The Player (The Game Maker #3) - Kresley Cole Page 0,95

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