Page 18 of Vicious Betrayal

"Enough to put your father away for the rest of his life," Brennan says. "Racketeering. Extortion. Money laundering through at least four legitimate businesses we've identified so far. Weapons trafficking tied to three unsolved homicides in Cook County alone. Enough to charge your brother as an accessory, given what your sister's told us about his involvement in the logistics side of things. Enough, potentially, to charge you."

"Me?" The word comes out sharp and disbelieving. "I don't—I've never⁠—"

"You're a part of this family," Brennan says pleasantly, but the tone of his voice doesn't match the hard look in his eyes. "You've heard things. Sat at the same dinner conversations your sister has, but she came to us, not you. We can find a way to a plea deal for her, witness protection—but you? Your mother? You'll go down along with the rest of your family as accessories. Your father and brother will take the brunt of it, of course, but I don't think you would do very well in prison, Miss Svenkova, even if it was just a year or two."

Prison. I feel like I'm going to be sick. "I… I don't… why are you telling me all this if you've already made up your mind how it's going to go?"

"Because we haven't," Reyes cuts in. "But what happens next depends on you, Oksana."

The way she uses my first name immediately puts me on guard. I clutch the sides of the chair, staring at her. "W–what do you mean?"

"You went home with Cormac Murphy last night." Reyes says it plainly, without any judgment in her tone. "You left his residence this morning. We have surveillance confirming it."

The room tilts slightly. My mouth goes dry. My father doesn't even flinch at what is clearly confirmation that I've despoiled the one thing that gives me value in the mafia world, which tells me just how bad all of this has gotten. My virginity is no longer a concern.

"That's not—that has nothing to do with any of this," I manage. "That was just⁠—"

"Cormac Murphy," Brennan cuts in, "is chief of security for Declan Murphy's organization. His head enforcer, and one of the most protected men in the Gallagher-Murphy hierarchy. He's someone we've been trying to get close to for the better part of three years, without success." He pauses, letting me catch up to where this is going before he even says it out loud. "You managed it in one night."

I look at my father. He isn't looking at me at all now. He's looking down at his folded hands, and I realize with a sick lurch that he already knows what's coming. His skin still has that gray pallor, and he looks as sick as I feel.

"No," I say, before anyone can say anything else. "No, whatever you're about to ask—no."

"We're not asking," Reyes says. "We're offering you a choice."

"There's no choice if the alternative is prison," I snap. My voice shakes despite how hard I'm trying to keep it steady. "That's not a choice, that's a threat."

Brennan sighs as if I'm the one being difficult. "Your father is looking at fifteen to twenty years, easily. With his age—" He clicks his tongue with mock sympathy. "I imagine he won't survive that sentence. Your brother, given the extent of his involvement, could be looking at something similar. He's what… twenty-seven? By the time he gets out, he'll nearly be an old man. Most of his life lost, behind bars. You—" He tilts his head slightly, assessing me like a piece of evidence rather than a person. "Given your age and your limited direct involvement, you'd likely face lesser charges. Conspiracy, at minimum. Possibly obstruction, depending on what else we uncover once we start pulling threads. But you would face something. And your family's assets—the house, the accounts, all of it—would be seized in the process. You might only lose a few years at most, but you'll be penniless when you get out. Do you have an education, Miss Svenkova? Any work experience? I can only imagine what your prospects will be with a felony on your record."

"This is our home," I whisper helplessly. I hate how small my voice sounds saying it, hate how much it sounds like a child begging instead of the woman I've spent years convincing myself I am. "You can't… you can't take…"

"It could stay that way." Reyes steps closer. I can see the faint lines around her eyes, and I wonder how often she plays the good cop, if she's usually the foil to assholes like Brennan. Do they always cast her as the one who teases out the soft, breakable parts of someone? "If you help us."

"Help you how?" I ask, though I already know. I think I've known since the second she said Cormac's name.

"Cormac Murphy trusts very few people," Brennan says. "He's careful. Disciplined. We've tried getting close to him through legitimate channels, informants, financial pressure—none of it's worked. But he took you home last night. He let you into his house. That tells us something."

"He thinks I was a mistake," I say bitterly. It's hard, admitting that out loud. I can see my father flinch, ever so slightly, from the other side of the desk. "He made that very clear this morning."

"Men repeat mistakes often." Reyes says it with a smile, like we're girlfriends talking about how stupid men can be. "You're very beautiful and very young, Miss Svenkova. You are a mistake he'll be happy to repeat, with the right approach. If he failed to turn you down once, he'll do it again. Get close to him and gain his trust. Whatever you have to do, find out what pleases him and makes him want to keep you close. Get inside that organization and make note of whatever he lets slip, whoever he lets you meet. Give us something we can use against the Gallagher-Murphy organization, and we forget your family exists in relation to this investigation."

I swallow hard. "And if I say no?"

"Then everyone in this room except us goes to prison," Brennan says simply. "Starting with your father."

I look at my father again, and this time he does meet my eyes. What I see there guts me more than anything the agents have said. It's not anger, or even fear, exactly. Something closer to shame, like he's ashamed to be sitting here letting this happen, ashamed that he's already run through every option in his head and come up with no way to save his family that doesn't involve sending his youngest daughter to be the federal government's honeypot.

"Oksana," he says quietly. "I would not ask this of you. I want you to know that. If there were another way⁠—"

"There isn't," Reyes says, not unkindly. It's final, all the same.

I sit there for a long moment, feeling the walls of the room press in. I can feel every version of my life narrowing down into this single path with only one way out at the end of it. I think about Cormac's face this morning and the way he told me it couldn't happen again. I think about his hands on my skin, the low rasp of his accent against my throat, the way he looked at me like he wanted nothing more than me, until he remembered he shouldn't. Reyes is right; if I try hard enough, I imagine I can make him forget again.

I still wanted him when I left this morning. I want to sleep with him again. But not like this. I think about all the passion and pleasure of last night, and I imagine twisting it into this, getting close to him again, not because I want to, but because I need to. Because I need something from him now that has very little to do with desire and everything to do with survival.

The thought makes my stomach curdle. It feels like a betrayal before I've even done anything, like I'm selling off a piece of last night that was supposed to be mine. Last night was something special to me at least, a moment where I felt like I was a woman having a real connection with a man who wanted to please me instead of just taking from me. It felt like a step forward into my own adulthood.

Now I'm being forced to turn it into something monstrous.