Page 5 of Sinful Games

I scoffed.

As the elevator doors opened, we headed toward the main office.

Dve stood outside, gripping his gun in one hand and his phone in the other.

Dve, our most trusted man, was not only our strongest fighter but also our sharpest operator. Still, I couldn’t resistthe urge to annoy him about where he got that ridiculous name.

Last only two damn seconds in bed with a bitch like Irina, and you’ll never hear the end of it.

“Privet, Dve,” I greeted with a sly grin.

Dve shot me an exasperated look. “Fuck you, Alexsei.”

Volk sighed. “You two need to just fuck already so you can end this nonsense bitching.” He smirked wickedly before pushing open the office door and leaving Dve and me scowling at each other in the hallway.

“Happy birthday,bratt. I wish you nothing but death,” Dve grumbled, giving me a sardonic nod before turning and disappearing into the office.

I let out a dark, mirthless laugh. “Spasibo,bratt.”

In our twisted world, death was sometimes the sweetest gift you could receive.

"I'll give you one month without compensation," the old bastard said, a sly smile playing on his lips, "to clear my debt."

"You're in no position to negotiate with us," Igor shot back.

Kristian raised his hands in surrender. "Of course."

The tiresome conversation was beginning to wear on me.

We were all seated around a large, round ivory table in the dimly lit room, the air thick with cigar smoke and empty glasses scattered about.

I pushed back from the table and made my way to the window.

Outside, the streets were deserted, with snowflakes gently descending from the heavens. I raised a cigarette to my lips, watching a small black-and-white stray cat darting down thestreet with a rat clamped in its jaws, likely off to share the meager prize with its family.

“Two months off.”

Kristian pursed his lips and reluctantly nodded. "Done."

My amusement grew as I considered Kristian's misguided belief that he had any real leverage in this situation.

Having known Igor for over a decade, I was well aware that nothing ever came easily from him. I couldn't help but wonder what fate Igor had in store for that hapless bastard.

My attention drifted back to the desolate streets, where a lone figure caught my eye.

The girl was dressed in a long black furry coat, its luxurious texture designed to fend off the bitter cold of a Moscow winter, and a matching black ushanka that cradled her head like a protective halo.

Her long chestnut hair cascaded down her shoulders and waist in soft, flowing waves, a stark contrast to the dark ensemble she wore. Her lips, a striking shade of deep red, stood out like a rose against the snow.

She navigated the snowy street with careful grace, her steps deliberate and unhurried, as if she were engaged in a delicate dance with the ice beneath her feet.

The cold air painted a rosy flush on her cheeks, giving her an ethereal aura.

She crossed the road and approached our building, her movements graceful and untroubled.

I raised my cigarette to my lips, the ember glowing softly.

What was a girl like this doing alone on the streets of Moscow at this hour?

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