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Raizo turns back to the other women and smiles. “Now, ladies, you will be escorted out when it’s your turn to be on the stage. Remember: be beautiful, be charming, and behave.”
He claps his hands twice. Somewhere outside, in the halls, a gong rings out.
“Let the auction begin!”
32
DEMYEN
If I had it my way, I’d put this whiskey on an IV drip straight into my veins. As it is, I need both hands to bandage my chest, so I chug half the bottle down and let the burn settle in before I grab the roll of gauze.
I should probably just call the Bratva doctor to come take a look at this. But I’m in no mood to deal with people right now.
Truth be told, I’m in no mood to deal withconsciousnessright now. I’m hoping either the pain kills me or the whiskey knocks me the fuck out.
No such luck on either front.
Twenty minutes and twice as many curses later, I’m wrapped and bandaged and every bit as miserable as I was before I started the process.
I shuffle aimlessly down the pathway. But instead of going to my rooms for the night, I find myself wandering across the villa to where I’d had Clara and Willow moved to.
Clara. Fucking…Clara.
This is what I get for falling head over heels for a pair of guileless eyes and silken curls—I tumbled head over heels into the abyss.
She’s back at the party with her daddy dearest while I’m here at home,pretendingto be a daddy dearest to a kid I never asked for.
To be fair, the kid never asked for this shit, either.
Willow is sound asleep in her tiny room. I lean against the doorway, not wanting to wake her, but unable to leave. Unable—and unwilling. It’s like standing here is somehow paying penance for the sins I’ve committed against her.
Shit. I’m a fucking asshole.
I don’t deserve a child. I don’t know how to treat one who’s been nothing but perfect from the moment I met her.
I don’t know what to do with Willow at all, really. I’m pretty sure her mother isn’t coming back any time soon, but I’m definitely sure she shouldn’t be going to Martin fucking Patterson.
I can’t keep her for myself, though. No matter how much I actually want to.
In a perfect world, this would be easy. I would keep Willow safe and sound here in my home, spoiling her with her heart’s desires and mapping the stars through the ceiling of her solarium bedroom.
Hell, in a perfect world, I wouldn’t even be standing here right now, nursing what’s left of this bottle of whiskey and watching the kid sleep. I’d be in bed, submerging myself in Clara, bathing myself in her moans and tasting her skin as she shattered around me.
In a perfect world, we’d have several more kids to worry about. Kids that looked like the best of her and the best of me combined.
But this isn’t a perfect world.
In this world, I’m the leader of a lethal Russian mob family. I’ve amassed an ungodly amount of wealth and fortune on the backs of greedy gamblers and even greedier black market antiquities dealers. I’ve killed men for blinking at me wrong.
And instead of burying myself inside the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, I’m standing here in the doorway of her daughter’s sad excuse of a bedroom, trying to figure out what the actual fuck I’m supposed to do.
Fuck my life.
Willow frowns, then groans in her sleep. I don’t like the way it contorts her sweet face. She shouldn’t be frowning in her sleep; she should be smiling, laughing, and dreaming about things like ice cream and sunflowers.
It’s my fault she’s not.
I don’t know what to do with her in the long term, but I do know I need to make a few things right. She didn’t deserve the things I’ve done to her. First thing in the morning, after she goes to school, I’m going to make the staff move her stuff back into the solarium and then fill it with even more toys and games and things that silently say, “I’m sorry.”
