Page 141 of Sinful Games

I glanced at my Rolex and swore under my breath. Already late.

We’d spent the last few hours wringing out rats for any trace of Vlad. One of his clients, just before Volk put a bullet in his head, mentioned seeing Vlad at this very church a few weeks ago. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Leaving Volk to sulk in the car, I assured him I had a plan. That’s why I was here.

"Yeah, yeah, we can discuss that in the next session, Father," I dismissed. "But right now, I need a little favor."

Father Mokanski’s jaw tightened. "I cannot condone actions that bring harm, my son. I offer guidance, not vengeance."

I smirked. Vlad needed plenty ofguidance—guidance right to his grave.

"What does Vlad want from you?"

Without warning, Mokanski flung open the confessional door, moving so abruptly that even I was caught off guard.

What the hell?

His hands trembled as he looked around, clearly rattled. His gaze finally locked onto mine.

"You should not seek out the darkness," he said, voice wavering. "Prepare yourself for the darkness that will tear your world apart."

His words hit me like a cold slap. But before I could press him, he hurried away, disappearing into the hollow silence of the church.Fucking useless priest.

Before I could give it much more thought, my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket and smirked when I saw the message.

It was from Caia, and when I opened it, a series of photos of Lukyan appeared, each one more perfect than the last. He was dressed in his little blue Dolce & Gabbana onesie, his blond hair slicked back, eyes bright as the summer sky. In another picture, Caia held him in her lap, her blue dress matching his outfit perfectly. My grin spread wider than I thought possible, cheeks aching with the force of it.

They were perfect.

“Told you he wouldn’t spill shit,” Volk grunted. “Should’ve roughed him up, scared the truth out of him.”

He wasn’t wrong. Some people only understand pain.

Peaceful protests don’t change shit.

But chaos, blood, and violence? That makes people listen. That makes them beg.

Still, I’ve killed enough priests in my life. Gotta draw the line somewhere.

“He knows something, but he’s too fucking scared to sayit,” I muttered, dragging my fingers through the rough stubble on my jaw.

What the fuck are you hiding, Mokanski?

I needed a shave—Lukyan hated when my face wasn’t smooth. He’d cry every time he touched my cheeks if I didn’t.

“Yeah, well, I’m out. Two in the damn morning,” Volk grumbled, shaking his head. “Let’s get you home.”

He drove through the dead streets, silent houses, and dark shops flying past the window. Everyone else tucked away, safe, not a clue about the filth that slinks around at this hour.

When I was a kid, I used to dream about having ahome—just somewhere I could breathe, somewhere the old man’s fists couldn’t reach. Fought like hell to make that dream real.

And I did.

As we pulled into my driveway, I stepped out.

“We’re headed to Saint Petersburg next,” I said, already knowing I’d just fucked up his morning plans.

Volk groaned but drove off without another word.

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