Page 63 of Baby for the Bratva King

One hit and I could be in a much better place, reuniting with my mother, with Yusen.

Nothing good ever lasts in this world, but there might be hope in the next life, and I’m willing to find out.

I suck in a deep breath, fighting my body’s instincts to run.

“Interesting,” says the man. “I don’t hear your father asking you to get out of the way.” His cruel eyes find mine. “Why are you risking your life for a coward?”

“He’s my father.”

“Fathers are not cowards,” says the man.

Suddenly, he rips me away from my father.

I stumble into the living area, but by the time I make it back up, I’m already too late.

“Sleep with my wife over your dead fucking body,” barks the man.

“Gladly,” beams my father before the knife goes in.

“Father!” I scream at the very top of my lungs, blood gushing in every direction. The kitchen turns into a bloodbath as the man stabs my father in the chest, again and again.

Time slows right down, my cool breath misting my lips as I take deep, controlled breaths. I need to be strong. I need to show the enemy I’m not afraid.

My surroundings become a blur. I focus on the blood-soaked knife as the attacker removes the blade from my father’s chest.

He holds the blade up into the light, examining the fresh blood.

Then he brings the flat side of the blade to his mouth, licking the steel, tasting my father’s blood.

Horrified, I stumble backward, but my legs hit the back of the couch and I fall. I lose my breath, dry heaving as fear takes over my entire body.

“Your father was an anchor holding you down,” says the man, sticking his knife back into his pocket. He approaches me with slow, methodological steps, entering the living area. “His kind never last long.” The man picks up the textbook, pages hanging from the spine as he analyzes the book like it’s a foreign object.

I consider telling him to hold it properly—the library will kill me if this book gets damaged, but this man will probably kill me for telling him what to do, so I keep quiet.

“It seems you’re quite the hard worker,” says the man. He throws the book on the couch and sees himself out. “Maybe you have what it takes to rule if you can learn to keep your cock in your pants.”

“Is it true that you’re dating Vesper Brouwer’s eldest daughter?” asks the journalist as I’m walking down Oxford Street.

Can’t go anywhere these days without a camera being shoved in my face.

I feel a small smile tug on my lips, but I keep a straight face and walk away from the paparazzi. My bodyguard tells them to back off, but he’s not much of a deterrent. I’m bigger than him.

Today has been eventful. I woke up this morning beside a sleeping Saskia, her brown hair sprawled across the pillows. I left her in bed and got dressed for the day. I had back-to-back meetings, most going over the same things about the suite room. A few alternations needed to be made, but I didn’t mention them in the meeting because I wanted to get out of there faster.

Of course, I walk five minutes down the street and suddenly have a full team of paparazzi surrounding me. The questions about me dating Vesper’s daughter are particularly amusing.

These people think poor Saskia has become my escort. People are speculating in podcasts, doing deep dives into the psychology behind why someone would want to go down that path.

“It all starts with an unstable father-daughter relationship,” I heard one podcast explain.

I stay offline, but it’s hard to disconnect from things when people are playing clips on the street, asking you to respond. I never do.

“Here, Mr. Pozharsky,” says my bodyguard, opening the car door when we eventually make it across the road. “Let’s get you back to Mayfair.”

I slide into the backseats, staring through the window as the car sets off.

Gray, contemporary buildings roll by, blending into the dull atmosphere. The pumpkins on the street provide some color, but they’ll be gone soon, replaced by Christmas lights.