Page 134 of Merciless Daddy

“Yes, Daddy,” she said sweetly.

Kiryl made a choking noise behind us.

She did not look embarrassed. Not exactly. But her fingers tightened in mine as I led her toward the kitchen.

That afternoon, she sat beside me in the study while Angela walked us through the remains of Gianni’s tracking network. Kiryl stayed in the library with a book and Olimpo sleeping on his feet.

Yelena worked in black trousers and one of my old sweaters. Her hair was braided over one shoulder. She looked softer dressed that way. Less like Lev Sokolov’s heirloom bride. More like a woman who had chosen her own clothes.

She found a false vendor ledger in nine minutes.

“That account is not clean,” she said.

Angela’s face appeared on the screen. “How can you tell?”

“Gianni uses Italian names for foreign payments. Russian names for domestic payments. This is a Polish company with a Sicilian account manager.”

“That could be coincidence,” I said.

Yelena looked at me as if I had disappointed her personally.

“Salvatore. Nobody in this world does coincidence at this price point.”

I leaned closer.

She showed us the routing chain. A legitimate freight company. A holding account. A charity. Then a private lender tied to Halberd.

My jaw hardened.

“Keep pulling,” I told Angela.

Yelena’s hand found mine beneath the desk. She did not look at me while she did it. Her thumb brushed once against my knuckles.

Work continued for another hour, then I closed her laptop.

She looked at the clock. “It’s only six.”

“You have been staring at screens since ten.”

“And I found you something useful! It was time well spent.”

“You did, and it was.”

“So I should continue.”

“No.”

The word came out low.

Her eyes widened slightly. Not with fear. With that familiar heat.

I held her gaze.

“Go upstairs,” I said. “Change into something comfortable. You have thirty minutes before dinner.”

“What if I don’t want thirty minutes?”

“You negotiated rest into our agreement.”