Page 162 of Vicious Games

I’m going to catch hell for this. I can already hear my father now—his voice thundering across the ocean—berating me for getting on a plane headed straight into enemy territory. But what was I supposed to do? Let Frankie and Stella come here alone?

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

After a brutal twenty-hour flight deep into Bratva territory, we’re met with another two-hour car ride, this time into what looks like the Russian countryside—dense forests, snow-covered fields, winding roads that feel like they lead to nowhere. Remote. Isolated. The kind of place you disappear into.

The kind of place thePakhanmust call home.

Frankie’s head is resting against my shoulder, too exhausted to keep her eyes open. Stella’s still out cold, her head cradled in Kirill’s lap as he runs his fingers through her hair like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like she’s his.

“You know when my sister wakes up, she’s probably going to kill you for kidnapping her, right?” I say, locking eyes with the bastard across from me.

“I’m well aware,” Kirill replies with that smug smirk of his—like he knows something I don’t.

“That is if my father doesn’t kill you first. He’s not going to be thrilled you kidnapped two of his kids either.”

“I didn’t kidnap anyone. You came because you wanted to,” Kirill retorts stoically.

“Technically,” Kostya mutters from beside him, throwing a sideways glance at Stella, “youdidkidnap Red.”

Kirill shoots his brother a sharp look. That’s all it takes for Kostya to shut up and turn his attention back to the window, a flash of guilt—or maybe fear—in his eyes.

I lean forward and ask, “Will you at least tell me where the hell you’re taking us?”

“All in good time, my Sicilian friend. All in good time.”

“I’m not your friend, asshole.”

“Today you are,” Kirill deadpans, flicking a glance toward Frankie.

One that I catch and it unsettles me.

“What do you want with her?” I ask, voice low. “And why the hell did you call her Kira?”

“Because that’s her name.”

“It’s not.” My voice tightens. “You’ve got her confused with someone else.”

Kirill’s gaze softens just a touch as he looks at her again. “There’s no confusion. I guarantee you that.”

My spine goes ramrod straight. “My father knows you have us,” I say in warning, thankful I was able to text him before Kostya took all our phones away.

“I’m counting on it,” he retorts casually. “I left him a greeting card, after all. By now, he’s probably pulled Lev apart for answers.”

My jaw clenches. He’s right. The guy I shot in the leg stayed behind at the airstrip. By now, Marcello’s probably wrung him dry. Serves him right. That whole kidnapping attempt—running Stella off the road—could’ve ended way worse. She got shot because of it. She could’ve been killed.

So could Frankie.

Fuck.

I’m the one who should’ve taken Frankie back to the orphanage.

Maybe then Stella wouldn’t have gotten herself hurt.

“We’re here,” Kirill says suddenly.

Iron gates rise before us, tall and black and flanked by massive stone columns, accompanied by heavy security systems and armed guards.

This isn’t just some fancy estate—it’s a goddamn fortress.

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