Page 83 of The Bratva Betrayal

"So you've been cheating on her," I hedge. "And you think that's how men go into a marriage?"

"Since the beginning." No hesitation; just a man stating a fact that he made peace with a long time ago. "She doesn't need to know, Artem. It hasn't been a problem."

Hasn't been a problem.

I think about her in my kitchen this afternoon. Spine against the counter, chin up, three and a half inches of blade she believed would stop me. The way her voice dropped right before the door opened. The searches I flagged on her phone, the apartments in other states, the bus routes, the cheap rentals, and a woman quietly building an exit while everyone around her makes plans that don't include her opinion.

She doesn't know that he's been running around on her since day one. She's been playing her role carefully and completely, and he's been treating it like a game with no consequences, and the two of them are about to get married, and I'm standing in my gym listening to my brother tell me it hasn't been a problem like she's a footnote in his story.

It pisses me off more than it should.

"She's Irish," I remind him. "Colin Gallagher has made men disappear for a lot less than what you're describing. Her brothers aren't understanding, either. And you think you're going to marry her and keep doing this?"

He smirks. "I'm good at not getting caught."

"You're telling me right now. Sober and voluntarily."

"You're not going to tell her."

He says it like it's settled, and he's right. Telling her means explaining how I know, and that conversation opens something I haven't figured out how to handle.

"You're a fucking idiot, Misha. When in your life has settling down with one woman been something you wanted? Why bother?"

"People change."

"You were out last night with a blonde. You don't change."

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Colin Gallagher is not going to stop running intel on this family because there's a wedding," I tell him. "He's going to have someone on the inside instead. And you're going to be sharing a bed with her." I pick the bar back up. "Benedikt looked at the number and called it clean. It's not."

"You've made your point." He stands, done with it, and ready to move on. "Several times. I got it."

"Then act like it."

"Artem. I'm going to marry her. Five million dollars and a woman I genuinely like. That works for me. She'll come around." The corner of his mouth lifts. "They always do."

"Yeah?" I narrow my eyes at him. "And since when the fuck do you need five million dollars and a woman?"

Misha glowers at me. "Since when the fuck do you care?"

"Since I'm Benedikt Volkov's right-hand man and you traipse around this city like a dog in heat wanting to fuck everything that moves." I set the bar down. "So, one more time, Misha, why do you want five million dollars? Better yet, why do you need it?"

His nostrils flare.

He turns on his heel and walks out, and the door slams hard enough that I feel it in my chest.

I stand there in the quiet that follows.

He didn't answer the question.

Which is its own answer, and not one I like.

I grab the bar and pull until my muscles burn, hoping I stop thinking about it.

I don't stop thinking about it.

19