Page 131 of Sinful Games

My mouth opened in surprise, but I couldn't help but smile. “Really?”

He nodded confidently. “Really.”

I let out a heavy breath, feeling relief wash over me. “Good.” I was genuinely happy for them. Raising an eyebrow, I added, “So… you’re into cougars?”

His cheeks reddened slightly. At that moment, it was almost hard for me to reconcile that Dve was part of the Silas and that he killed people for a living. Despite his imposing 6’3” frame and 200 pounds, he looked almost cute right now, seated in that chair, blushing away.

"Yeah, uh," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I gotta go, Igor’s waiting for me."

With that, he quickly got up, said his goodbyes, and practically sprinted to the door, leaving me trying to hold back a laugh. I quickly composed myself, being careful not to wake up my son.

Lukyan was snoozing in his stroller, his lunch all over him after spitting up right after I breastfed him while juggling work and trying to catch up on overdue weekend emails. I’d reachedout to several photographers—some old university buddies, others whose work I’d admired for ages, and a few known in Moscow. My plan is to open a gallery, showcasing not just my work but also pieces from other talented artists. I’m hoping this will draw people in and make the gallery more than just a showcase of my own art.

To be honest, I still had a lot of doubts about my work. Whenever I thought about sharing it, insecurities plagued me. What if people hated it? What if they laughed at me and my work? What if it was criticized as awful?

I leaned back in my chair, throwing my head back with my eyes closed, letting out a deep sigh to push away the flood of negative thoughts.

I massaged my temples, exhaling slowly and focusing on the steady beat of my heart. As I counted from one to ten, I felt the tension and anxiety slowly receding, like a turtle inching back into its shell.

But then Lukyan woke up with those sweet sounds—soft sighs and gentle groans—followed by his sleepy yet joyful blue eyes meeting mine. All my worries melted away instantly. I couldn’t resist lifting him out of his stroller and cuddling him close.

But then, my phone suddenly rang.

With Lukyan on my hip, playing with my hair and scratching my neck, I answered. I’d need to trim his nails again tonight; they grow so fast and are sharp as knives. “Hello?”

“Can you please come here?” Valeria’s voice was distraught.

My brows furrowed. “Are you still at work?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “Please hurry, Caia.”

Before she even hung up, my heart started racing. I quickly settled Lukyan back into his stroller. He began to whine, but Iswiftly threw on my black trench coat and headed out, logging off my computer and locking the doors behind me.

A sudden fear clenched at my throat as I drove through the city. Something felt very, very wrong. I could feel it in my bones.

“I did everything I could, Mrs. Romaniev. I’m so sorry.”

I sank into the familiar chair, reaching for her hand. It was icy and pale, so different from the warmth I remembered. Her eyes were closed peacefully, her face serene in her final rest. My babushka was gone, and with her, a piece of me seemed to vanish.

“Thank you, doctor,” I said through tears. “Can I have a moment alone?”

He nodded and left, closing the door softly.

Alone, I let my grief pour out, kissing her cold knuckles like she used to kiss mine.

The pain was overwhelming, like a relentless wave.

Life can be so cruel, constantly testing us with pain. In these moments, I almost wished I could be numb, to avoid feeling this heartache. I’d felt this before—losing my mama, enduring abuse, harsh words, and now losing my babushka.

The deeper you love, the more you hurt. Life changes in an instant, and the grief can be suffocating. Is the fleeting joy worth the pain?

I held her hands one last time, kissed her forehead, and whispered a prayer she used to say, “Gospodi, prosti nam nashi grekhi i sdelay nas takimi zhe dobrymi i miloserdnymi lyud'mi, kak ty. Lord, forgive us our sins and make us as kind and merciful people as you are.”

I hoped she found the peace I wished for her. “Babushka, I love you to the moon and back,” I said, tears falling on her cheeks. “I’ll miss you more than the trees miss the sun in winter.”

I lingered a moment longer before leaving. As I walked away, a heavy feeling settled over me, not knowing yet that her passing had opened a floodgate of pain that would reshape my life in unexpected ways.

Chapter

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