Page 140 of Sinful Games

"Don't worry, love. I'll buy you a hundred more. He can ruin them all he wants."

Caia chuckled, setting the phone down on the bedside table to ensure they were both still in the camera's frame.

"What are you up to?" She turned Lukyan onto his tummy to fasten his black onesie, all the while calling out to me.

"Gonna grab some pizza and then I've got a meeting," I sighed, intentionally keeping my response vague, not wanting to worry her with our plans. "I'll probably be home late again, thanks to fucking Vlad, so don't wait up for me."

As she finished with Lukyan's onesie, she glanced back at the phone, her eyes softening. "Okay, don't work too hard. And be safe, okay?"

I smiled at her concern. "Always for you, baby."

"Oh, and before I forget, I'm going to take Lukyan to the gallery later. I want to take some pictures of him because he's growing uptoofast," she added with a smile, her eyes shining with excitement. "I'll send them to you."

"Can't wait. I knew they’re gonna be great. Lukyan’s already a little model. He doesn't look like me for no reason; my baby is gonna be the biggest heartbreaker of Russia," I joked.

Caia rolled her eyes. "Hope he won't be as vain as you."

A waitress timidly approached me and set down the two pizzas, offering a shy smile before scurrying off to attend to other customers. My stomach growled in anticipation as the enticing aroma filled my nostrils.

I chuckled. "Gotta go, love. Have fun at the gallery, love you both so fucking much."

Caia gently lifted Lukyan so he could face the phone.

"Say I love you, papa," she cooed, prompting a delighted giggle from Lukyan as he babbled in his adorable baby talk.

"I love you, papa," Caia repeated on Lukyan's behalf, her voice overflowing with warmth.

She blew a kiss to the camera before ending the call.

"You are forbidden to ever enter these doors again, Mr. Romaniev! I thought I made myself clear last time."

Feigning hurt, I placed a hand over my chest. "Why, Father, you can't possibly forbid a lost soul from finding God again."

Father Mokanski scoffed, clutching his Bible tighter, the sleeves of his black robe trailing like a funeral procession. "There's no redemption for a soul like yours, Romaniev. Killingone of our messengers was one thing, but mocking God relentlessly is another."

I sighed.

Isn’t it funny how our sins have a miraculous way of throwing a wrench into life’s grand plans?

"So much for ‘forgive thy neighbor,’" I muttered.

After all, I did decapitate Father Pasha years ago under Igor’s orders. He was a client of my mother’s, and trust me, no one missed him. The church, unsurprisingly, blacklisted me after that. Fine by me.

For years, I’d let the idea of living on my terms slip away—until Lukyan was born. A heavy black shadow clung to me like a second skin, so I figured, what the hell? Maybe I needed a little confessional time with Father Mokanski, Pasha’s replacement. It became a routine—confess, get scolded, rinse, repeat.

Twice a month, like clockwork.

Until two weeks ago, when I confessed about the sextape I made with my wife, because she did something I didn’t like. That seemed to be the final straw for dear old Mokanski. Apparently, fucking Leila the love of the Sadiek’s life then burning him alive and working for the Silas were acceptable. But filming my wife naked? That’s where the good Father drew the line. Go figure.

He sighed heavily, the sound echoing through the empty, dreary church as he made his way toward the confessional. I followed at a lazy pace, strolling through the dim aisles of empty benches. The look of guilt was plastered on his face—a priest burdened by his helplessness to save me.

Guilt.It's like a sickness, gnawing at you until there’s nothing left. Makes you feel like the devil himself has taken up residence inside you, whispering that you’re too far gone. Funny how that works—sometimes guilt drives us to do thingswe never thought possible, and other times, it makes us give up on ourselves completely.

I slid into the confessional, the door creaking behind me, sealing us in. Dim light filtered through the screen, casting a shadow over Father Mokanski’s worn face. He looked older. Tired.

"Father, I know you must think poorly of me," I said, my voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance. "But I’m doing better than I used to! I even pray now and then."

A long, heavy pause hung between us before he finally spoke, his voice thick with resignation. "My son, redemption is possible for even the most wayward souls. But it takes true repentance. Are you truly willing to change?"

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