Page 33 of Vicious Betrayal

"Alright." Rian nods slowly. "Then keep it that way. Keep it exactly what it is and don't let it turn into anything more complicated than that, and I won't say a word to Declan. He doesn't need to know. Honestly, it's not his business unless it becomes a problem for the organization, which it won't, as long as you're careful."

"You're not going to tell him."

"Why would I? You're a grown man having a good time with a woman who wants to be there. That's not a crime, whatever her father's job title is." He shrugs again, the seriousness starting to leave him. "You deserve a bit of this, Cormac. I mean that. You've been running yourself into the ground for that organization for years, and I don't think I've seen you look like you did tonight in longer than I can remember. Let yourself have it."

"You're awfully sentimental about this."

"I'm glad you're finally getting something that makes you look five years younger." He grins. "Just make sure when it ends, it ends cleanly. No complaints from her, no reason for anybody to come looking for you with a grudge. You do that, and there's no harm in any of it. Have your fun. Just don't be stupid about how to end it when the time comes."

I nod. "That's good advice from someone younger than me," I tell him grudgingly. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to dole that out."

"Well, I'll let you know when I need some, grandpa." He grins at me cheekily. "Just enjoy it, brother. You deserve this. Seriously. Also, get some sleep tonight, so you don't die of a heart attack the next time she's bouncing on it."

"Alright, enough." I clink my mug against his. "We don't need to talk about all that. And I'm forty, not sixty. Give me some credit."

"I am." Rian grins and finishes off his beer, then motions to the bartender for another round. We sit there for a while, shooting the shit about nothing at all, and I let myself relax into the evening with my closest friend.

I want to relax into what I have with Oksana, too. But first, we need to have a conversation. She didn't lie to me about her father, I don't think, but she did keep that information from me. And that is one thing I can't overlook in my line of work. I can sleep with a twenty-year-old, sure. I can fuck Maksim Svenkov's daughter, if I keep it quiet.

But what I can't do is have a liar in my bed.

10

OKSANA

The next night, I'm back at Cormac's house, this time with an invitation. He lets me in and then goes to stand in the kitchen next to the foyer, frowning at me. He looks tense, and I feel a shiver go down my spine.

He can't have found me out, right? That's not possible. I haven't done anything to tip him off or left my phone alone or…

He doesn't look angry enough for it to be that, though. He works with the upper Irish mob; if he'd found out I was trying to get evidence to rat him out to the FBI, I don't think I'd be in his house. I'd be in a warehouse somewhere already, looking down a pair of pliers.

His arms fold over his chest as he looks at me. "You want to tell me," he says slowly, "why you didn't mention who your father is?"

I keep my face neutral, with some effort. "My father?"

"Maksim Svenkov." He watches me carefully. "A Bratva pakhan, small-time operation here in Chicago. Ring any bells yet?"

"I didn't think it was relevant." I set my bag down on the island and meet his eyes. "You're upset."

"I'm not upset. I'm just asking you a question."

"You look upset," I fire back, and his frown deepens. He's not enjoying the verbal foreplay like he usually does.

"Oksana." His voice drops, and I know he wants me to take him seriously. "You're the daughter of a pakhan. Do you understand why it's a problem for you to be in my bed? Or why it could be?"

"Why would I have thought that I shouldn't be? You work security in a club rumored to be owned by Declan Murphy, so probably you work for him in some capacity. That's what I knew. I liked you. I still like you. I wasn't trying to insert myself into anything your organization does or find out anything about your work; I just wanted you. That's it."

"It's not that simple." His jaw works.

"You're always saying that. But maybe it is. Maybe us sleeping together is as simple as me liking you and wanting you, and you wanting me. Maybe me not saying anything about my father is as simple as me not wanting to think about how complicated my family is when I'm just trying to have some fun." I come around the island and lean against the counter next to him. "If we stay out of anything that involves your people and my father's people, which, for the record, is exactly where I want to stay anyway—I'm not going to Sunday dinners with your boss, I'm not asking about your work—then where's the problem? You didn't deflower the pakhan's daughter, Cormac. I'd been with men before you. I came to you; I asked for this. We're two people having a good time."

So much of that is a lie. I am trying to get close to him so that he lets me into his world, so I can find out about his work, maybe even get to a Sunday dinner with his boss and find a way to snoop around while I pretend to go powder my nose or something. But I force myself not to think about that, because once again, we're way too close to him shutting this down because he's spooked.

"It's not just about your father," he says. "It's the power imbalance. Your father's outfit is smaller than Declan's. If he finds out⁠—"

"Then we make sure he doesn't." I meet his eyes, refusing to back down. "I don't want to let you go. Do you want to let me go?"

A beat passes. "No," he admits. He looks like it was difficult for him to say it. "No, I don't want to. I want to keep doing this."