Page 89 of Vicious Games

I lift my head to look at Lucky, ready to ask him what that was all about, but he pretends not to see me stare at him and gently steers me toward the door. Once outside, he opens his car door for me, guiding me inside without a word. I take a page from his handbook and remain silent as he walks around and slides into the driver’s seat.

I don’t know why his silent treatment has my anxiety spiking, but it does. So much so that I begin fumbling with the seatbelt as if it were some kind of unsolvable puzzle.

“Here, let me help,” he says, his voice low and patient.

He leans in, tugging the belt across me and clicking it into place. But instead of pulling back once he’s done, he just stays there for a moment. His face is so close, his warm breath skimming my cheek, his chestnut eyes searching my face, making my heart do a full-on Olympic backflip.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice rough and tender like sandpaper brushed with silk.

When I don’t say anything or even move, he pulls away, fastening his seatbelt before starting the car.

We drive back to the orphanage in silence, which only makes me feel even more frazzled. Normally, we can’t shut up around each other, even if it’s just trading insults.

Now?

Nothing.

Just the hum of the engine and the mellow, soothing sound of SZA playing through the speakers.

“Thank you for looking out for Anna today,” Lucky says after parking in front of the orphanage, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead of us like he can’t quite bring himself to look at me.

“No problem,” I reply automatically, chewing on the corner of my bottom lip. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“Anna?” He huffs a dry laugh. “She’s a Romano. She’ll be fine.”

I don’t really know what that means—she’s a Romano—but I let it slide.

“Are you going to tell your parents?” I ask, desperate for any excuse to stay in the car with him a little longer.

I’m not sure if it’s the public setting that makes it easier for me to breathe, but suddenly, I’m in no rush to leave him. Not when I still feel this unnamed tension and awkwardness between us.

“Marcello’s got it handled,” Lucky says vaguely. “He’ll figure out who those assholes are and deal with them.”

“How will he deal with them?”

Lucky finally turns to look at me, causing an icy shiver to trail down my spine at the dark look clouding his face.

“Let’s just say those assholes will never bother my sister—or any girl—again.”

My brows pull together, uneasy. But before I can press further, he leans in until we’re just inches apart.

“You freaked out on me back there,” he says quietly. “Was it something I did? Something I said?” His eyes plead with me, raw and vulnerable. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, all I do is swallow hard. “Talk to me. I can handle it,” he adds, his vulnerable gaze searching mine.

“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to answer. “I honestly don’t know why I got so overwhelmed. Maybe… maybe it just felt too familiar.” I pause, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside to add, “I’ve never really had a friend before.” He draws back slightly, his expression softening.

“Then I’ll be your first,” he says, his voice thick with meaning.

His gaze then drops from my eyes to my lips, then back up again, making my stomach twist into a thousand anxious knots.

“Is that what we are?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer. “Friends?”

“Would you rather we go back to being enemies?” he teases, but his gaze stays serious, locked on mine.

I think about it.

I always knew where we stood when he was my enemy.

So enemies would definitely be easier. Cleaner, too. Less messy.

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