Page 130 of Vicious Games

“Ah,milaya,” he purrs. “For you, I can be whoever you want me to be.”

“Cute,” she snaps, straightening her back and folding her arms. “Cut the games. Are you Misha’s brother or not?”

His smile fades just enough to chill the air between us. “ThePakhan’s name is Mikhail Petrov,” he corrects, his voice as cold as steel. “Only family calls him that. And you are not family.”

Shit. We just stepped on a landmine. I’m pretty sure it will end up blowing us in the face if left unchecked.

“My sister didn’t mean any disrespect,” Enzo jumps in, quick to de-escalate.

“Yes, she did,” he replies, eyes still locked on Stella. “Didn’t you,milaya?”

“My name’s Stella, not whatever you’re calling me,” she says through clenched teeth, her jaw clenching as if imagining how hard she could punch him.

“Stella,” he repeats slowly, rolling her name over his tongue as if tasting it. “Suits you.”

“And yours?” she fires back, one brow arched.

“Kirill Petrov. But everyone calls me Kill.” He flashes a smile that doesn’t quite touch his dark eyes. “The name suits me just fine, too.”

“Let me guess,” she scoffs. “Because you’re so good at it?”

“Smart and beautiful.” His grin widens. “Would you like a demonstration?”

“Spare me. I didn’t come for a show. I came for answers.”

“Can’t we do both?” His black eyes gleam with something feral.

“Doubtful. Men aren’t exactly known for multitasking.”

“Ah,milaya,but I’m not like most men. I can assure you of that.”

Jesus Christ. This is not how I pictured this going. I should’ve brought Marcello instead of Stella. Kirill—or Kill, or whatever the fuck he wants to call himself—looks like the kind of guy who enjoys playing with matches just to watch things burn. And judging by the flicker in his eyes, there’s nothing he’d love more than to provoke Stella until she explodes.

To her credit, she doesn’t take the bait. She doesn’t so much as flinch. And that, maybe more than anything else, seems to only encourage him more.

“Funny,” Kirill drawls, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’ve heard all about your Red Queen. But not much about her fiery daughter. Tell me, Stella… do you favor your mother or your father more? If you even know who your father is, I mean.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I see the flicker in Stella’s eyes—the one she gets every time she’s out for blood—and watch her fingers instinctively reach for the dagger in her boot, forcing me to step in fast. I shove her behind me before she kills this asshole in his own club.

We’d never make it out alive.

“Enough with the mind games, Kirill,” I snap. “Like we said, we’re not here to start anything. We don’t want any trouble.”

“No, you’re here for answers,” he replies with a theatrical sigh, bored now that Stella is out of his reach. “But how am I supposed to help if I don’t even know the question?”

I pull out my phone, scroll to the photos of Frankie’s bracelet and the medallion, and then slide it across the table.

“Ever seen this before?” I ask. “The inscription’s in Russian. We figured someone in your crew might recognize it.”

Kirill barely glances at the screen before flicking the phone back toward me as if he were offended by it.

“This? This is why you’re here?” he scoffs, smoke curling from his nostrils. “For a trinket? If you need a translator, try Google Translate next time. My schedule is full.” He stands and snuffs out his cigarette with the kind of finality that ends conversations.

“So you’ve never seen it?” Enzo presses, undeterred. “Can we ask your men if—?”

“My men,” Kirill cuts in coldly, “aren’t here to help little children with their school projects. You’ve already wasted enough of my time as it is.” He steps out of the booth and takes two deliberate strides toward us, eyes locked on Stella. “Maybe our paths will cross again,milaya,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet over a blade. “Preferably when you’re not stuck babysitting your brothers. Until then,” he continues, turning his eyes to Enzo and me, “get the fuck out of my club.”

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