Page 114 of Desperate Games

Because when you come at me, you’re not just coming at me.

You’re coming at the entire Volkov Clan. The Vipers. The Callahans. The O’Doyles.

The whole damn hornet’s nest.

And Julio Castillo?

He just kicked it wide open.

I flex my fists in my lap, jaw tight, and make myself a silent promise.

He has no idea what storm he just unleashed.

But he’s about to find out.

Chapter Thirty-Nine Andrea

The next afternoon, I’m back at the house, curled up on the sofa in the playroom with a mug of peppermint tea warming my hands and the weight of my belly heavy in my lap.

I should feel safe. I should feel steady.

But my mind won’t stop replaying bits and pieces of what Dad hinted at yesterday.

The power, the reach, the unspoken threats behind polite words.

It’s comforting in one breath—terrifying in the next.

Because this is my family.

And when they circle the wagons, it’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.

The playroom is enormous—Remy had the walls painted in soft colors for Callie, and I’ve gone overboard with bins of toys, a bookshelf, and a little craft table that’s permanently glitter-stained.

Today, it’s alive with laughter.

Callie is thrilled to have her cousins over, giggling as she chases after them in a game of tag but with tiaras or tinsel, a thing only a three-year-old could invent.

Her tiny Christmas tree, covered in every sparkly ornament she could get her sticky little fingers on, glitters in the corner like it’s competing with the grand one in the living room.

Leanna stands in the doorway for a long moment, admiring both trees.

“She did all of that herself? It’s honestly perfect.”

“She insisted,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the tight knot in my chest.

Clementine lowers herself beside me, both hands cupping her own bump like it’s the most precious secret in the world. She gives me a knowing look.

“We’re going to be waddling together soon.”

I rub my belly instinctively, her words tugging a laugh out of me.

“God help our husbands.”

“God help our backs,” she counters, and we both chuckle, leaning into the moment.

Lucy—my beautiful cousin who got her body back unfairly quick after delivering her little one, the lucky brat—suddenly claps her hands together, eyes sparkling like she’s five years old herself.

“We need cookies! Right now. It’s practically mandatory with this many kids and this much glitter in the air.”