Page 61 of Sin Wager
"Yes."
I sink onto the edge of the bed with shaking limbs. My hand flutters to my belly unconsciously as I think of the life inside me. "God, Misha. Do you know what my father will say when he finds out? What he'll think?"
"He'll think you're smart enough to judge a man by his actions, not his name." He crouches in front of me, resting his hands on my thighs.
"Will he?" I push out a dry laugh. "Batya grew up in the old country. He knows what happens to girls who get involved with men like you."
"I'm not other men."
"Aren't you?" I look up at him, this man I've fallen in love with, and see him clearly for the first time. The controlled way he moves. The scars on his knuckles. The tattoos that I now realize aren't just decoration—they're markers, symbols of rank and allegiance. "You kill people. That's what you do." He's a murderer, a thief, and I've been in his bed. I carry his child in my womb.
"When I have to."
"People like Sonya?"
He doesn't answer, which is answer enough.
I close my eyes, trying to process everything. The baby growing inside me suddenly feels heavier, more real. A Vetrov baby. A Mafia child. What kind of life would that be? What sort of mother would I be, raising a child in this world of violence and secrets?
"I need you to know," Misha says quietly, "that everything I said tonight was true. About keeping you safe. About wanting to help your family. About caring for you."
"Caring for me." I repeat the words, tasting them. "Is that what this is?"
"It's more than that."
I want to believe him. God help me, I do believe him. But belief and wisdom are different things, and Batya didn't raise a fool. I know better than to trust a man whose business is built on lies and violence.
But when I look at Misha—really look at him—I don't see the cold killer Batya warned me about. I see the man who offered to save my brother without asking for anything in return. The man who held me through my tears and made love to me with infinite gentleness.
"I don't know how to do this," I whisper.
"Do what?"
"Love someone like you."
Misha's face transforms, surprise giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. He raises both hands, cupping my face. "Don't be afraid of me, Vera. Please."
"I'm not afraid of you." I lean into his touch despite everything. "I'm afraid of what loving you means. For me. For my family."
"It means you're protected. All of you."
"And the price?"
"There is no price."
I want to believe him. But as he pulls me back to bed, as he holds me close and whispers reassurances into my hair, I lie awake staring at the ceiling. His breathing evens out beside me, but sleep refuses to come.
I'm carrying a Vetrov baby. The thought circles endlessly through my mind. What will Batya say? What will Elvin think? And Sonya—what happens when Misha finds her? Will he kill her as casually as he killed whoever was shooting at the track today?
The man sleeping beside me is beautiful and dangerous and completely beyond my understanding. I love him with a desperation that scares me, but love might not be enough to bridge the gap between his world and mine.
24
MISHA
The ledger spreads across my computer in perfect rows of fabricated numbers, each entry a breadcrumb leading straight to my trap. I drag my cursor through columns of false markers, seeding losses that never happened, wins that will never pay out. The math tells a story—an emergency payout requiring immediate attention, too large for wire transfers, demanding a cash delivery. Sonya will never actually watch these races to see the horse cross the finish line. She will only ever watch the numbers, and the transmission I'm sending is foolproof.
I sit in my office with shoulders stretched as taut as piano strings. The track hums with afternoon preparation, trainers calling to their charges, hoofbeats drumming against packed earth. Normal sounds masking the abnormal business I conduct secretly. The entire organization, except for Vadim, myself, and a handful of my crew, remains completely unaware that we are mere minutes away from letting the trap snap shut. We'll catch the Radich bitch in the act and purge the sport of the corruption she's set up in one fell swoop.
