Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
It’s tragic.
But I’m honored to be here dressing this little baby. Babies are incredible. So innocent. So beautiful. So present.
Babies don’t judge. They don’t believe in limitations. I lift the baby to my chest for a snuggle. He smells so sweet. His skin is so soft.
And Vlad brought me here because he knows I love children. It’s so thoughtful and touching.
It’s hard to believe he’s a man capable of murder and violence.
“Mika, what are you doing?” Vlad left the room, but the boy is shadowing me.
He looks up at me, wary.
“Take this baby and get him a bottle. Go and sit in the rocking chair and feed him,” I instruct him.
Mika looks like he’d rather lick vomit from the floor.
“Come on. Take him. See if you can figure out why I love babies.”
I hide my smile at the dubious expression on Mika’s face as he takes the infant from me and returns to the crib room.
The baby cries a little, but Mika figures out how to get him feeding pretty quickly. The triumphant smile he beams at me warms my chest.
I help get the babies cleaned and fed and put down for naps and before I know it, I discover Vlad leaning in the doorway, watching.
Mika rushes over to him as soon as he sees him.
“Has it been two hours?”
He nods. “Da. Come, zaika. You’re probably hungry.”
There he goes again.
I walk over and give him a peck on the cheek. “Spasibo,” I thank him in Russian. “This is the weirdest, sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He grabs the back of my head and kisses me full on the lips.
Mika shuffles past us, obviously embarrassed by the display of affection.
“Don’t ask me to adopt them all,” Vlad says gruffly.
“Could we do something for them?” I have to ask. “Provide money to hire another worker? Buy them supplies?”
“We?” His expression is unreadable.
I flush. “I mean you.”
“I like we.” He looks serious. Like it only just struck him that he and I might be a we. Which makes sense, since this is a sham marriage.
My cheeks are still warm. “Can we, then?”
He inclines his head. “Whatever you want, printsessa. It’s yours.”
It’s not true, I have to remind myself. If it were true, he’d let me call my brothers. Set me free.
But I can’t stop the rush of good feelings flowing from my heart.
The sense that while life sucks and there’s a lot of sadness in the world, I’m not in this alone. There’s someone willing to stand beside me.
Chapter 16
Vlad
Being in Moscow reminds me far too much of my former life there. The life I never wanted to live. All the terror and anger of my youth, of my mother handing me over to Victor and his bratva, nearly drown me every time I’m in this city. Everything I hate about myself is here, too. This is where I first killed. Where I witnessed murder and beatings and learned to steal.
Where I decided that if I didn’t want to stay at the bottom of the ranks pushing drugs and prostitution, I needed a skill few had. So I learned how to hack. How to launder money. How to make myself infinitely useful to Victor and the other pakhans of Russia.
I liked the fantasy of my estate in Volgograd—the one I never lived in until now. Until Alessia and Mika. I liked pretending I might be something else. A husband. Father, even, or at least a decent guardian to Mika.
But now, being back here in Moscow, everything reminds me of the darkness of my past.
Of who I really am.
And I don’t want Alessia and Mika anywhere near this shit. I don’t want to bring them to Victor’s. Don’t want to taint them with what I am and have done. Or expose them to the evil that Victor represents.
Victor, the closest man I have to a father.
A man I hate and still love in a twisted way.
I check into a nice hotel suite downtown, not far from Victor’s flat.
Mika turns on the television.
Alessia rushes to open the curtains and look down at the city. “I want to see the city,” she says. Always with her demands. It’s a game now. She doesn’t expect me to say yes, she’s just poking at me. The squeaky wheel, making herself heard. Reminding me how much she chafes against my authority.
I like to say no as much as I like to say yes because she’s never upset. She pushes but she’s not a brat. And I like to say yes because she’s always delighted—she doesn’t actually expect it.
I simply like to be her authority. She brings out a different side of me. One I didn’t know existed. Where I’ve felt tarnished and cruel most of my life, with her I am benevolent. Yes, her benevolent dictator. It’s a role I rather relish.