Page 10

Another deep breath, and the alarm on my phone went off. Seven o’clock. That was the fifth alarm I’d set since two a.m., after storming out the Gipsy.

The silence that now weighed in was heavier than the emptiness that’d echoed after I’d first arrived at the house, and it was frustratingly uncomfortable.

I snoozed the alarm, set the time to seven-thirty. Wherever she was, she didn’t know it, but she had thirty minutes left to return home. Thirty minutes until I completely lost my shit and went out to track her down myself.

So, I waited in silence, sitting on the edge of the sofa that faced the foyer, hunched forward with my elbows on my knees.

The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light from outside, and the light inside cast a dim, amber glow that didn’t quite reach the corners of the living room.

My fingers curled tightly, nails boring into my kneecaps through the fabric of my jeans. I didn’t feel the sting: only the tension, the pressure, something to ground me while my thoughts spun further out.

A gust of wind rattled the curtains. I stared at the foyer. Still nothing. No tires crunching on the gravel outside. No jingle of keys. Just my breath, slow and forced, and the growing crescent moons my nails had left in the fabric of my jeans.

Where the hell is she?

That’s when I heard her silvery voice at the back of my mind, telling me her name. Elena, she breathed, and smiled.

Then, one by one, fragments of her pictures spread out until the entire night unfolded before my eyes, starting with sparkling green eyes and succulent lips I could have continued kissing for hours.

Her eager arms around my neck. The sound and taste of her sultry moans traveling down my throat. The softness of her curvy figure perfectly carved to fit mine.

That young woman was… strange.

For someone who had survived as long as she did while advocating to maintain her purity, she stood there, uncertain yet proud, her wide, innocent eyes daring me to cross the line.

Fuck. I’d wanted to take her right there and then against that door.

The feel of her skin—warm, smooth, real—returned to me with disorienting clarity. Every breathless whisper, every brush of our fingers against sensitive places, came back like the ghost of a flame rekindling on my mind.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her. Not with my sanity teetering on the edge of explosion. Not with someone’s blood waiting to be spilled before noon.

There were more pressing matters at hand—

I heard the soft click of the door before I saw her. Katya stepped in, spine straight, chin high, and there was purpose in her stride, the kind that braced for impact.

Our eyes met: hers from the foyer and mine from the sofa. She didn’t flinch at the sight of me, but I noticed her eyes suspiciously sweep the room in one swift motion.

Rising to my feet, I strode closer toward her, eyeing her change of clothes. A cardigan hung on her shoulders over a pair of baggy jeans, and she looked clean, with her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, and her face rid of any makeup.

Up close, she looked older than I’d been expecting. More feminine, and yet, tougher. Not just in the deep-set dimples carved into her cheeks or the firm set of her mouth, but in the way she carried herself, like me. Like someone who’d learned not to trust softness.

Her cheekbones had sharpened, and her eyes seemed harder now, but the resemblance to Irina was unmistakable. She had inherited her mother’s facial features, including dark hair and a fierce aura.

It caught me off guard, punched the breath from my chest. For a moment, all I could do was stare.

I tried to speak, but the words tangled in my throat, useless and heavy, but Katya didn’t wait.

“Hello, Father.” Not Papa, like she called me when she was little.

The formal title cut colder than her tone. Her voice was calm, almost rehearsed. No tremor, no anger—just distance. And it pricked more than her shouting would have.

“ Moy Zakya .” My bunny.

“No. None of that,” she hissed. “My name is Katya, and you will call me by my name.”

I swallowed up my pride and bit out her name. “ Katya.”

Hearing me say it out loud, after so long, sounded foreign, and the tightness of her expression meant she mirrored my thoughts.

She waved her hand dismissively, frowning.

“You know what? Why don’t we get the small talk out of the way and get to the main shit?

Like, for instance, you get to answer this multimillion-dollar question: Why?

Why, all of a sudden, after almost twelve fucking years, have you decided to come back to LA?

Is it to torture me with your presence? You think you didn’t torture me enough by neglecting me? ”

Her voice quivered, and the rush of anger started to seep in, but she masterfully kept the emotions from her eyes. They stayed pinned on me, cold and accusing.

“You were fine with running off to Moscow, with your tail between your legs after my mom….” Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked. “You were fine with choosing your stupid Bratva shit and fucking work over me, so why come back now, huh, Papa? ”

She stared long and hard, quietly daring me to respond. Daring me to defend myself.

If anyone else had tried to challenge me in such a condescending and insulting tone, I would have snatched the bastard’s throat and slammed him against the wall without hesitation.

But I would rather take a bullet than let my daughter suffer such a terrible fate at my own hands.

I forced in a deep breath, keeping my expression neutral. If she thought her jabs were provoking enough to pry a response from me, then she obviously had more to learn than she thought.

“V kakom vide ty khochesh’ ego videt’ umeret?” Which way would you like to see him die?

Katya squinted, and her eyes snapped wide open when the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

“No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t!”

I arched a brow. “Look at me again, Katya. Look at me and repeat those fucking words.”

Fury stole into her gaze, breaking through her placid mask. “What the hell does Liam have to do with any of this?”

“It doesn’t matter what unresolved shit you’ve got going on in there.” I pointed at her chest and narrowed my gaze. “You are still my daughter. My blood. Any fool who puts his hands on you without my permission does so at his own fucking risk.”

Katya chuckled dryly, running her hand down her face, and gave me a look like she thought I was a joke.

“I can’t believe this. Listen to me, if you have him locked up somewhere, you will let him go this instant, and pull your fucking men off his back.”

I didn’t have the son of a bitch locked up. His arms would have been the first parts of his body to be detached if I had. But I’d gotten Roman to tail him and watch his every move in case we needed an execution.

“The only way to guarantee his safety or anyone else’s is if you stay away from the fucking club.”

Katya snapped, blue eyes narrowing to slits.

“No, you do not get to pull that ‘I’m a protective father’ shit.

I am a grown woman now, as you can see. I’m not that ten-year-old gullible kid you walked away from, and neither am I some teenager that has to listen to what her ol’ papa has to say.

I’ve taken care of myself, and I’ve done a pretty damn good job.

So, keep your arsenal to yourself, okay? ”

She stormed off angrily and paused on the staircase to throw her final remark over her shoulder.

“Welcome back.”

She vanished up the stairs without another word.

I didn’t move. The echo of her footsteps faded, leaving nothing but the enveloping quietness in the house.

My hands curled into fists, nails pressing half-moons into my skin. I welcomed the bite; it kept me present.

When I accepted the reality of moving back to Los Angeles—the reality of seeing my daughter again—I hadn’t expected warmth. We were past that. But I thought maybe there’d be something left to salvage, some cracked piece of the past we could pretend still fit.

Fucking stupid.

If Fedor heard me say that shit out loud, he’d burst out laughing in my face.

What met me in her eyes was colder than I deserved, perhaps even colder than I could match.

Still, I didn’t flinch. What was the point?

I burned every bridge before she even knew she was standing on one.

I meant what I said about her being my blood, and I’d go to the ends of the earth to protect her.

I owed Irina that much.

Now, the silence wrapped around me like a noose. I felt the years like rust on my bones. And the distance between us? I didn’t know where it started anymore. I only knew it was growing.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t have a solution waiting up my sleeve to repair the brokenness between my daughter and me.