Page 19 of Sinful Games

He scoffed. “And here I thought women had it all under control.”

I narrowed my eyes, standing up and dusting off my black dress with exaggerated care. “You again. What’s the deal, Romaniev? Did you sign some kind of pact with the devil just to annoy me, or are you hopelessly obsessed?”

His silence was telling, but his eyes—oh, those eyes—slowly raked down my body, and I could feel them deliciously burning my skin.

My father had insisted I wear this dress to appear “more presentable.”

The dress he chose for me was tighter than I preferred, reaching my ankles with a daring slit on the right leg, long sleeves, and a pronounced neckline. The design aimed to capture attention without appearing overly revealing.

Judging by Alexsei’s gaze, the dress seemed to have done its job quite effectively.

I had opted for loose waves in my hair, fastening a few strands away from my face with a dainty bow. It was a deliberate choice to add a hint of innocence to my look.

As I stood there, he finally broke his silence, his eyes locking onto mine with a wicked glint. "Nice outfit, Caia. Gotta hand it to your dad—he sure knows how to show off his... assets."

A pang of wrath hit me at his comment.

It seemed the game had begun.

Men like him enjoyed the thrill of the chase, so I decided to let him pursue me.

And what better way to make him believe he’d never stand a chance?

"At least my dad has assets. What do you have, besides being your boss’s little lapdog?" I taunted with a smirk before turning on my heel and heading toward the room where the men had gathered.

With a slight sway in my hips, I accentuated each step, knowing full well his eyes were still on me. As I entered the room, I sensed the shift in atmosphere and knew the evening was going to be anything but ordinary.

“How d’you find this shit?”

We continued around the ornate table, surrounded by vodka and champagne glasses, and a platter of beef stroganoff and roasted potatoes.

I was next to my father, Drayi on my other side, and Alexsei, Volk, and Igor across from us.

I focused on my plate, cutting into the meat while tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear. I tried to keep up the cheerful facade my father had insisted on, even though I was getting bored.

My father, his mouth full, started his story. "Went to Columbia a few months ago. Met the Don from Los Aguilas. Luiz. He’s got a son named Julius." He emptied his vodka glass and went on, "We had a chat, and he introduced me to this stuff. It’s so addictive that one dose is all it takes. He wasn’t wrong."

I grabbed my glass of water and accidentally made eye contact with Romaniev.

He lounged back, one arm draped over the armrest, the other casually stroking his chin. His tailored black suit highlighted his strong frame, and the white shirt beneath was buttoned just enough to tease at his collarbones, drawing my gaze.

I couldn’t help but notice the lines of his neck, the vein pulsing with life, his jawline, and his full lips. His slightly crooked nose and thosedeep, captivating blue eyes made him hard to ignore.

"How much for a kilo?" Volk asked, his mouth full.

"Fifteen a gram," my father replied. "So, 1,500 a kilo."

Igor pointed his fork at my father. “So, you screwed me over with that deal? Two months without compensation? It should’ve been three for your debt.”

A tense silence fell over the room.

I nearly spat out my water, realizing Igor had just called my father a thief right in front of everyone.

My father gave a forced laugh. "Business is business, my old friend."

I speared a potato and ate it, trying to hide my unease as I scanned the room.

“How old are you, Caia?”

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