Page 133 of Sinful Games

I arranged for him to be sent to the morgue for cremation. He doesn’t deserve a proper funeral. His soul will carry the weight of the torment he put me and my poor mama through for years.

I’ve never mentioned him to Caia. Whenever she asksabout my past, I dodge the topic of my family. I refuse to let the shadows of my past taint our present.

Changing my name from Rovanski to Romaniev years ago was my way of burying my old self and all the shit I went through. I hated revisiting a time I fought so hard to forget.

When I found out he’d finally died, it felt like a heavy, invisible weight was lifted off my shoulders—a burden I didn’t even realize was choking me. I was finally, completely, and totally free from that bastard.

What a fucking relief.

“How’s New York?”

I shrugged, lighting up a cigarette and tossing him his lighter. “Scarlett went and offed one of her groupies. Now Angelo’s convinced she’s got a target on her back, like someone’s gunning for her.”

I was munching on caramel cookie cereal, my laptop open on the kitchen table, sifting through our dead groupie’s phone calls and messages. Turns out he’d dialed some number saved as ‘S.H.K’ a ridiculous 24 times in the last month. What the hell was that about?

The texts were all cryptic numbers, which struck me as odd. I dug deeper, tracked down the number, found out who it belonged to, and where they lived. Sent all that shit to Angelo before getting ready to head over to the Manor.

Volk lit his cigarette. “Didn’t know the superstar had that in her.”

“Scar’s got more fight than she lets on,” I said, my voice low.

And it was true. After all, she was a Harper. Their family’slegacy was built on wealth and scandal. Betrayal, lies, and death were like their daily bread.

“I heard your little wife paid a visit to Mankiev’s office the other day,” Volk said casually, stubbing out his cigarette and patting one of his dogs, which had taken over the couch and carpet, leaving me standing.

My blood turned to ice. “When?”

“Two days ago,” Volk said, almost offhand. “Igor saw her leaving just before he went in.”

My chest burned. Caia had promised me last year she’d never see that piece of shit again. I made it clear he was erased from our lives. Maybe I should’ve taken care of him myself.

“Fucking Mankiev,” I spat, extinguishing my cigarette with finality. “I’m gonna cut his dick off and sew it to his mouth.”

“Bit drastic,” Volk chuckled, shrugging. “Should’ve dealt with him ages ago. Knew marriage would soften you up.”

“Trust me,” I snapped, heading for the door. “There’s nothing soft about me.”

Driving home, my mind was a storm. The closer I got, the angrier I became, my rage heating me up from head to toe. It wasn’t just anger; it was the sting of betrayal from my own wife.

If Caia had asked me to see him, I’d have said no. But if it meant that much to her, I might have agreed to go with her, to protect her from whatever mess Mankiev might bring. Knowing she’d lied to me and seen him behind my back set ablaze in me that burned all reason away.

I parked the car and headed to the elevator, hands clammy, chest tight. With each step, I fought to steady my breath, determined not to let my anger control me.

Unlocking the door, I was hit by the comforting scent of cinnamon and the strains of Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” from thevinyl player. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my jacket, and took my time unwinding.

Dropping my keys onto the small shelf, I saw a framed photo of us, taken just days after Lukyan came home from the hospital. He was so tiny, barely able to open his eyes, but his presence filled us with indescribable joy.

Following the melody to the living room, I found Caia in the open kitchen, taking a cinnamon and apple cake out of the oven. She wore a black silk pajama set that hugged her slender frame, her chestnut hair falling in waves.

Startled by my clearing of the throat, she turned around, her expression shifting from contemplation to surprise. “You’re here! I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, a radiant smile lighting up her face as she rushed over to me.

She set aside her kitchen glove and enveloped me in a tight embrace, her hands circling my waist. My arms stayed stiff at my sides, and I felt Caia tense as she looked up at me, confusion clouding her eyes. I gently pulled away, heading to the fridge for a cold-water bottle. I downed it in three quick swallows before tossing the empty bottle into the trash.

“Alexsei? What’s wrong?” Caia’s voice was soft, laced with concern as she watched me slump onto the couch.

“I don’t know, Caia. You tell me.”

Her brow furrowed, and she followed me to the couch, sitting across from me, legs crossed, hands clasped, her body betraying a slight tremor. “Alexsei?—”

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