Page 124 of Sinful Games

Alexsei had insisted on baptizing Lukyan, wanting to continue a tradition passed down from his grandfather. Our gathering was intimate, with only close family and friends, officiated by the same priest who had married us. It was a beautiful ceremony.

"Yes."

"Okay..."

"We had sex in that same church minutes after everyone left," she admitted rapidly.

"Inthe church?!" I exclaimed, my hands flying up in shock, my jaw hitting the floor, eyes as wide as watermelons.

"In the parking lot," Valeria admitted, her cheeks flushing redwith guilt.

My head was spinning. This was definitely not what I expected to hear over casual tea. The image of that church, once peaceful and sacred in my mind, was now tainted with a completely unexpected and obscene image.

"Valeria," I laughed, shaking my head. "Just so you know,in church, you’re supposed to get on your knees for God, not a man!"

Valeria chuckled. "I know, please don’t judge me! He is too?—"

I covered my ears dramatically. "I don’t want to know!"

She grinned widely. "He makes me happy, Caia. Truly happy."

I bet she was especially thrilled about having two-hour sex sessions now. With freaking Dve. I still can’t believe it.

"That's what matters, then," I replied, giving her a warm side hug.

Jeez. I guess life really has a way of surprising us when we least expect it.

Chapter

Forty-One

“If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky.”

?S.E. Hinton

Alexsei

I pulled Caia closer, my arm tight around her waist, as my phone rang for the third time in a row. With a low growl, I ignored it again, only for it to buzz like a persistent fly.

"Answer that," Caia mumbled, half asleep. "It's ruining my beauty sleep."

I chuckled, kissed her on the head, then slid out of bed, moving to the living room, shutting the door quietly behind me so I wouldn't wake her or our son.

"It better be fucking important, or I'll send someoneto put a bullet between your eyes when I hang up," I hissed into the phone as I sank onto the couch.

On the other end, Angelo's laughter crackled through. "Ah, Romaniev. Always the charmer."

"Make it quick," I snapped, leaning back, already annoyed.

Angelo sighed dramatically. “Ah, how lovely of you to ask how I’m doing,stronzo.”

I ignored his sarcasm, stepping out onto the balcony, the night air cool against my skin. I lit a cigarette, making sure the smoke stayed far from the room.

Angelo Lazzio embodied every fucking Italian Don stereotype: billionaire, playboy, CEO of one of the largest art companies in the States. His penthouse overlooking Central Park was valued at over $35 million. He owned restaurants scattered across Paris, NYC, Tokyo, and Cape Town. The works. We’d met a couple of years ago, thanks to his father, who was tight with Igor.

“Let me guess,” I exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You lost your dog again and need me, from halfway across the world, to find it.”

“Leave Giorgio out of this,” Angelo growled. “My poor baby got an eye infection; just got back from the vet.”

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