Page 30 of Bratva Daddy (Underworld Daddies #1)

He stood up quick but careful, like he didn't want to startle me, and disappeared down the hallway.

I could hear him moving things, opening drawers or maybe a closet, and then he was back carrying a box I'd never seen before.

Not fancy like everything else in the penthouse, just a regular cardboard box with worn edges like it had been saved for something special.

"Look what Daddy got for his little girl," he said, sitting back down and pulling things out like magic.

First came a stuffed wolf, gray and soft with eyes that looked kind instead of scary.

Not new—worn in places like it had been loved before—but clean and perfect and exactly right.

My hands let go of the pillow without thinking, reaching for the wolf with grabby fingers that would have embarrassed big Clara.

The wolf's fur was softer than anything, softer than the cashmere sweaters Alexei bought me, softer than his expensive sheets.

I buried my face in it immediately, and it smelled like lavender, like calm, like everything might be okay even though the TV was still saying terrible things about frozen money.

"What's his name?" Alexei asked, watching me clutch the wolf like I'd been reunited with something I'd lost long ago.

The answer came without thinking, the way important things do when you're small. "Little Alex."

A pause, then: "Is that okay?"

Something flickered across his face—surprise maybe, or something softer that made my chest feel warm despite all the tears.

"Perfect," he said, and pulled out the next thing: a blanket in the softest pink, like clouds at sunset, like the inside of a seashell. He wrapped it around my shoulders himself, careful and thorough, making sure I was all tucked in before sitting back.

The blanket was heavy but not too heavy, warm but not too warm, like being hugged by something that would never let go. Between the wolf and the blanket, I felt held even though he wasn't touching me, safe even though the world was still broken because of what I'd done.

Then—and this was maybe magic or maybe just Alexei knowing things—he pulled out a juice box. Apple juice, the kind with the little straw attached to the side, the kind father-daddy would never let me have because it was "full of sugar and beneath us."

"Juice?" I asked, voice small and hopeful, Little Alex pressed against my chest.

"For my little girl," he confirmed, puncturing the box with the straw and handing it over.

The juice was cold and sweet and perfect, everything juice should be when you're small and sad. I drank it careful-slow, not wanting it to end, while Alexei watched with that soft face that made me feel like maybe I wasn't ruining everything just by existing.

"Now," he said, voice still in that gentle tone, "can you tell Daddy why you're upset?"

The words came tumbling out, mixed up and sideways but he listened to all of them. "The TV said my money got frozen. The charity money. People needed it for houses and food and warm places when it gets cold and now it's stuck 'cause I'm gone."

I had to stop to breathe and suck more juice, but he waited, patient like he had all the time in the world for my small problems.

"Marcus sold his art for lots of money to help kids have somewhere to go after school so they don't have to be alone and scared. And David—he promised people, Daddy. Promised they'd have somewhere warm. But now the money's stuck and winter's coming and it's all my fault for being here."

Fresh tears came with the words, but quieter tears now, absorbed by Alexei Junior's fur. The wolf didn't mind being cried on. That's what stuffies were for, to catch tears and keep secrets and never judge.

"Listen to me, little one," he said, and his voice had that sound that meant pay attention but also you're safe. "This is not your fault. It’s Daddy’s. And Daddy's going to fix it."

I peeked at him over Alexei Junior's head. "You can fix the stuck money?"

"I can fix anything," he said, like fixing hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar problems was as easy as making coffee. "But right now, little girls don't worry about big girl problems. That's what Daddies are for."

The words made perfect sense. Big Clara had to worry about charity money and board members and signatures. But I wasn't big Clara right now. I was just small, and small girls had Daddies to fix things, to make the scary go away, to handle all the too-big problems.

"Really?" I asked, needing to be sure, needing to know the families would be warm and the kids would have somewhere safe and Marcus's art money would help people.

"Really," he said, still petting my hair in that rhythm that made my eyes heavy. "Daddy handles the big problems. Little girls just need to be good and let Daddy take care of everything."

