Page 43 of Vicious Betrayal

My heart is racing. Not from the possibility that Cormac suspects me, surprisingly enough, but from what I just heard.

It's not a ledger or any of the documents they've asked for, but it's a location, a time frame, a description of mafia activity. It's more specific than anything I've had yet. And I hope that it's enough to make them think that I really am trying.

—

This time, our meet-up spot is at a coffee shop. Reyes is back in her civilian attire once again, trying to look normal with her small notebook open on the table in front of her next to her latte. Her expression is tense when I walk in, and I feel my stomach knot until I have absolutely no desire for the expensive coffee sitting in front of me after I order and sit down.

I get straight to the point. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to. I tell her exactly what I overheard Declan and Cormac talking about, and I watch as she takes notes while I talk.

"This is useful," she says finally. "This is the most useful thing you've given us."

I run my tongue over my teeth nervously. "I know."

"But it's not the paperwork." She looks up then. "You understand what we need. The documentation. Communications, manifests, financial records—something that ties the physical operation to the money and names on the other end. We need the chain of evidence."

"I know what you need." I fight to keep the frustration out of my voice, and I don't think I'm entirely successful. "You've told me over and over. I'm doing my best. He doesn't leave things accessible."

"Then we'll have to find a better pathway than just your access to Cormac's house." She sets the pen down. "You were at the party. You met Declan. That means you're no longer just a woman Cormac is sleeping with—you're someone Declan Murphy has seen and talked to. You could get a better invitation."

I stare at her, swallowing hard. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get Cormac to take me to that party?" I hiss, keeping my voice low. I still feel the echo of how dismissive he was of me, how carefully he kept me on the outside of things, like a bruise I could press on and feel the sting of. "And he won't do it again anytime soon. He wasn't happy with all of his associates seeing me. It's the age thing, I think, but also he's worried about the fact that my father is so low on the hierarchy. He thinks it's a power imbalance and that my father could cause problems for Declan if he knew." I glare at Reyes. "Of course, that's not an issue, since my father knows I'm fucking Cormac to try to keep him out of prison."

She doesn't so much as flinch at my crude language. "Declan and his wife, Elena, often host at their home. Dinner parties, Sunday dinners for the men, that sort of thing. If you're established as Cormac's real girlfriend, you could end up in that house." She holds my gaze. "It's possible Declan keeps things there you might be able to find."

I can't help the incredulous expression that slides across my face at that. "You think Declan Murphy, the head of the Irish mob, is going to be less careful with his paperwork? That I can somehow slip into his office and find something…"

"You might be able to hear something more, as well. But yes. Find a way in. Move this relationship forward faster than you have been. Get closer to Cormac so you find out things about him that could help you crack his password. Think like you're really invested in this job, Oksana, because you need to be."

"Cormac is cautious⁠—"

"And women make cautious men stupid." Reyes gives me a level look. "You're not a casual thing Cormac is spending time with—you need to be his girlfriend. Not a fling he keeps separate. That's how you get into that house."

The word fling presses on that bruise. I look down at the table.

"The alternative," Reyes says carefully, "is that the evidence against your family goes forward as it is."

My eyes burn, and I take a slow breath to calm myself. I refuse to cry in front of her. I won't let her see what this is doing to me. "I understand the alternative."

"I want to make sure you do." She closes the notebook. "I believe you can do this, Oksana. You just need to keep your eyes on what matters. Your family."

She doesn't care about my family. She doesn't care about me. If she did, she wouldn't be threatening my mother and me with prison time, when all we've ever done is try to live our lives within the boundaries of the world we were born into. But I just nod. There's nothing else I can say, and nothing that would change what's happening.

I haven't touched my coffee once, I realize, as Reyes stands to leave. All the same, I can feel my stomach rebelling, and I barely make it to the coffee shop's bathroom before I'm throwing up violently.

I tell myself it's stress. It makes sense—my entire life is an avalanche of stress now. Even my moments with Cormac don't really alleviate it, not for long. I can lose myself in the pleasure for a little while, especially when he takes me into that room, but it all comes rushing back very quickly. Stress can do all kinds of things to a person's body. Make them lose or gain weight, make them sick, make their period stop. And I'm under so fucking much of it.

I'm fine by the time I get home. I drink water, eat crackers, and I feel better, and I don't think about it.

Two days later I'm sick again. I go over to Cormac's for dinner, and he makes Reuben sandwiches for us with crispy rosemary and garlic fries, and a new craft beer he got at the store that he's wanted to try. The food smells good at first, but when he cracks the jar of sauerkraut, I feel my stomach turn over. I put my hand flat on the island for a second and breathe through my nose until it passes.

Cormac turns from where he's assembling the sandwiches and gives me a concerned look. "You alright?"

"I'm… okay. I think I might have some kind of bug or something." I gesture vaguely. I can't exactly tell him that I think this is caused by too much stress. The Oksana that Cormac knows has no reason to be this stressed out.

He frowns, the look of concern on his face only intensifying. "You want to go home?"

"No!" I shake my head and try to calm my voice down. "No, it's okay. I mean… I don't want to get you sick or anything, but I don't think it's contagious. I've just been a little under the weather is all. And I've been looking forward to this." I pause. "Maybe I'll just skip the beer tonight. And leave the kraut off my sandwich. I'm sure it'll still be good without it, right?"

"Not nearly as good," he teases. "But yeah, that's fine. I'll make it however you want."