Page 28 of Sinful Games

He raised an eyebrow, taking in the cozy details of the space with a smirk. “Well, well, look at you, living like a peasant despite the vault of riches your Papa got stashed away. I guess the simple life suits you?”

Ugh, if he only knew…

I chuckled, giving him a pointed look. “It does. I don’t need to flaunt my money to feel good about myself. But then again, that might be too complex for someone with your limited…intellect.”

His eyes darkened with amusement as he watched me, but I quickly turned away and busied myself with the mixing bowl and ingredients, trying to ignore the heat of his gaze on my body.

“So, tell me about your family. Do you have any siblings?” I asked, tossing flour and cracking three eggs into the bowl.

“Nyet, no siblings.”

The air felt heavier all of a sudden.

“What about your parents?”

“My mama died a couple of years ago.”

I turned to him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. Losing a mother is one of the hardest things to go through.”

When my mama passed, it felt like the world had gone dark. Everything was cold and silent, like the color and heartbeat of life had just vanished. Each day was a struggle to keep going, with this huge emptiness where her warmth used to be.

Grief was like a heavy, suffocating blanket, making every step feel endless.

But over time, I found bits of strength in myself, echoes of her resilience that she’d left behind. The pain never fully goes away, but it softens into a bittersweet reminder that love goes beyond everything—touch, time, even death.

I still miss her every single day.

“Well,” he said, getting up from the couch and heading to the window, “mine was... busy. A whore, if we’re being honest, so we never really connected. It was tough, but maybe it was for the best.”

Gosh, I’d never seen a man so big and jaw-droppinglyattractive before. I was staring so hard, my mouth was practically watering, and I almost cut my finger while trying to butter up the dough.

Great, just what I needed—a self-inflicted injury over a guy’s back.

I quickly snapped my attention away, hoping he didn’t catch my little fan-girl moment. The guy’s pouring his heart out about his dead mother, and here I am, lost in some sort of muscle-induced daze.

Something’s seriously wrong with you, Caia.

“How did you end up working for Igor?” I asked, shaping the dough into small, even balls. I’d clearly made way too much dough—looks like I’d be freezing half of it for later.

“I got fired from one of my jobs,” he said, rummaging through his coat. “Igor found me on the streets and took me in. Ashtray?”

“First drawer,” I pointed with my flour-dusted hands.

I felt him getting closer, his scent wrapping around me like some sort of magical aura, and I had to close my eyes for a second, totally swept up in it.

Then, he plopped back on the couch.

Smells amazing, looks incredible—is he blessed by a higher power, or did he sign a deal with the devil? At this point, the devil thing is starting to make a lot more sense.

“I heard you have to do something for Igor to be accepted into the Silas,” I said, covering the dough with a wet cloth and reaching for my berries in the fridge to start the red sauce. “What did you do?”

“Beheaded a priest.”

I gulped, slowly turning to face him, hoping he was teasing me.

He sat on the couch, legs stretched out, arms resting on the edge, looking like a king waiting for his subjects to heed hisorders. Bringing his cigarette to his lips, his eyes locked onto mine, as if silently challenging me—What are you going to do now, Caia?

“Oh, that’s... fancy.”

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