"I can be good," I promised, squeezing Alexei Junior tighter. "I can be so good."

"I know you can, baby," he said, and kissed the top of my head like it was the most natural thing in the world. "My perfect little girl."

He didn't make me stand up or walk or do anything except exist in my blanket cocoon while he scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

Being carried felt different when you were small.

Not embarrassing like big Clara would think, but right, like this was how small people were supposed to travel—safe in Daddy's arms where nothing bad could reach.

Little Alex got squished between us, but he didn't mind.

Stuffies understood about needing to be close.

The couch felt bigger when he set me down, like it had grown while I was on the floor. Or maybe I'd gotten smaller. Either way, I pulled my feet up under the blanket and made myself into a ball while Alexei moved around doing mysterious Daddy things.

He came back with more treasures from the magic box.

A coloring book with all the Disney princesses on the cover, their faces happy and bright like they'd never worried about frozen charity money.

And not the bad crayons that were all waxy and broke when you pressed too hard, but good ones in a box with so many colors I couldn't count them all.

"For my little girl to play with," he said, setting them on the coffee table that was now exactly the right height for coloring if I sat on the floor.

The pictures inside were beautiful—Rapunzel with her long hair, Belle in her yellow dress, Ariel with her fish tail. Big Clara would say she was too old for Disney princesses, but I wasn't big Clara, and these princesses looked like they needed color, needed someone to make them bright.

"Can I really?" I asked, fingers already itching for the purple crayon because Rapunzel should definitely have purple hair instead of boring yellow.

"They're yours, baby. Color however you want."

While I settled on the floor with my book, he did something with the TV that made the mean news lady go away and suddenly there was music and animation and—

"Tangled!" I squeaked, recognizing the tower and the girl with the long hair.

"A princess like you," he said, and the words made my chest feel full of something warm and soft like the blanket.

Big Clara would have argued that she wasn't a princess, wasn't special, wasn't anything but a disappointment. But small me just smiled and picked up the purple crayon because Alexei said I was a princess, and Daddies didn't lie about important things.

He settled on the couch with his laptop, doing work things that looked complicated and important.

But his hand stayed on my head, fingers moving through my hair in patterns that made me feel melty and safe.

Sometimes he'd stop to take a call, speaking English or Russian in his business voice, but his hand always came back to my hair like it belonged there.

I colored three whole pictures while Rapunzel sang about wanting to see the floating lights.

Made her dress purple to match her hair, gave Flynn Rider a blue vest because blue was better than brown, turned Pascal pink because why should chameleons always be green?

Each time I finished one, I'd hold it up for Alexei to see.

"Beautiful, little one," he'd say every time, like I'd painted the Mona Lisa instead of going outside the lines with crayons. "Should we hang it on the refrigerator?"

The idea of my pictures on his expensive fridge, mixed in with his important papers and schedules, made me giggle. "Really?"

"Every good Daddy displays his little girl's artwork," he said, serious like this was a law or something.

My tummy made a rumbly sound right when Rapunzel was meeting Maximus the horse. Hungry, but asking for food felt big and scary, like maybe I was being too needy. But Alexei had said good girls ask for what they need, and maybe that included when your tummy was empty.

"Daddy?" I started, then stopped, then started again. "Can I maybe have chocolate milk?"

The question came out tiny, like maybe he'd say no, like father would have said it would ruin my dinner or make me fat or wasn't appropriate for Albright women.

But Alexei just pulled out his phone immediately. "Of course, baby. Anything else you want?"

"Just chocolate milk?" I said, not wanting to be greedy.

"Hmm," he said, typing something. "I think little girls need more than just chocolate milk for lunch."

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Mikhail came in looking like he always did—serious and a little scary—but carrying grocery bags that crinkled with promise.

"The items you requested," he said to Alexei, then looked at me all small on the floor with my coloring book. His face did something complicated, like he was solving a math problem in his head.

"Thank you, Mikhail," Alexei said in his boss voice. "That will be all."