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It should anger me—that she still thinks about putting a bullet into my body. Instead, it makes me proud to know that she can hold her own.
My palm rounds her body, settling over her stomach. “Our child will have your defiance.”
“It won’t be useful,” she replies, “unless they meet a man like you.”
My hand falls away. I’m unsure if she said it in jest, but it fills me with a sudden realization.I wouldn’t want my daughter to meeta man like me.I’d want her sheltered from my life, from the men I’ve met and the sons they’ll have.
Fuck.
“What’s wrong?” Isabella asks as I turn away, threading my fingers through my hair. “Roman?”
“I’ll be outside,” I say as I march out of her room, closing the door to put a physical barrier between us.
What the hell am I doing?I should’ve never even thought about putting a baby in her.
Because she deserves better—so much better. A man who brings warmth into her world, not war. Someone who holds her with peace, not power.
But that man isn’t me.
And no matter how many sweet lies I feed her or how many promises fall from my lips, I’ll never be the kind of father I wish I could be. Or the type of husband who gives her the softness she aches for. That kind of life just doesn’t exist for someone like me.
The ride to the hospital is quiet, and I sit in front, keeping my gaze averted from the mirror so I don’t lock gazes with Isabella. I know she’ll see it…the chaos unraveling inside me. And for the first time, I don’t want to see her disappointed.
As we walk through the doors, my phone buzzes. She’s ahead, but she pauses when she hears the sound. “Do you need to take that?”
I shake my head. “No. We’re doing this together. Let’s go.”
She nods, and I step into pace with her, but we barely make it to the nurses’ station when my phone begins to ring. “You knowwhat?” she bites out before I can speak. “I think you should get that. It could bemoreimportant.”
I see the pain in her eyes, but ignoring the call won’t erase it. I shouldn’t have abruptly ended the moment in her bedroom and deprived her of an explanation.
I’ll find an excuse.
My phone’s screen flashes with a number I never expected to see. Igor Sokolov.
“Hello, old friend,” he greets.
“What do you want?”
“Relax,” he chuckles. “Can’t a man check in on an ally? We are friends now, aren’t we?”
Never.
I cut through the pleasantries. “Do you know where Marco is?”
There’s a pause. I hear a faint rustle on his end like he’s leaning back, savoring the moment. “Hmm. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Or maybe I’ve got a lead so solid, you’ll want to kiss my damn feet when you find him. But I’m not in the business of giving away gifts, Roman, like I know you’ll never give me a handout. So I’m thinking we make a trade.”
My gaze flicks ahead, and I see Isabella’s silhouette disappear into a corner.
I’ll catch up.
My voice hardens. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Isabella Ricci.”
For a moment, it’s as if I didn’t hear correctly. As if the words didn’t register—because surely, Igor didn’t just say that. The last time we met, I made it crystal clear that Isabella isn’t a bargaining chip.That she belongs to me.I know I should’ve left a permanent reminder.
“I’m going to assume you just misspoke,” I say quietly, dangerously. “Because if you didn’t?—”