by Kresley Cole
I glanced down at my ring, and the tears fell and fell. . . .
After what must’ve been ages, we pulled up to my parents’ house. I let Karin walk me inside.
When Mom and Dad leapt up to hug me, I gave a humiliating sob. Cold-as-Ice Vice had broken into frozen shards. Even Cash’s welcoming gurgle from his playpen barely registered. I dimly noticed Al and Gram had traded up from sherry to hard liquor—vodka. Because things were seriously fucked.
Mom brushed tears from my face. “Honey, we’re going to figure this out.”
Dad searched my expression. “Did he ever hurt you, sweet pea?”
I shook my head. Finally found my voice. “He was . . . wonderful. Obviously too good to be true.”
I sat on the lumpy couch, Mom and Dad on one side, Karin protectively on the other.
Mom rubbed my back. “Then help us understand this.”
How? When I couldn’t wrap my mind around it? “I don’t know. I don’t . . . I can’t think.”
How much of Dmitri’s interest was real? How much of his sentiments?
Everything between us was as fake as the Strip.
I muffled another sob.
“We can’t figure out why.” Mom frowned. “Does he like playing games?”
Dmitri had warned me he would do just that.
Benji sat on my parents’ love seat. “Maybe he’s a typical rich asshole who enjoys manipulating people. He could’ve made a bet with one of his brothers or something, then ended up falling for Vice.”
Karin said, “Maybe he’s an unlovable person—and he knows it. He could’ve spied on Vice, learned everything about her, then changed himself like a chameleon to trick her into loving him.”
They debated possibilities, each one getting more far-fetched.
I finally said, “I want to see the surveillance.”
Karin nodded. “Benji put a compilation together.”
He pushed buttons on a remote. “I’ll cue it up.” The TV flared to life.
I noticed they had a new flat-screen, courtesy of Dmitri’s money. Good. They’d proudly hung the art I’d bought them.
Video footage of the Caly’s main lounge began to play, with a date and time stamp at the bottom. August 21 at ten after ten.
I barely recognized Dmitri sitting at the end of the bar. Because he’d been a drug-addicted, addled, suicidal wreck—a shadow of what he was now.
He’d weighed at least twenty pounds less. His skin had been pale and clammy, his face gaunt, his eyes deadened and filled with pain.
Seeing him like that . . . Emotion squeezed my chest till my lungs threatened to collapse.
Then my group of seven women came on-screen—Karin and I, cousins, and grift friends. We’d booked rooms that night at the Caly; right then, we would’ve been heading out to a club next door.
Karin, dazzling as ever in a slinky red dress, had led the way. She’d been pregnant, but hadn’t looked it, except for her glowing skin and lustrous hair. Every man she’d passed had done a double take. Yet as she’d traipsed past Dmitri, he hadn’t spared her a second glance.
I was farther behind her, the last of the group. I’d been wearing a black strapless dress, my hair loose. I’d been laughing at something.
When Dmitri spotted me across the bar, his body jolted straighter. He’d stared at my face as I passed, rubbing his chest. All of a sudden, those deadened eyes glimmered with interest. . . .
He’d once described his first impression of me. He’d been telling the truth—about the real first time he’d seen me: “You looked like an angel to me. One with an edge. My chest tightened, and my pulse raced. When I registered the blue of your eyes, I believed I was having a heart attack.”
I swiped my forearm over my cheeks. He’d gazed at me as if . . . I were a candle in a world of darkness.
Hurrying to follow, he’d tossed money on the bar, then strode out of the casino.
The video skipped to later that night at the Caly. With Dmitri secretly observing me, I’d picked a pocket. The guy must’ve negged me.
Dmitri had canted his head, appearing utterly fascinated. An angel with an edge.
Gram murmured, “Nice lift, Victoria.”
“Not nice enough. He saw me do it.” Between that and the spying . . . “He’s known all along what we are.” All that worry and covering up for nothing.
Pete said, “Oh, yeah.”
