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I tuck a finger under her chin so she looks me in the eyes. “Things are replaceable,matryoshka. But you are not.”
Her bottom lip trembles. I’m not sure if she believes me or if she understands. But I want her to know she’s safe with me. That I’m nothing like the asshole who haunts her nightmares.
So I do the last thing I’d ever expect of myself: I scoop Willow up into my arms and carry her around the room, slowly rocking her as I hum the melody of a soft lullaby I’ve long forgotten the words to.
She tucks her head under my chin. She’s so small that I can easily cradle her with one arm and stroke her hair back with my free hand. It’s something that comes naturally to me, something that just felt right to do.
Which confuses the absolute fuck out of me.
I don’t have a paternal bone in my body. And I sure as shit don’t have the best examples of healthy parenting from my own mother and father. Mom was too busy sleeping around to spend any time with her own children, while Dad was…well, he was Dad. Overbearing, manipulative, strict as hell, and adamant that women were simply things to collect and use. When he was done using them, or if he’d broken them beyond use, he’d sell them to the highest bidder.
And when he didn’t have his “things” to play with, he turned his sick boredom onto Tolya and me.
It shouldn’t have been what bonded us, but it was. Tolya always stepped in front of me to take the worst of it. As we grew older and learned more about who Otets was—whathe was—we secretly plotted our escape out of his world. We didn’t want anything to do with his violence, his greed, or his Bratva.
But then everything went sideways. And before I was even legally old enough to vote, I realized that the only way to save Tolya was to step into his shoes as the heir.
It’s several minutes absorbed in my thoughts before I realize that Willow is sound asleep in my arms.
I carefully and quietly step over to the overstuffed chair and try to lay her down on the cushion. But her tiny fingers cling to my shirt and she pouts in her sleep, a soft groan of protest purring through her nose.
So I grab my phone from the desk and settle into the chair, leaning back into the cushions so she can sleep more comfortably on my chest.
I can’t afford to get emotionally attached to this kid. I know how dangerous that is—for both of us.
But I can do for her what my own father never did for me: I can protect her. I can provide for her. I can chase away the things that go bump in the night and give her the best this world has to offer.
I scroll through the contacts list on my phone until I find the name I need and pressCall.“It’s Demyen. Remember that deal we made? No, no, don’t worry about that. Seriously. Yes, I mean it. I have a different way you can pay me back…”
47
CLARA
“Willow? Baby? Rise and shine…”
I open the door to her room, fully expecting a melodramatic performance of groaning at having to wake up before she’s ready. Sleepy Willow is sweet and adorable for now. Give it a few more years and I know she’ll make me want to rip my hair out.
She must be out cold. Her bed is empty, so I check the hammock she loves to snuggle up in when the night sky is especially pretty to gaze at.
She’s not there, either.
“Willow?”
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Panic leads to bad decisions.
It’s breakfast time, so maybe she wandered off to the kitchen and is eating cereal with Gloria. Even though the head housekeeper is technically my boss, she’s slid into our lives and our hearts as a maternal figure and dotes on Willow like she’s her granddaughter. It wouldn’t be a stretch at all to assume Willow woke up before me and joined Gloria for an early bite.
But when I get to the dining building, both the kitchen and the dining room are completely empty.
Don’t panic.
Don’t panic.
Panic leads to bad decisions.
My chest grows tight with worry. I rush out of the kitchen to find Gloria, or Bambi, or hell, even Demyen.Someonehas to have Willow with them. This place is under so much security, which is the one solace keeping me sane. There’s no way she could have wandered off into the desert unnoticed.
The thought leads me to the first guard I can find, one of the men who I’ve seen patrolling the main courtyard and watching over Willow from a distance. He’s a gruffly handsome type and the ring on his finger makes me wonder if he’s married with kids of his own. I hope so, because that’s sympathy I need to soothe my worry.
