Page 171 of Vicious Games

“Can… I have a minute?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Alone… to read her letters?”

“Of course,” Misha says, rising to his feet and then glances at his brother. “Take young Romano to see his sister. Give Kir—Frances—some privacy.”

“I can stay,” Lucky offers quietly, his eyes glued to mine. He doesn’t want to leave me.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Go check on Stella. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” he asks, doubt and love tangled in his voice.

I nod. “I’m sure.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek—warm, lingering—then steps away. Aleksandr opens the door and gestures for him to follow. They both leave without another word.

Misha hesitates for a second though. His eyes lock with mine for a long moment, the weight of family, history, and mourning passing silently between us.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, offering me a mournful smile, and then leaves.

Once I’m alone, my fingers tremble as I loosen the ribbon. The bundle falls open, revealing neat handwritten letters in English.

The first letter dates almost eighteen years ago to the day.

With shaking hands, I begin to read.

My dearest Misha,

I know you warned me to keep my distance, but I just had to reach out to tell you that I’m safe. I’m writing this in English in case you-know-who intercepts it. We both know his men aren’t exactly scholars. I doubt a single one of them can read Russian much less English.

How are our brothers, Misha?

How is our grandmother?

My heart aches for home.

Thankfully, my little bunny is keeping me company. She’s so active already, so eager to meet the world. I can’t wait to see her face. To kiss her goodnight.

You were right—motherhood changes everything.

I always doted on you and the boys, but this…this love is different. Deeper.

I never imagined this kind of devotion could exist.

I wish you could meet her when she’s born. I wish I could take her home.

Maybe one day our paths will cross again, sweet brother, and I can introduce you to my daughter.

With all my love,

Katya

I wipe my tears away as I pick up the next letter and open it.

Dearest Misha,

Kira came into the world kicking and screaming two days ago. She’s a fighter. A true Petrov.

Oh, Misha—she’s beautiful. So beautiful. My heart is overflowing.

But the joy is bittersweet, because I don’t have you, Sasha, Kirill, or little Kostya here to share it with.

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