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Demyen offers her a warm smile. “Hey,malysh, it’s okay. Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head. And hiccups.
“That’s good. You know you can tell me if you’re hurt, right?”
She pauses. Then nods. Her teary eyes land on the shards and well up again. “I-I’m s-sorry…!” She starts sobbing again, balling her fists in front of her face.
But instead of yelling at her, or hitting her, or calling her names and scolding her for being so careless, Demyen shocks both of us by gently easing her fists down and pulling her into a hug.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” He rubs her back until her sobs turn into hiccups and then soft little sighs. When she’s calmed, he eases her away just enough to meet her gaze again and cups the side of her face in his hand. “Things can be replaced. You can’t. Pleasebe careful next time, okay? And listen to your mom. She’s only keeping you safe.”
Willow nods and a small, wobbly smile tugs at her lips. “Okay.”
Demyen smiles and gives her a wink. “We good?”
“Yeah.”
He holds his fist up and she meets it with her own. They ease into a secret handshake that, apparently, they’ve spent enough time together to create, and Willow’s smile widens.
When Demyen rises to his feet and turns to me, I’m ready. I’m grateful for his kindness and warmth to Willow, and my God am I floored, but I’m also very aware he has a limited patience.
One of us is going to pay for the incident, and now, I know for sure it’s not her—thank God.
“Demyen, I’m so sorry?—”
He stops me with an arched brow. “For what?”
He follows my glance to the broken vase, the mess of damaged plants and dirty water, and his slight frown deepens. But then he looks back up at me, and it’s not anI’m-going-to-hit-youfrown. It’s more…
“Relax. It’s just a vase.” His eyes give me a quick once-over and I suddenly feel very naked. And very achy between the legs. “But do be more careful. Maybe actually watch your child while you work.”
And with that, he walks away.
39
DEMYEN
There’s something seriously fucking wrong with me.
I should see a therapist, but I won’t. I handle my own shit. Some overeducated moron in an expensive office can’t even scratch the surface of the bullshit I deal with on a regular basis.
At least, that’s what I chant to myself as I watch the live camera feed coming from inside Clara’s bedroom while she’s sleeping. I’m at the casino, pretending I have an important text that just came through—so important that it’s worth interrupting a game of poker in the High Rollers Lounge I’m intent on winning.
I’m just not as interested in reminding these idiots that the house always wins as I am in trying to decipher what Clara’s dreaming about.
She mutters something. I’m a terrible lip reader and the sound is muted because, again, this is supposedly a text from one of my men. Texts from the Bratva don’t sound like the soft moans and mutters of a beautiful woman asleep in her bed.
She should be asleep inmybed. Why did I move her again?
The camera feed leading to Willow’s room reminds me why. Because I’m not an asshole who keeps an innocent child away from her mother.
I’m an asshole. Just notthatkind of asshole.
“Shit, Zakrevsky. Did they send you a novel, or what?”
Shit.I forgot where I am. I was too focused on making sure the windows to Willow’s room were securely shut and the guards actually paying attention outside her doors.
“Racetrack figures dropped. Got distracted.” I force myself to shove the phone back in my pocket and return to the game. I don’t even know if my hand is any good compared to the others, but I’m the master of bluffing. I casually shove my large stack of chips to the center of the table. “All in.”
