Page 180 of Vicious Games

“And I was meant to stand beside you. But I can’t. Not if you’re Bratva.”

“I’m not Bratva. I’m a Petrov.”

“Same difference, babe,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead before forcing myself to take a step back. “But you’re right. I am a selfish fuck for wanting you all to myself. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, Frankie. To have the life you deserve.” I glance around the massive library, filled with first editions of every book imaginable, then look back at her. “If this is where you’ll find that happiness… then who the hell am I to stand in your way?”

I turn and walk out, unwilling to let her see how living without her is going to kill every good part of me.

How it will destroy me.

How I’ll cease to exist without her.

Night in Russia hits different.

It’s colder than any Chicago winter I’ve ever known. It’s sharper, darker, almost cruel in its silence. The air here doesn’t just sting…it burrows into your bones, like the cold has teeth and fangs. Snow covers the vast countryside like a burial shroud, pristine and untouched, broken only by the trail of my footsteps crunching through the frost-covered garden outside the Petrov estate.

But I don’t feel the cold.

Not really.

I feel empty. So hollow it hurts to breathe.

The moon glows above me, bright and full, casting pale silver over the grounds like it’s mocking me. Mocking my heartbreak. My stupidity. My hope.

Yeah, the Russian countryside is beautiful. Serene even. But it’s not home.

Frankie’s my home.

And if she’s not in Chicago anymore… Does it even matter what city I call mine anymore?

Fuck.

This whole love shit…is not for the faint of heart, I can tell you that much.

Still, even now…knowing what I know, I’d do it all over again. Every risk, every lie, every scar. The months I had with Frankie were the best of my life. And if this pain is the price I pay for them, then so be it.

Just because she’s staying now doesn’t mean it’s forever.

Right?

She’ll come home.

She’ll come back to me.

She has to.

I glance up at the towering Petrov mansion, its sharp angles and gray stone glowing under the moonlight like some gothic fairytale castle—cold, imposing, untouchable.

Why would she ever leave this… for me?

I’m delusional if I think I can compete with the life her real family is offering her.

Her and Darius.

Little man is going to go bonkers when he gets a load of the house he’s going to be living in.

When my phone vibrates in my coat pocket, I quickly fish it out, expecting it to be Frankie.

But it’s not.

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