Page 168 of Vicious Games

But like a father.

“I found you,” he murmurs. “I finally found you.”

Chapter 28

Frances

Aside from Darius and Lucky, I can count on one hand the people I’ve let hug me.

But since arriving in Russia, I’ve let absolute strangers embrace me and, to my utter shock, it all feels…familiar.

And right now, I’m being hugged by who I’m almost certain is Mikhail Petrov—thePakhan, himself.

Misha, as Aleksandr had referred to him earlier, holds me ever so tightly, his voice trembling with emotion. “I found you. After all these years, I’ve finally found you.”

I don’t know this man.

I’ve never met or seen this man a day in my life.

But to my own amazement, I find myself leaning into his warm embrace. I’m not sure why, but I feel safe—safer than I’ve felt in my entire life.

When he finally pulls back, he keeps his large hands on my forearms, his eyes studying me as if he’s seeing someone else entirely. Someone from his past. There’s pain in his expression, a crack in the ice-cold persona I would have expected from a Russian mafia boss.

And that’s when a thought runs through my mind.

Could this man be my father?

I frown when I do the math in my head. It can’t be possible. Misha is in his early thirties, if that. Too young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter. That hope crashes just as quickly as it formed.

It’s only when I feel Lucky’s protective presence bristle beside me that Misha drops his hands and shifts his gaze.

“Luciano Romano,” he says Lucky’s name like it’s a curse. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw clench just as his ice-blue eyes narrow at my boyfriend. “At last, we meet. Your presence in my home has made my day… complicated. Your father is not pleased.”

“That makes two of us. Though I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Lucky replies dryly.

Misha looks at me again, softer this time. “Yes. I can see that now.”

He then turns without another word and walks over to a large oak desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of yellowed letters, bound in a red ribbon. The gesture alone knocks the wind out of me.

“I imagine you have many questions.”

I nod as Lucky and I take our seats again. My throat is dry. My heart pounds madly in my chest. But none of that matters, because something tells me that in the stack of letters Misha is holding is the answer to where I come from.

“I do,” I manage to reply.

Misha glances toward Aleksandr, who silently walks over to the door and locks it without needing instruction.

Lucky frowns beside me, not happy to be locked in a room with what I can only assume are the Bratva highest leaders.

“We’re safe here,” Misha assures, his voice smooth but cold. “But one can never be too cautious.”

He then sits down, placing the letters on his lap, but his gaze never leaves the medallion on my wrist. Instinctively, I start rubbing it.

“I see that’s important to you,” he says.

“No, not really,” I lie, letting go of it.

“There’s no need to lie to me. You’re among family now.”

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