Page 54 of Vicious Betrayal

In the meantime, I play the part of the happy, devoted fiancée. I spend almost all of my time at his house. We cook together, watch movies together, snuggle on the couch and make small talk, drink, and play board games. Things so normal that if I didn't know better, I wouldn't even know I was dating a mafia enforcer. He does everything he can to keep that part of his life out of ours. And we fuck constantly. I want him desperately, still, and those hours when we're in his bed or the couch or somewhere else in the house, or where he teaches me new things in that room full of toys and furniture that have endless inventive uses, I can forget for a little while what this really is.

I know I'm never going to find anyone else who makes me feel like he does. But as miserable as this all has made me, I can't imagine ever being with anyone else, anyway. In the moments where I imagine what my life looks like after this, it's just me and my baby, the only part of Cormac I'll have left.

At night, when he's asleep, I slip out of bed and move through his house like a ghost. I check drawers. I look under furniture. I open closets and rifle through coat pockets, searching for a scrap of paper, a receipt, a phone number, anything that might be useful.

I find nothing. Cormac Murphy is a man who has spent twenty years learning how to survive in a world where one mistake can get you killed. He doesn't leave evidence lying around. He doesn't get sloppy. He's protected himself and those around him all these years, and those habits aren't going to break now, no matter how much I distract him.

—

Reyes calls a meeting the day before I'm going to pick out my wedding dress, at a coffee shop. I order a decaf latte and sit down to wait for her, and the moment she walks in and comes to the table with her own coffee, I see her eyes go straight to the ring on my finger.

"We know you're basically living with him now," she says flatly, taking a sip of her coffee. "You're going to be his wife in two weeks. Have you found anything?"

"I'm trying," I say, keeping my own voice quiet. "But Cormac hasn't changed how careful he is. He doesn't talk about things where I can hear, and he doesn't leave anything lying around. He doesn't take me to the dinners or parties, either. If anything, he wants me further away from all of it, now. I've looked everywhere I can without breaking into locked rooms, and there's nothing."

"Then you need to get into the locked rooms."

"I don't have keys. I don't have passwords. I don't⁠—"

"You're about to be his wife, Oksana." Reyes leans forward slightly, her sharp eyes drilling into mine. "You'll have access to everything. Bank accounts. Safe deposit boxes. He'll have to take you to some places where his wife is expected to attend. You'll get to know Declan's wife. You'll be invited to his home. This is no longer the end of this mission; it's the start of it."

I have to swallow hard against the nausea that roils in my stomach, and I push my coffee away. "I'm doing everything I can," I say, my voice tight.

"Do better." Her voice flattens. She's more terse with me today than she has been before, and I feel my stomach flip again. "We need evidence that will hold up. And you need to work harder to get it."

"I understand that, but⁠—"

"Do you?" She sets her cup down. "I'm starting to think it looks like you're more interested in playing house with your fiancé than doing the job you agreed to do."

Anger flares in my chest. "That's not fair. I didn't agree to any of this. You threatened my family. You gave me no choice."

"And your family is still at risk," Reyes says, her tone hardening. "Every day you fail to deliver, we get closer to moving forward with prosecution. Your father. Your brother. You. Your mother. All of you will go down if you don't finish what you started."

"I didn't start anything," I snap, my hands tightening around my cup. "My sister did. Katya went to you. She's the one who⁠—"

"Katya gave us the foundation," Reyes interrupts. "But you're the one who has the access now. You're the one who was able to find a weakness in their armor. You're the one Cormac Murphy is in love with, and you're the one who can get us what we need." She pauses, her expression softening slightly, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Look, I understand this is difficult. I know you have feelings for him. Trust me, I can tell. But you need to remember what's at stake here."

"I… don't," I start to say, but she gives me a look.

"I'm not an idiot, Oksana. I can see that you're falling for him. You're very young, and I expected this could happen. It makes it all seem more real to him, so it's not entirely a bad thing. But again… remember what the stakes are."

"I remember every single day," I say, my voice shaking. "I remember every time I look at my father. Every time I see my brother, or my mother. Every time Cormac touches me, and I know I'm lying to him." My voice cracks. "And now, the baby…"

Reyes studies me for a long moment, then reaches into her bag and pulls out a plain manila folder. She slides it across the table toward me.

"What's this?" I ask, not touching it.

"Options," she says simply. "If you can wrap this up quickly—within the next month or two—we can arrange for the pregnancy to be terminated. Quietly. Safely. No one needs to know. Inside is our offer to pay for everything, including the medical procedures and a comfortable place for you to recover afterward."

This time, I truly think I am going to throw up. I stare at the folder, hearing a ringing in my ears. She's offering to pay for an abortion. And why wouldn't they? It's just another inconvenient detail in the FBI's investigation. A complication that they've figured out how to twist to their benefit.

They're going to discard my baby, and me, and Katya, and the rest of my family, once we've served our purpose.

"No," I whisper.

Reyes looks irritated. "Oksana⁠—"

"No." I look up at her, and I don't care that there are tears streaming down my face, that my voice is too loud, or that the barista behind the counter is glancing over at us now with concern. "I'm not doing that. I'm not killing my baby."