At the end of the night, Dmitri had trailed my group to the elevator, then gone straight to the front desk, taking aside the manager.
Had Dmitri paid for my information then? My room number? He could’ve cloned my phone that very weekend.
Pete told me, “I had a hunch about all your burned marks, so we got more recent tapes. Vice, he busted your cons.”
My fists clenched. “What??”
Another video cued up, this one from just over a month ago. There stood Nigel in the lobby, fidgeting, smoothing a hand over his head, waiting for me to show. And off to one side—Dmitri, looking a thousand times better, phone in hand. He’d texted something; seconds later, Nigel glanced down at his own phone, paling at whatever he’d read. Dmitri had spooked the man somehow.
Right on time, I showed up in my white drape dress—then looked dumbfounded as my mark bailed.
In the video, Dmitri squared his shoulders, clearly intending to talk to me then. How nervous he must have been!
As he started toward me, I exhaled an irritated breath, texting Pete my humiliating defeat. When I pinched my temples, Dmitri slowed his pace, looking wrecked. As if he hated my pain. Even though he’d been the cause of it!
A group of babes approached him, circling him aggressively, blowing his chance to talk to me. He scowled at them, then reluctantly walked away.
The TV screen went black. I stared at it anyway.
What had he said to me that very night on the deck? “Perhaps I drove the others away so you would appear in front of me.”
Dear God, when he’d tipped his face up to the moon and exhaled, he had been longing—for me.
Then, as if his wish to the universe had come true, I’d shown up moments later. No wonder he’d been shocked.
Fresh from sabotaging my con, never knowing what was at stake for me, he’d kissed me. Wait. He’d known everything. He’d known about the cartel. My eyes narrowed. He’d paid them off so easily because he’d always intended to.
So why let us suffer? Why not pay sooner? Couldn’t he tell how scared we’d been? For months, we’d talked about nothing else, and he’d been listening in.
Dad said, “I watch that video, and I don’t see a man out to hurt my daughter. I see obsession and fixation but not malice.”
“Obsession?” Benji turned off the TV and set aside the remote. “You could say that. Today he bloodied the car window trying to get to Vice.”
“Then how could he keep himself away from her?” Mom asked. “Once Brett was out of the picture . . .”
Pete scratched his head. “He must’ve used some of that time to clean himself up.” He turned to me. “Is Dmitri off whatever he’d been on?”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Completely.”
Benji said, “Before you married him, he mentioned issues. Based on the way he acted today, I’m thinking more than drugs.” When I nodded, he said, “So mental issues.”
My sense of loyalty to Dmitri still had a stranglehold on me. I would never specify exactly what he’d struggled with. “He worked on some things over the past year. Then he and I resolved some more.” I think. Who knows what was real? “If you’d talked with him over the last month, you’d just think he was a rich eccentric.”
Karin put her arm around my shoulders. “You told me he sent up all these red flags, but I pushed anyway.”
She had. They all had. Mom had cried, “You’re letting him get away!” But then, none of us had had a choice.
Benji leaned forward. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, sis, but marrying him was still the right play. You’re rich now. You’ll ne
ver have to work again.”
I wanted Dmitri. I wanted my husband. Or the man I’d thought he was.
“No prenup with a known con artist?” Karin shook her head. “What was he thinking?”
“The lawyer said that postnup was legit,” Pete said. “Dmitri’s left himself with a half a billion dollar exposure.”
It’s actually a ton more than that, Pete.
Mom nodded. “For whatever reason, Sevastyan gambled. And he lost.”
They were making Dmitri sound foolish, and even now it got my back up. He might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Just the opposite. He was the most brilliant man I’d ever met. Methodical. Quick to learn—
My eyes widened as realization hit me. I shot to my feet, sucking in a breath.
He did learn! “I see now,” I whispered. “I see so clearly what he did.” Everything began to add up.
“Don’t leave us hanging, Vice,” Benji said.
I started to pace. “He let me catch him.” The fox had never suspected the henhouse was a trap.
“I don’t understand,” Dad said. “What’d he want from you?”
