Page 174 of Vicious Games

The pain. The loss. The longing.

All of it spills out, softened only by the knowledge that I was never unwanted. Never abandoned.

I was loved.

I was always loved.

Chapter 29

Luciano

Five days.

I’ve been living at the Petrov compound for five wholefreakingdays.

They say I’m a guest here, but since I’m not allowed to wander around without a fucking chaperone, it feels more like I’m a prisoner than an invited guest.

Not that Frankie seems to notice.

She’s too high on the thrill of finally finding her family to realize that Stella and I aren’t exactly being welcomed with open arms.

“I know. I know,” Stella says into the phone, shooting me a glare like I got her in trouble. “Yes,Papà.We will. No,Papà.They haven’t. Yes,Papà.I know…I know…I know. Jesus, Dad! I know! God!” she snaps, losing her patience.

But whatever our father says next brings her rage down fast.

“Understood. Please tell Anna and Mar that I miss them. Mom, Gio and Dom, too. Yes. Yes. We’ll be home soon. I love you, too.”

She hangs up, tosses her phone onto the bed, and slumps against the pillows. Her bullet wound is healing nicely, but Kirill has her on bedrest until he’s sure there’s no risk of infection.

“Well, that was fun,” she scowls. “Nothing like getting your head chewed off by theCapo dei Capiand a worried dad.”

“That bad, huh?” I mutter absentmindedly, while staring out the window and watching Frankie laugh hysterically at something Mikhail said to her.

What could he have possibly said to have her laugh like that?

It’s not like the BratvaPakhanis known for being a bundle of laughs.

He’s her uncle, moron. Quit with the jealousy already,my subconscious rears its ugly head to scold me.

“Lucky? Lucky? LUCKY! Did you hear anything I just said?” Stella shouts angrily.

Nothing new there.

She’s always angry at something or other.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumble. “Our dad’s pissed.Shocker.But come on? On a scale from one to ten, how upset could he possibly be with us?”

“Us?There is no ‘us’, Lucky. He’s pissed at you, not me.”

“Why only me?” I ask, pulling the curtain back into place and settling on the edge of Stella’s bed.

“Because you’re the one who didn’t kill Kirill when you had the chance. Not only didn’t you kill that rat bastard, but you let him kidnap us and bring us all the way to Russia.”

Me kill Kirill? And then what? Start a war?

But of course, my father would rather start a war with the Bratva than let his children get taken by them. He may be the head of the Outfit, but first and foremost, he’s a father.

Our father. And we don’t exactly make life easy for him. For any of them really.

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