46
ALEKSANDR
I was waiting outsideof the campus sports complex when Eva emerged. I knew immediately that she’d had a breakthrough. She moved differently—exhausted, yes, dark circles under her eyes speaking to too many sleepless nights, but there was a brightness in her eyes that spoke of discovery rather than defeat.
She saw me and stopped, surprised. I’d texted her an hour ago that I’d pick her up, though perhaps she hadn’t believed I’d actually show. True to their word, the bratva had put information at my disposal, and I’d been spending my days pouring over their betting records, looking for patterns that tied back to Jed Carter.
I opened the car door without a word. She slid in, bringing the scent of winter air and that fucking orange and vanilla shampoo that haunted me.
We drove in silence for several blocks. I didn’t push, didn’t ask, just waited. She’d talk when she was ready, and I’d discovered recently that waiting for Eva to come to me willingly was infinitely more rewarding than demanding anything from her.
“He tried to throw another game,” she said finally, her voice quiet but certain. “Last week—the football game against Boston.”
I kept my eyes on the road, my hands steady on the wheel even as my mind started racing through implications. “Who told you?”
“Danny Juma. He’s a senior defensive end. Tristan talked him into sitting down with me.” I could see her reflection in the glass as she stared out the window, thinking. “The defensive coordinator told him to ease up on a key player in the fourth quarter and let it slip that it was at Carter’s request. Danny didn’t think anything of it until afterward, when he realized he’d been set up to look like he’d blown the coverage.”
My jaw clenched. Sounded just like Jed Carter to ruin someone’s reputation while serving his own purposes.
“Here’s the thing, though,” Eva continued, and now, she turned to look at me, her eyes sharp. “The betting markets went insane in the two days before that game. Someone placed massive bets on Syracuse to cover the spread, and the odds shifted dramatically.”
I could feel where she was going with this, could see the puzzle pieces fitting together in her mind.
“The only reason to throw a game is betting. That’s why Carter had me steal the plays in the series against the Hawks,” she said slowly, working through it as she spoke. “Danny said we were favored by ten points, and Syracuse covered by two. Anyone betting on Syracuse would have?—”
“Made hundreds of thousands,” I finished, “depending on how much they wagered.”
“Exactly.” She twisted in her seat so she could face me, animated. “I don’t think Carter’s placing bets himself. Or rather, he probably is, but I bet there’s more money inadvising other people how to bet than throwing the games in his favor. They place the bets, they profit, and Carter gets, what? A cut? Favors? Protection?”
Exhaustion crept back into her expression now that the adrenaline of discovery was fading. Her fragility made my chest ache with the need to wrap her up and keep her safe from everything that was coming.
We pulled into my building’s garage, and I killed the engine. Eva didn’t move immediately, just sat there staring at her hands in her lap.
“Come upstairs,” I said quietly. “Please.”
She looked at me, vulnerability flickering across her face. “Okay.”
My apartment was warm when we entered, the heat a sharp contrast to the bitter cold outside. Eva shed her coat, and I hung it carefully beside mine, aching for it to have a permanent place.
She paced through my living room, restless and anxious, clearly still working through everything she’d learned.
I’d built my entire life on control—first in the bratva, where control meant survival, then in coaching, where control meant winning, and then in my relationship with Eva, where I’d punished her for daring to act on her own.
Still I wanted it, craved it, and every fiber of my being insisted that my value, my worth, my purpose was in protecting the people I loved by controlling their circumstances, even their desires.
Eva didn’t need that from me.
She stopped pacing and turned to look at me where I’d remained standing by the door. My face must have shown what I was thinking, because her expression softened.
“Alek?”
I shook my head then pushed off from the wall. “You’re doing well, baby girl. Keep going.”
The endearment slipped out naturally, and I saw the way it affected her—the slight softening of her shoulders, the way her breathing evened out just a hair. That was what she needed from me, I realized, more than anything else—my steadiness and my certainty that she was capable of handling what she’d taken on.
Fuck.
I could give her that. I could be that for her, even if it meant swallowing down every instinct that insisted I should be doing more. “Come here, baby girl.”