Page 82 of Sinful Games

"Congratulations on your wedding, Alexsei," Sadiek said, lifting his glass. «Disappointed I wasn’t invited."

I’d rather pull my own teeth out than let Sadiek anywhere near my wife. His sleazy mustache and shifty eyes belonged in the murkiest corners of Moscow, far from us.

"Too scared you’d try to steal this one from me too, Sadiek."

He laughed loudly before downing the glass in one gulp. "Touché."

A couple of years back, I used to fuck around with Leila Monieva, a cop from Sadiek’s department. She was damn sexy and fun, so we had a fling until she suddenly cut ties. Didn’t dig too deep back then, since we were more friends with benefits than anything serious. Turned out, Sadiek was also fucking her and got jealous. So, he blackmailed her into ditching me or losing her job.

"How’s Leila, by the way?" I asked casually, realizing it’d been years since I’d heard from her. I wondered if she was still stuck working for him.

He shook his head, taking a bite of meat. "Married now; living in Poland. Two kids. A dog. You know, the cliché."

"Good for her."

He shrugged, chewing another mouthful before wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. "So, who’s the unlucky girl?"

My gaze flicked to Igor, who sat silently, his attention glued to his plate. Since that night at the restaurant where we signed the marriage contract and I nearly throttled Mankiev for raising his hand at Caia, Igor had been fuming. He couldn’t believe I went through with the marriage, especially after his warnings about Mankiev’s daughter. Now, he barely acknowledged my presence.

"You don’t know her."

"Possessive much?"

Igor took a sip of his red wine and said, "It’s Mankiev’s daughter, Caia. It was arranged. We get the cocaine and the girl, Mankiev gets the money."

"Caia Mankiev?" Sadiek chuckled. "Didn’t know she was... your type."

Annoyance flared. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing. Anyway, I’ve got to go," he said, rising andgrabbing the vodka bottle. With a quick swig, he drained the last of it, clanking the empty bottle on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Standing there with his 5’7” frame, bald head, mustache, and crooked nose, he looked like a dead ringer for Snidely Whiplash. The resemblance was so uncanny I almost laughed, but his annoying smirk killed any hint of amusement.

As Sadiek donned his police cap, bid his farewells, and left, I was left alone with Igor, who continued to eat with the enthusiasm of a sloth on a lazy Sunday. The silence between us was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

"Say something, boss, anything. Or I might just shoot myself for how cold you’re being."

Igor paused, his expression as deadpan as a zombie at a tea party, before finally responding, "Well, if you’re going to shoot yourself, at least aim straight. We can’t risk any more bullet holes in the walls."

I winced. "Thanks for the advice."

He sighed. "Congratulations on your marriage, son. I hope she’ll make you happy." He then gestured for me to sit, and I braced for the inevitable—a solid hour of him reminiscing about his marriage and how Viktoria, his late wife, brought sunshine into his life.

At that moment, the idea of shooting myself didn’t seem so terrible.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

“The game itself is bigger than the winning.”

?Dejan Stojanovic

Caia

I let out an exasperated groan as I futilely tiptoed, trying to reach the large ivory bowl on the top shelf. After a moment of struggling, I gave up and grabbed a chair to finally retrieve it.

My craving for something sweet was intensifying by the second—I needed a fix, and I needed it now. So, I decided to roll up my sleeves and bake a batch of cookies.

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