Page 116 of Vicious Games

“Told her what?”

“For fuck’s sake. You’re so fucking bad at this.” He shakes his head. “Have you told her how you feel? Have you hadthe talk?”

“The only one talking here is you,” I scowl. “Enough chit-chat. Just get me what I need.”

I spin on my heel, ready to walk out of his room before my twin suggests something inane like me professing my love for Frankie.

“Looks like we might have a lead,” Enzo calls out from behind his laptop, voice thick with that smug little lilt he always gets when he knows he’s about to drop something juicy.

I turn around, still halfway out of his room. “Really?”

“Yep. Come look. There appears to be an inscription on the medallion,” he says, pointing at the screen. “I didn’t catch it at first since you didn’t get a good shot.”

“Neither did I.” I frown.

“Figures.” Enzo grins. “You were probably too busy drooling over the naked girl in your bed.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, walking back over.

I lean over his shoulder, eyes narrowing on the zoomed-in image of the bracelet. Sure enough, around the edge of the medallion is a faint engraving of Cyrillic-looking characters.

“Does that look Russian to you?”

“Only one way to find out,” he says, fingers flying across the keys. “Ty esi Khristos, Syn Boga Zhivaogo,” he reads aloud as he types. “It’s Russian, alright,” he confirms, leaning back. “It translates to‘You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.’“

I blink, letting the weight of the words sink in. Then I blow out a slow breath. “So her parents might’ve been devout too.”

“Makes sense to me. You did say they left her at St. Mary’s Cathedral, right? It also might explain why your girlfriend is dead-set on becoming a nun. Maybe it’s in her genes.” Enzo shrugs.

“Frankie doesn’t know what she wants,” I grumble, eyes locked on the screen. “And how devout could they be if they just ditched their kid on the church steps like garbage?”

“Maybe they didn’t have a choice.”

“There’salwaysa choice,” I snap, my tone sharper than I mean it to be. “And they chose to leave her.”

Enzo lifts his hands as if backing off. “I’m just saying. You don’t know the full story. People do fucked-up things when they are backed into a corner.”

I don’t contribute anything to that remark. And I sure as shit don’t want to hear excuses for people who could walk away from someone like Frankie. Her parents willingly gave her up, knowing they were scarring her for life. If they loved her, they would have at least walked her into the church and explained their circumstances to someone before leaving her there. If they even gave a shit about her, they wouldn’t have left her to always wonder where she came from.

I understand people being unable to keep their children and wanting them to have a better life, one they couldn’t provide. What I don’t understand is leaving her to wonder that maybe they gave her up because they didn’t love her enough. That right there has me hating them. But if they can somehow manage to persuade Frankie to rethink her life choices… Well, maybe I’ll let them live.

“Just… see what you can find. Anything. Names, records. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“I’ll dig,” Enzo says with a nod, already scrolling through his contacts and resources. “Might take a bit, but I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Appreciate it,” I say, heading for the door again, but his voice follows me before I’m able to leave.

“Lucky… if you love her, tell her. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob. I don’t say a word. Don’t have to. It’s plastered all over my face that I love Frankie. He sees it. Hell, anyone with half a brain sees it. It’s in the way my jaw tightens every time someone talks shit about her. It’s in the way I want to hunt down ghosts just to make her feel whole. It’s in the way I can’t go a damn hour without thinking about her laugh or how her fingers tremble right before she kisses me as if she were afraid and brave at the same time.

Still, telling her I love her—just to be faced with the reality that she doesn’t feel the same—yeah, I’d rather not, thank you very much.

So, instead of taking my brother’s advice, I leave his room with a tight chest, my heart already pulling me back to the girl fast asleep in my bed.

If my plan to find her parents leads nowhere, she’ll be out of my bed—and out of my life—sooner than I can stand.

Which means every second I have with her now is one I won’t have to spend missing her later.

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