Page 182 of Vicious Games

Remus lets out a long-winded breath.

“You’re not thick, Lucky. You know exactly what it means.”

He’s right.

Somehow, and without intending to, I’ve put myself in the middle of a war. Jude vs. Mikhail. The Firm vs. the Bratva. The Cranes vs the Petrovs. And by protecting Frankie’s secrets, by staying here, I’ve unwillingly picked a side.

I never meant to. But here I am.

And yet, I would never dream of betraying her trust.

Not for Remus.

And not even for my own brother.

“You’ve got to get out of there, mate,” Remus says. “The deeper you go, the harder it’s going to be to stay loyal—to the Outfit, the Firm, to me. I know mafia politics isn’t your thing, but guess what, fucker? You’re in it now. Smack right in the middle. My advice…get out. And stay out.”

“But I love her.”

Another pregnant pause ensues, and the next time Remus talks, his voice is more patient than I’ve ever heard it.

“How’s that saying go? If you love something, set it free, or whatever? Set your bird free, mate. Before she becomes an albatross around your neck.”

And with that, he hangs up.

“Easier said than done, asshole,” I mutter to myself, pocketing my phone and making my way into the house. The mansion is quiet when I step back inside. Almost too fucking quiet.

It’s the kind of silence that feels intentional. Almost like the walls themselves are listening in on my thoughts. The warmth of the house compared to outside, hits me instantly, but it doesn’t sink in. The cold in my bones is deeper than anything the radiators could fix.

I head up the stairs and then down the hall toward the guest wing, boots echoing against polished floors, when a shadow stops me short.

Kostya is leaning casually against the wall, arms folded over his chest, like he’s been expecting me all night. His face is unreadable, carved from the same stone the Petrovs built this house out of.

“Got a minute?” he asks, voice low and even.

I nod, wary. “Sure.”

He steps away from the wall, eyes flicking down the hallway to make sure we’re alone.

“You need to leave, Lucky. You and your sister.”

I blink. “What?”

“I’m not saying you’re in danger,” he clarifies. “Frankie’s safe here. Safer than she’s ever been. But you? You’re a problem no one knows how to solve yet.”

I cross my arms. “That supposed to be a threat?”

“No. It’s a warning,” he says, calm as ever. “Sasha’s a prick. He won’t lay a finger on Frankie. The fucker loves her too much. But you and your sister? You’re not untouchable. And Sasha doesn’t see people—he sees leverage.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you’re just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Guess I am. Don’t make me regret it,” he mutters. “Look, I don’t like Bratva politics any more than you do. Especially when I know the game is rigged. And with Sasha, it’s always fucking rigged.”

“Should you even be telling me this?” I ask. “Won’t Aleksandr be pissed if he finds out you warned me?”

Kostya snorts. “Fuck Sasha. I’ve been on his shit list since the womb. Brothers. Am I right? Can’t live with them…can’t fucking kill them either. Believe me. I’ve tried.” He gives me another pointed look, then steps past me, brushing my shoulder with a nod. “Think about it, Lucky. You don’t belong here. And not all of us will pretend that’s not a problem.”

And just like that, he’s gone, vanishing into the shadows like a ghost.

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