Page 186 of Vicious Games

“Hi, Aunt Elena,” I reply with a grin, sliding in beside her as Aleksandr takes the seat across from us.

“Tetya,” she corrects gently.

“Sorry?”

“Call meTetya. It means aunt in Russian. If you’re going to stay with us, you might as well start learning the language.” She smiles brightly.

I nod and repeat it, “Tetya.”

I’m sure I butchered the word, and yet she lights up like I just handed her a bouquet of sunshine.

Over the past few days, I’ve noticed that Elena’s at her best in the mornings and she uses her energy wisely—whether it’s walking the grounds, visiting the market, or just sitting in the sunroom. Once the sun dips—and here in Russia, that can be as early as three-thirty—she disappears into her quarters and doesn’t come out again until the next day.

“So,” I ask, “where are we going today,Tetya?”

Elena sighs, her face falling a little. “Ah, I’m afraid this morning will be quite the tedious affair.”

“How so?”

“It’s a doctor’s day,” she replies flatly, as if that explains everything.

“Don’t be like that, Elena,” Aleksandr chimes in, his tone gentle but firm. “You know these visits are important.”

“As you can see, Kira,” Elena says with a dramatic wave of her hand, “Petrov men are very protective. Even when they don’t need to be.”

“I’m sure they just want you to feel like yourself again,” I say, offering her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve been ill for years, and it hasn’t killed me yet,” she mutters—not to me, but to Aleksandr.

“And we intend to keep it that way, don’t we,zolotse?” he says, using what I can only assume is a tender Russian nickname.

Elena rolls her eyes. “Men.” She turns back to me. “Is your boy as protective as my Misha and these overbearing brothers-in-law of mine?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Very much so.”

“Ah, then you understand my suffering. They act like we can’t make decisions for ourselves.”

“Elena,” Aleksandr groans. “That’s not true. Don’t go scaring Kira.”

“Our Kira doesn’t scare easy, do you, niece?” Elena says, grinning sideways at me.

“No,” I shake my head, keeping my smile steady. “Words don’t scare me.”

Not unless those words come from Kostya, warning me to get the hell out while I still can. But I keep that thought to myself.

“See, Aleksandr? She’s a true Petrov.”

“Yes,” he says, his chest puffing a bit with pride. “Yes, she is.”

I throw them both a smile, then turn to look out the window, feeling loved, confused, and guilty all at once.

What did Kostya mean by his warning?

It felt like he was trying to protect me—but from what? Or who? Misha? Sasha? Kill? Certainly not Elena.

I try to untangle my thoughts, but they’re as knotted as a ball of thread, and before I realize it, we’ve arrived at the hospital for Elena’s biweekly check-up.

All three of us walk inside—Elena leaning on Aleksandr’s forearm for support, while four armed guards flank us from behind.

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