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Bringing Leo here is a clear statement.
I’m not ashamed of my son. I’m showing him off.
Roman climbs out of the boxing ring situated in the center of the open layout with a wide smile on his face, wiping sweat away with a towel and then slinging it over one shoulder.
He greets me in Russian, then gives Leo a wave.
Leo waves back, but I feel his shoulder tense beneath my hand. He shifts a half step closer to me, and my chest expands with an unfamiliar warmth.
Roman is a stranger, and I’m barely not one. But it’s something. My own father was about as cuddly as a lump of coal. His only capacity when it came to affection was tepid praise for tasks performed to his satisfaction.
That’s not the relationship I want with Leo when—if—he finds out I’m his father.
“Leo, this is Roman.”
Leo nods, looking serious. Like he somehow realizes he’s being scrutinized as a possible futurePakhan, not just as an eight-year-old child. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, Leo.”
Most people would describe Roman’s expression as impassive. But I’ve known him since we were younger than Leo is now. I catch the surprise that flashes on his face.
He wasn’t part of the crew that traveled to New York with me on what was meant to be a quick, easy trip. Roman has heard about Leo. But this is the first time he’s seeing him in person. The first time he’s seeing the resemblance between me and my son.
“Good match?” I ask, nodding toward the ring.
A broad grin stretches Roman’s face. “Ask Slava. His face isn’t feeling too great.”
I roll my eyes. Friendly competition can be a foreign concept for Roman to comprehend.
“You were fighting?” Leo pipes in with.
Roman’s eyes widen before he looks to me. He knows as little about kids as I do.
“Training,” I answer. “Remember what I told you on the drive here?”
Leo nods. “Do you train here, Nick?”
Something grates inside of me every time Leo calls me Nick. It reminds me of Lyla since she’s the only other person who calls me by the nickname I adopted during my brief time as an American student.
It also drives home the fact that he doesn’t know he should be calling me something else. I can understand Lyla’s decision not to tell Leo I’m his father. Respect it even, knowing it’s coming from a place of love and protectiveness.
I know I’ll never have a traditional role in Leo’s life.
Lyla has made no secret that she’s eager to return to the States as soon as possible, and I can’t pack up and leave Russia.
She’s worried I’ll up and disappear the same way I did before, but she doesn’t understand that’s not an option.
Pandora can’t be shoved back into her box. Exactly what I was trying to shield Lyla from—an association with me—has been shot to hell. She and Leo might be facing threats from my enemies now, but it’s nothing in comparison to the risks if I walked away.
“Nick?” Leo prompts.
“I do,” I say. “Want to see?”
The question surprises everyone in the immediate vicinity. Especially Roman.
As a general rule, I don’t get into the ring.
I train plenty, but seeing your leader knocked on his ass isn’t great for morale. I’m a skilled fighter. So is every man in my employ.