“He wanted us to be together. Married.” Not just wed. Our lives entangled.
And he’d had only so much time to snare me.
People who dated had sex. If he’d denied me much longer, I would’ve gotten even more suspicious. On the other side of the coin, if he’d reacted as he had on our wedding night . . .
He must’ve feared I’d run away screaming.
Plus, his obsession had grown more apparent every hour. He wouldn’t have been able to disguise it much longer. He’d told me, “I’ve never wanted anything so badly, and I knew I would get only one shot at winning you.” No wonder he’d called our courtship grueling. I couldn’t imagine the pressure he’d felt after a year, after all those changes, and all that work.
“Then why not simply romance you?” Mom asked.
My mind raced. “He and I got any issues resolved because I had no choice; I was already in so deep with him. If we’d had a typical courtship, I would’ve bolted at least three times. He knew that; he couldn’t risk that. He thinks I’m his . . . soul mate.”
Karin frowned. “What’re you saying, hon?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He needed me to ignore the warning signs—and my common sense—and pursue him. He needed my family’s interests to be aligned with his, everyone pushing for marriage. Which meant he needed heat. The cartel threat was a masterstroke.”
“You’ve lost me, my dear,” Gram said.
“He either set up the cartel sting—or he let it roll, capitalizing on it. Don’t you guys see? He was pulling a long con!”
He had learned. From us.
Stunned silence reigned.
I replayed all his actions, seeing them afresh in the logical progression of a con. “After identifying me as his mark, he did his foundation work, cloning my phone and getting rid of any impediments—such as my fiancé. Then he assembled his team.” I turned to Pete. “How did you get your job at the Calydon? Did you use juice?”
“It pretty much fell into my lap. Ohhh . . .” Comprehension dawned on his face. “I thought I’d gotten lucky. Jesus Christ, the Russian positioned me. Me! I was a shill.”
I nodded. “Then came the meet. His sister-in-law said she was surprised when Dmitri recommended they all travel to Vegas. They were unwitting shills as well. He positioned them to orchestrate a memorable first impression. I found them so down to earth and fun; he benefitted just by association.”
And step four? Integration? Dmitri had used gifts and sex to insinuate himself into my life.
Mom turned to Dad with a shocked laugh. “The Kansas City shuffle.”
Dad nodded, looking thunderstruck. “Conning the con artist. I’ll be damned.”
Gram raised her glass. “He outfoxed the foxes, didn’t he?”
Al shot his vodka, then said, “Vee Russian men are vily.”
I gazed from one to the other. “You guys sent Brett to my house to pressure our mark into marrying me. Dmitri used the situation to his advantage, maneuvering me into the crisis.”
“Only one problem,” Benji said. “None of us e-mailed Brett.”
I sank back down on the couch. “Dmitri did it. He could easily have e-mailed from my account.” At my apartment, he’d told me, “This will be the last night I part from you,” because he’d known we would be married the next day. I darted a glance at my ring. He’d had it on ice, just waiting.
“Oh, he’s good,” Mom said. “That ruthless Russian is good.”
Karin said, “Turning down a prenup was his gesture of sacrifice.”
I nodded. “To deepen my trust. He even gave me the ultimatum: tell him yes or tell him good-bye.” He’d conned my entire family. And right now, they looked equally dazed—and admiring.
Dad muttered, “Well played, Sevastyan.”
Mom said, “He was a hacker, a backer, and a fixer.”
Pete gave a startled laugh. “Don’t forget roper and mastermind.”
Al petted his beard. “He played us like chess master.”
Benji said, “We got freaking Keyser Söze-ed!”
“Vat does that mean?”
“The Usual Suspects?”
No wonder my grift sense kept sounding the alarm. I’d sensed his plot; deep down I’d known I was getting played! “Why are you guys not pissed?” I demanded. “Understanding his motives doesn’t erase everything he did! He listened to our private conversations. He hired a woman to tempt my fiancé. He might’ve faked the cartel threat!”
