Page 55 of Vicious Betrayal

"It's not a baby yet," Reyes says, her tone maddeningly calm. "And it's a complication you don't need right now. Be an adult about this, Oksana. You will come out of this investigation a divorcee, with a ruined family and a need to determine what your future will look like without the comforts you're used to. A child in that circumstance…"

"It's my baby," I say, my hands moving instinctively to my stomach. "And I'm keeping it."

Reyes sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Then you're making this harder on yourself."

"I don't care." I swipe at my face with the back of my hand, smearing mascara across my cheekbone. "If I'm going to do this—if I'm going to marry Cormac and betray him and destroy everything he thinks we have—then I get to keep my child. That's non-negotiable."

"Nothing is non-negotiable in this situation."

"Fine. Then I'm negotiating." I lean forward, my voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I want protection. For my baby and me. After this is over, after you arrest Cormac and Declan and whoever else you're going after, I want a new identity. I want to disappear somewhere they'll never find me, and I want my child to be safe. That's the deal."

Reyes doesn't answer immediately. She picks up her coffee and takes another slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine. I can see her calculating the cost of my demand against the value of what I can give her.

"I'll talk to my superiors," she says finally. "But I can't make any promises. Witness protection is expensive and complicated. And it's not guaranteed, especially if you don't deliver what we need."

"I'll deliver it." I have no idea how I'm going to accomplish that, still, but I already know I have to do it. If I don't, my family suffers. But I'm tired of giving up everything. This, I'm keeping for myself. "But I'm not giving up my baby. And I'm not doing this without protection on the other side."

Reyes nods slowly, then stands, picking up her coffee cup. "You have until the end of next month," she says. "After that, we move forward with or without your cooperation. And if we move forward without you, your family goes down. All of them. Including you."

She walks out without another word, leaving me sitting alone at the corner table with my cold latte and my shaking hands.

—

The next day, I'm supposed to choose a wedding dress.

The boutique where my private appointment has been arranged is beautiful. It's all pink and champagne, satins and lace and velvets, a gorgeous boudoir of luxury for the happiest day of a girl's life.

Unfortunately, for me, it feels like the end of mine.

And today comes with additional complications. My mother and sister, Katya, are here with me. In order to keep up appearances that all is well, and avoid anyone becoming suspicious of what's going on within our family, Reyes insisted that we have to behave exactly like any normal family preparing for a daughter to get married.

My mother, Irina Svenkova, is doing her best to look like everything is normal, although there are dark circles under her eyes, and she looks like she's aged ten years in the last couple of months. The lines on her face are deeper, and she's lost weight. At home, she's taken to staying in her lounge clothing all day and avoiding everyone as much as possible. But today she's dressed up in black slim pants and a cream silk blouse, her hair washed and styled in a neat bun, makeup done and diamonds glittering at her ears and wrist. She looks like a woman whose daughter is about to marry into one of the most powerful crime families in Chicago.

She does not look like a woman whose family is being held hostage by the FBI.

Katya is sitting beside her, in stark contrast. My sister is wearing ripped jeans, an oversized black sweater, and scuffed combat boots. Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and there are dark circles under her eyes that she hasn't bothered to try to hide with makeup. She looks exhausted and hollowed out, like she hasn't slept in weeks.

She probably hasn't. The family has kept her on a tight leash since she came back from her meeting with the FBI, and everything fell apart. She's not allowed at family meals. She's not allowed in Papa's office. She's barely spoken to, barely acknowledged, and she's kept herself sequestered in her room, not trying to speak to anyone, either. Her engagement has been dissolved, so she got what she wanted, but she's never looked more miserable.

But today, she's here because for the sake of my cover, we have to look like a normal, reasonably happy family. We have to smile and laugh and pretend that everything is fine, that there's no betrayal festering beneath the surface, that my sister didn't destroy everything we had.

"Oksana, dorogaya," my mother says, rising gracefully as I walk in. She kisses both my cheeks, her perfume wrapping around me. "You look pale. Are you feeling well?" Her voice sounds stilted, forced into a cheerful concern. Underneath, I can hear the real concern. But we're all on the brink of falling apart, and my mother has been having a hard enough time keeping herself together as she watches the life she knows vanish in front of her eyes.

"I'm fine, Mama," I lie, forcing a smile. "Just tired. Wedding planning is exhausting."

"Of course." She pats my hand, her touch light and cool. "But it will all be worth it. You're marrying a very powerful man, Oksana. This is a good match for our family."

I want to scream. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and demand to know how she can sit here and talk about this wedding like this when she knows what's really happening. But I don't, because I know why, even if I feel like I'm fraying apart because of it. We all have to play our role, or we all spend years behind bars.

I just nod and smile, and wait for the consultant to come and greet us.

"Miss Svenkova," the consultant says warmly. "Congratulations on your engagement. I'm Caroline, and I'll be helping you find the perfect dress today. Do you have any particular style in mind?"

"Something elegant," my mother answers before I can speak. "Classic. Nothing too revealing. She's marrying into a traditional Irish family."

"Of course." Caroline nods, already pulling dresses from the racks. "We have some beautiful options. Let's start with a few A-line silhouettes, and we can go from there."

I let her lead me into the fitting room, a large, softly lit space with a circular platform surrounded by mirrors. She fusses with the dresses she brought in as I stand there in my bra and underwear, staring at my reflection. My body looks the same as it always has so far, but I can't help but think about how it will change soon. How different I'll look when I start to show that I'm carrying Cormac's child.