Page 84 of Wicked Game

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease as we all began to move toward the front door together.

As we stepped inside the house, my eyes widened at the lively scene playing out before me. The spacious interior echoed with laughter as a little girl, who couldn’t have been more than three years old, darted around gleefully clutching what appeared to be a cellphone. A young man chased after her, his voice rising in exasperation. “Danika! Give that back!”

Not far behind, I spotted a face I knew well, watching the commotion with an amused roll of his eyes. “I told you not to leave it lying around, Dante,” he remarked, his tone dry and familiar.

“Shut up, Danny, and help me!” Dante called out, frustration evident as he lunged toward the little girl. Danika squealed with delight, easily evading his grasp as Dante landed on the floor with a groan, lightly smacking his fist against the cold marble floor in defeat before pushing himself back up. Unbothered, Danika scampered over to Massimo, tugging playfully at his pant leg. I remained silent, watching as Massimo looked down at her, gentle curiosity in his gaze.

Massimo crouched down, meeting Danika’s eyes with a mock seriousness that made her giggle even louder. “Do you need help, little one?” he asked, his voice soft but amused. Shegrinned mischievously, clutching the phone behind her back as if it were treasure.

“Gotcha!” Dante exclaimed with a triumphant grin as he scooped up the little girl. Her laughter filled the room as he tickled her, the playful moment bringing warmth to the lively scene. As Dante held her, he glanced toward me, just as Danny approached to greet me with a welcoming hug.

Danny smiled affectionately and greeted, “Hey, sis.” His friendly expression quickly shifted to a glare directed at Massimo. “I see you brought the hired help,” Danny remarked, his tone tinged with hostility.

I playfully smacked Danny’s chest, offering a gentle reprimand. “Be nice,” I scolded, before turning to Massimo. “Massimo, this is one of my brothers, Danny Franks.”

Massimo responded curtly, “Sypher,” keeping his introduction brief and to the point.

“Vitale,” Danny replied with a huff, making his feelings clear.

Luca, ever the instigator, leaned close to Massimo and teased, “Does anyone like you?”

“Shut up, Luca,” Massimo shot back, unimpressed.

Before I could say anything, Danny whistled loudly. “Yo, Sinclair! Miranda is here!”

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, gradually growing louder until Sinclair appeared, his very presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Close behind him was a tall, powerfully built man with striking dark hair and eyes that mirrored my own. The large man halted abruptly, his gaze sweeping over me, intense and searching, as though he was trying to commit my features to memory or find a hint of something familiar in my face.

Sinclair approached first, greeting me warmly with a quick kiss on my cheek. “I apologize for not greeting you at thedoor, my dear, but your brother and I needed a moment,” he explained, his tone gentle and sincere.

“It’s okay, Dad,” I whispered, barely able to look away from the man behind him. The resemblance between him and Sinclair was unmistakable—they could have been mirror images, though my brother stood a full foot taller than our father.

Sinclair gently took my hand, guiding me toward my brother. “Come, let me introduce you,” he said softly. Turning to my twin, he announced, “Theodore, your sister Miranda.”

Theodore’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as he spoke from where he stood without moving closer. “You look just like our mother,” he said, the words barely audible.

A rush of emotion tightened my throat, making words nearly impossible. I searched Theodore’s eyes for some sign of connection, unsure how to bridge the years that had kept us apart, when I found myself wrapped in his strong embrace as he hugged me close. Unable to stop them, I let my tears flow freely in the arms of my brother.

A small voice broke through the haze of emotion. The little girl asked softly, “Pop-pop, why is she crying?”

My father leaned down, answering gently, “She’s crying because she’s meeting her brother for the very first time, sweetheart.” His words carried both empathy and pride, the moment not lost on any of us.

The little girl’s eyes widened with recognition. “Unka Tank?” she asked, her tone full of innocent wonder.

My father smiled warmly, nodding. “Yes, sweetheart. She is Uncle Theodore’s little sister—your aunt Miranda.”

Sniffling, I couldn’t hide the trembling in my voice. Theodore, his presence calm and reassuring, brushed my hair gently away from my forehead as he cupped my face, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “Hi,” he said, his voice low but steady, offering comfort with that simple word.

A laugh escaped me, watery and broken with relief. “Hi,” I managed, wiping my tears as I tried to compose myself. Before I could say more, movement on the stairway caught my eye—drawing all my attention.

A gasp tore from my throat as I stumbled back, overwhelmed by disbelief. Massimo was suddenly at my side, his strong arms wrapping around me, steadying me as my body shook. My eyes locked on the woman descending the steps—the very woman who had raised me, taught me everything, and loved me as her own. She was alive, walking toward me, and every emotion I’d suppressed surged to the surface.

Danny’s voice cut through the stunned silence, sharp and angry. “Shit,” he cursed, glaring furiously at Sinclair. “You didn’t tell her?”

Dante muttered under his breath, “Oh shit,” while Massimo’s protective stance grew fierce.

He snarled, voice edged with frustration, “Tell my wife what?”

Desperation overpowered caution as I tore myself from Massimo’s hold. My world faded except for the sight of her. Racing forward, I cried out, voice hoarse and raw, “Mom!” My arms reached for her as tears streamed freely, the years of longing and heartbreak finally spilling over in a single, overwhelming moment of joy.

Her arms opened wide, trembling as she met me halfway, engulfing me in a fierce embrace. The familiar scent of her perfume and the warmth of her embrace made all my lonely years without her melt away as if they had never happened.

Looking up at her, I cried, “How?”

“I will explain everything.”

THE END