Page 153 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

I know why he’s asking. And where Charity’s concerned, I don’t care about the suspicion. But with Elyssa, I feel defensive. Another bad sign.

“I knew it,” he says before I can even formulate an answer.

“Knew what?” I snap.

“You care about the girl,” Matvei says. But he’s not accusatory. Not as much as I’d expected him to be, at least.

“I don’t care,” I reply brusquely. “I’ve seen women like her all my life. Marginalized, controlled, and abused since the day they were born. It’s in my nature to feel sympathy for her. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah? Then how come you don’t seem to feel the same kind of sympathy for the brunette?”

I shoot him a side glare. “She’s just annoying.”

Matvei laughs. “It’s not a sin to admit that you might have feelings for another woman, you know. You’re allowed to move on.”

“Are you trying to convince me that she’s a spy? Or that she’s a good lay?” I demand impatiently.

Matvei chuckles. “I was just making a general statement. I don’t care who you move on with. As long as you move on.”

“You know, if I wanted a shrink, I’d get one.”

“It’s a question of need, not want,” Matvei says smugly.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a prick.”

Matvei grins at me like a fucking Cheshire cat. I can tell he’s excited about the mission tonight. The opportunity to get back into the field is probably the only thing that’s making him overlook the riskiness of this non-plan of mine.

I sure fucking hope it works out.

* * *

The gala is on the fortieth floor of the Waldorf Astoria, in the ballroom overlooking the city. I know the space reasonably well from prior events, but I’d had Matvei go over the floorplan with me just to be sure.

The ballroom itself is just one open space. But it sprawls out into more intimate nooks and crannies. Small, shadowy verandas stud the perimeter. Quiet places to talk—or to kill.

Valets try to direct me to the queue of cars but I ignore them and find a patch of shadows in a distant corner of the lot to park in. Konstantin pulls the jeep up a few feet behind us.

“Okay,” Matvei says, jumping into focus mode. “I’m going to get in the back of the jeep. My computers and shit are in there, and I can keep you informed.”

“Where’s my earpiece?”

“Right here,” Matvei says, passing it to me.

I secure it into my ear and turn to him. “Can you see it?”

“No, you’re good. James fucking Bond.”

“James Bond wishes he looked this good,” I say with a grin.

Matvei rolls his eyes. “Let me correct myself—you look like James Bond… if he fell out of an ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

It’s my turn to give him the finger. Then, laughing, we get out of the car. Konstantin and Alexi do the same. Matvei gives them both a nod and clambers into the back of the jeep.

“I need you two to do a sweep of the place and report back to Matvei,” I tell them. “He’ll keep me informed. Stay discreet.”

The two of them nod and slip off towards the hotel.

I arch my neck back and take in the building. It’s grand and opulent, like a glowing diamond in the middle of the desert. Everything looks perfect from where I stand now. But I know that when I get close enough, I’ll start to see all the scars. The flaws. The chinks in the armor.

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