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I peer down at the boy. Simon. He smiles up at me, gripping the lapels of my suit jacket in his tiny hands. This is my…son?
“I don’t understand,” I say, returning my gaze to her. “How did this… Why are you only telling me about him now?”
“I know who you are, Dimitri,” she says, quickly shoving a big duffle bag into Dahlia’s arms. “When I found out I was pregnant with your child, I didn’t want you to know because… Well, I didn’t want him to be raised in this life.”
To say that I’m reeling is an understatement. I’m equal parts confused, hurt, blindsided, angry, and amazed. I need so much more information and time to process all of this.
“But why now?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“I thought I could do it alone,” Tatiana confesses, wiping at her bleary eyes. “I thought I could pull off the whole single mom schtick, but I can’t. You’re far richer than I am. You can provide him with a better life.”
“Wait a second—”
“I can’t do this. I’m just… I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
“And you think I’m cut out to be afather?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait a damn second!”
In the blink of an eye, she’s gone. The child in my arms begins to cry, soft whimpers breaking into ear-splitting wails. I don’t know what to do, barely able to see past my rage.
How could she do this? Not just to me, but the boy? I don’t have a parental bone in my body, but I would never in a million years abandon my child. It’s inconceivable to me. Cruel, even. This boy—Simon—deserves so much more than that.
I hush the boy, holding him against my chest as I pat him rhythmically on the back. My eldest brother, Mikhail, has little ones of his own. I try to copy his calm demeanor, hoping to soothe Simon. It doesn’t work.
“Oh, the poor dear,” Dahlia coos beside me. “What a horrible woman! Should I try and stop her from leaving? Maybe if you talk to her…”
I shake my head. “It’s clear she’s already made up her mind.”
“What are you going to do?”
Good question. WhatamI going to do?
I can’tnottake care of the boy. But between my duties to the Bratva and taking care of my father, where am I going to find the time to shelter a child as well? He needs a crib to sleep in, proper food, toys for entertainment. It seems like the universe is trying to tell me something—all these earth-shattering surprises hitting me from out of left field—but I have no clue how to decipher the message.
“I need to call my brothers.”
* * *
