Page 60 of Sin Wager
Misha pulls me tightly against his chest, which is hammering. It's strange that my tears have this effect on him. He's so steady and certain of himself, but my pain moves him. "You're safe now," he soothes, but I don't know if those words even mean anything anymore. I've seen too much.
"But for how long?" I pull back to meet his eyes. "This isn't over, is it? Those people at the track—they're not just going to disappear."
"No," he admits. "But I'll handle it."
"How?" I snip in fear. I'm not angry with him, but he makes these sure promises that I'm supposed to believe and then things get worse. "Misha, you had a gun today. I watched you shoot two men." My jaw trembles as I speak, but I don't pull away from him. Batya wants me to be scared, but I'm determined not to fear Misha unless he proves I should be afraid of him.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Yes, I did."
"Who are you?" I ask timidly. I don't even know if I want to know the truth at this point, but not knowing is making it impossible for my heart to rest. "Really?"
For a long moment, he doesn't answer. I watch emotions flicker across his face—calculation, resignation, anger… They all pass through his eyes, across his forehead before he sighs and presses a kiss to my temple. It's the same sort of kiss Batya offers when he tells me we'll be late on rent again, or that the hot water has been turned off.
"You want the truth?" he asks finally.
"Yes," I mumble, still quaking inside.
"I was sent to the track to investigate the betting irregularities. To find out who was behind them and stop it."
My stomach drops. "Stop it how?"
"However necessary."
"You were sent to kill someone." It's not a question. It's my cold revelation. My gut is churning, my head throbbing. Maybeit's morning sickness or the emotion of the day, or maybe it's my nervous system telling me to run away now before he says any more.
"I was sent to end the operation. By any means."
The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. I slide away from him, pulling the sheet around myself like armor. "You were sent to kill me?"
"No." His answer is abrupt and immediate, and I believe him. "Never you."
"But you thought I was involved?—"
"At first, yes. But not anymore." He reaches for me, and I flinch away. His hand drops. "Vera, I was sent to stop whoever was fixing races and bleeding money from the books. When I followed the pattern, it led to your placing the bets. But you're not the one behind it."
"So you're following me to get to Sonya."
"Yes."
I don't understand what I'm hearing. Everything between us—every conversation, every touch, every moment I thought was real—was it all part of his investigation? "How long have you known who I was?"
"Since the day we met."
The betrayal cuts deep. I stand abruptly, wrapping the sheet around me as I pace to the window where city lights glitter for miles. "So this was all?—"
"No." His voice stops me. "Not this. Not what happened between us tonight." Then he's on his feet, stark naked and vulnerable, walking across the room toward me with pain etched on his face.
"How am I supposed to believe that?" I ask, turning toward him. Batya warned me this man was up to no good and I ignored him. Of course he doesn't want me. He's twice my age, rich, experienced.
"Because I'm telling you the truth now. All of it." He takes my hand and pulls me toward himself, and I don't back away this time. "I'm Misha Vetrov. My brother was thePakhan, and now it's my nephew. I work for my family, yes, but that doesn't define who I am, Vera." His touch suddenly feels like ice, not the warmth of lovers any more.
Vetrov. That name is synonymous with power and violence. It causes the cold from Misha's touch to rush through my whole body. Batya's warnings echo in my memory.Stay away from those men, Vera, they're dangerous. They destroy everything they touch.
"You're Bratva," I breathe.
"Yes."
"Your family controls half of Moscow."
