie hunting for patterns, the precarious balance that keeps my family safe—all of it could collapse at any moment regardless of how carefully I follow instructions.
But Misha represents possibility, hope, the chance that someone with power might use it to protect rather than exploit. The optimism feels dangerous after months of cynical calculation, but I can't abandon it without at least exploring where it might lead.
Eight o'clock. His apartment. A conversation that might change everything or destroy what little stability I've managed to construct.
I'll be there.
6
MISHA
The betting slips spread across my desk tell the same story they told yesterday, and the day before that. Vera's afternoon run netted forty-three thousand rubles in winnings, all clean payouts to legitimate punters. But the pattern underneath runs deeper than the surface numbers.
I trace my finger down the column entries. Every bet carries the Radich fingerprint—odd amounts, specific horses, perfect timing on long shots that shouldn't hit but do. The woman doesn't know she's carrying poison in those envelopes, but the poison flows through her hands all the same.
I pick up my phone and dial one of my men. Vadim is right. We have to get to the bottom of who is behind all these bets that win without prejudice because if we don’t, they'll certainly bleed us dry. And I'll have to answer for that. I need to spend more time with Vera quickly, get her to trust me, and pull those strings harder.
"Yeah?" Gregor picks up on the second ring and awaits my orders like a good soldier.
"The Kovalenko girl finished mucking stall twelve. Send her to the feed room. Tell her inventory needs checking before sheleaves." I won't get down to the stables before she skirts off for the evening, so keeping her busy is the next best thing. It will be later, growing darker in the street, and she will welcome a ride from a perfect gentleman.
"Got it," he says with a grunt, and I hang up before he can question my motives.
I lean back in my chair and pull up the security feed on my monitor. The feed room camera gives me a clear view of the doorway and half the interior. Vera appears in the frame three minutes later, her braid swinging as she pushes through the heavy door.
She moves through the room checking clipboards, counting sacks, marking tallies on the inventory sheet. When one of my men appears in the doorway and blocks her exit, her posture shifts. She gestures toward the completed paperwork, then toward the door. He shakes his head and points back at the feed sacks.
