The Player (The Game Maker #3)(36)

“He allowed you to break up with him?”

Allowed? “What should he have done?”

Dmitri held my gaze. “If I’d been him, I would have fought for you.”

His words sent a tingle through me. “Who said Brett hasn’t been doing just that?” Each Sunday, I pictured him struggling to come up with another e-mail, to tap into my memories of better times and reach some part of me not hardened by his infidelity.

“Yet you haven’t taken him back.”

I raised my chin. “He cheated on me.”

“I am very sorry, Vika,” he said in a sincere tone. “That must have been painful.”

“It was.” I’d considered my wedding gown so tainted with bad luck I’d scissored it to shreds instead of selling it. “You know, everyone had bet against us, but I was determined.” Being with Brett had made me ask questions I’d never asked before.

What if I didn’t have to grift? What if I gave people my real name—all the time? What if I made clothes for a living? “I really thought we had a shot.”

“Are you tempted to return to him?”

Life had been pretty good. I’d moved in with him, and he’d paid for my car. I’d limited my grift work, and enrolled in fashion design classes. He’d cooked, and I’d cleaned. We’d lived modestly.

Yes, hiding my cons had been stressful, but nothing like I struggled with now. Even if my family settled our debt, I was still getting evicted and driving an unreliable truck. Of course, now I owned a Porsche. But not for long. God, this was all so confusing. I absently murmured, “I don’t know.”

A muscle in Sevastyan’s jaw pulsed. “And this is why you’re so cautious.”

Partly. “Let’s not talk about him anymore.”

After a hesitation, he said, “Agreed. Tell me more about you.”

“Where should I begin?” I’d been intimate with Dmitri—twice—yet we knew so little about each other.

“What makes Victoria Valentine tick?” A wayward breeze tousled his black hair.

Right now golden-eyed Russians make my pulse race. “Compared to the women you usually meet, I’m sure I live a boring life.”

He didn’t address that. “Where did you go to school?”

“I was homeschooled. My parents wanted me to go into the family business. They could teach me better than anyone.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“My folks are still mad for each other after thirty years of marriage. My big sister, Karin, is my best friend. My brother is my hero. I have an extended family I love. In their own way, they’re all overprotective of me. But I think . . .” I trailed off.

“You think what?”

They underestimate me. “Nothing. What about your family? You said Maksim basically raised you.” Some of Maksim’s charm must’ve rubbed off on his little brother. Maybe that was why I detected such a mix of polish and uncertainty in Dmitri.

“My mother died when I was five, my father when I was seven.”

“I’m sorry.” I was about to ask him how, but his changeable expression gave me pause. Instead of sadness, I perceived . . . anger.

Dmitri’s busted knuckles whitened on his glass. Then he inhaled, as if for calm.

I grasped for a change of subject. “You seem to get along really well with Lucía.”

“Yes. I like her very much.” He frowned, then said, “At first, I didn’t. I didn’t like the idea of her. I didn’t like how my brother was acting. I was not shy in letting him know.” His tone implied an understatement.

“What do you mean?”

“He was a sworn bachelor who saw only escorts. His longest ‘relationship’ was an hour. Then I heard rumors he was obsessed with one woman—after a single date—and living with her after their second. For him to veer so drastically from all the years before, I wondered if he was having some kind of early midlife crisis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“It’s not a pretty story.”

I waved him on. “Please.”

“A man targeted her for her money, learning everything about her, then courting her.” Oh. Shit. He sounded like a con artist, maybe a serial groom. But a true grifter would never target a good person.

Aren’t I right now? No sins, still in?

Dmitri continued, “He tricked her into marrying him, planning to murder her once she’d signed over everything.”

“My God.” Not a con artist. He was a killer who’d stolen some of our methods to do evil. Step nine in the progression of the long con was not murder your mark. “The man sounds like a psychopath.”

“He was. She ran from him for years, but he found her and stabbed her in the chest before my brother could reach her.”

My eyes went wide. I couldn’t imagine anyone taking a knife to the lovely girl I’d laughed with. “Then what happened?”

“The man pulled a gun on Maksim, had a bead on his head, but my brother charged him anyway.” Dmitri couldn’t sound prouder. “Maksim would have died if Lucía hadn’t found the strength to hit that f*ck’s arm at the last second. Maksim took a bullet in the shoulder.”

“I had no idea.”