Benji pointed out, “You can’t get angry about half of those things because they were done in the service of a long con. Either they don’t count—or else we’re really shitty people.”
“But we target assholes!”
Dad cleared his throat. “Sweet pea, his con depended on us using him for money.”
“But only to save us from the cartel—a crisis he might have manufactured.” No one seemed to care about that.
“He didn’t want to blow his one shot with Vice.” Mom sighed. “I’d suspected him of having all these awful, twisted motives.”
“Me, too.” Karin stood, heading for the playpen. She pulled Cash in her arms. Gurgle. Blink. He’d grown. I needed to hold him, but I was shaking too bad.
“We all did,” Pete agreed. “Vice, your biggest fear was that he’d get to know the real you and bail. He had the same fear about you—and so he hedged his bets to hell and back.”
Benji told me, “He knows you up and down, and he still tried to fight a car to get to you.”
“You wanted a man to make a grand gesture?” Karin sat on the couch arm, adjusting Cash. “Like in the movies? How about devoting a year of his life and risking half his fortune to win you?”
Mom smoothed my hair from my face. “As for you . . . I’ve never seen you more upset than you were earlier—and yet you didn’t take off his ring.”
I shot to my feet, pacing again. “You guys are all as crazy as he is!” I pictured Dmitri right now, going nuts, wondering whether his wife would come back to him. Just don’t leave. . . . You are my home. . . . His voice echoed inside my head.
But I couldn’t get over the cartel. Was the whole thing a setup? “We were terrified for months. I thought Dad was going to be burned alive! Think of how many extra men Karin had to seduce, or how many hours I’d tried to run game, never knowing I was doomed to failure. Mom, how many nights did you lie awake terrified?”
And if he’d monitored my conversations and texts, he knew how much anxiety I struggled with over the last month; why not put me out of my misery? Why let me agonize over my ring? Had he been testing me?
A car engine sounded outside.
Benji stood to peer out the living room window. “Holy shit, it’s him! Maybe he’s tracking Vice.”
“He wouldn’t need to,” Karin said. “He knows her. He knows us. And this is our sanctuary.”
Pete raised his b
rows. “He’s showing up here? On our turf? The balls on that son of a bitch!”
Al intoned, “Russian men do have beeg balls.”
I darted over to the window. Exhaled a shocked breath. Dmitri was striding to our front door.
Gram chuckled over her vodka. “This is better than my soaps.”
CHAPTER 37
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I whirled around when I heard the front door open and close. No knock.
My family was agog at the towering billionaire who’d just barged right into our sanctuary without an invite.
He’d done a lot of things without an invite.
Standing across the room from me, he squared his shoulders, but I could tell how difficult walking into this lion’s den was for him. A special kind of hell, as Lucía had said.
He loathed attention; all eyes were on him. This morning, all he’d wanted was to make a good first impression on my family. He’d gone back and forth over ties. Now his hair was unruly, his eyes wild, his hand bloody.
I fought the sympathy billowing up inside me. Stay cold, Vice.
“I need to speak with you, Vika.” His voice was hoarse from yelling at me not to leave him.
My heart hurt, but I had to be strong. Which meant I couldn’t let him touch me. “Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of them. From there.”
“Very well.” His gaze lit on each of my family members—who looked like they were settling in for the show—before returning to me. “I love you.”
My lips parted.
Pete muttered, “I like it. Direct. No explanation. No rehashing.”
Dmitri continued, “And you love me.”
“Do I? I’m not sure I even know you. You may have tailored yourself to become more attractive to me.”
“I did. To an extent. But you do know me.”
“You spied on me for a year and used whatever you learned to trick me.” How frustrated he must have gotten every time I’d thrown up roadblocks, claiming he didn’t know me.
Or that his obsession would fade.
“Then wouldn’t we have had everything in common?” he asked. “I also used what I’d learned to please you. You talked about California. I bought you a large part of it. You imagined travel. I have planned dozens of trips for you. You dreamed of designing clothes . . .”
