Page 4

I opened the door and barely got a foot inside the foyer before I heard the quick patter of feet, small and fast.

“Papa!”

Katya’s voice hit me like a sweet melody, slicing through the weariness curling in my bones after the flight from S?o Paulo.

I dropped my suitcase just in time for her to crash into me, little arms locking around my neck as she climbed into my arms with the fierce determination only a six-year-old could summon.

I held her as if she were the only thing real in a world made of smoke and lies. Her face was buried in my collar, and her tiny hands gripped my coat, almost as if she thought that if she let go, I might vanish again.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against my shirt. “It’s no fun without you here.”

I doubted that I was any fun, but my bunny always thought differently.

God, the things I’d done in the past forty-eight hours.

The deals sealed with blood, the threats, the cold-eyed men in suits who respected me more for my ruthlessness than my words.

I could still smell the sweat of the underground fight club where I brokered a deal that would strengthen the Bratva and make our businesses grow.

I could still see the way the last man blinked before he hit the concrete.

But none of that existed in this moment.

“I missed you more, Zakya ,” I whispered into her hair. She smelled like strawberries and bubble bath. Like innocence I would kill to protect.

She pulled back, eyes wide and curious, head tilted in that way that meant she’d been thinking a dangerous thing for a mind like hers. “Papa, why do you have to go away so much?”

My throat tightened. She was six, too young to know about bribes and bodies. About the kind of power that didn’t wear a crown but left a trail of silence in its wake.

“Well,” I said, setting her down gently, “I help people solve problems. Big problems. The kinds that need someone brave and smart. Like a knight. Or a superhero.”

She squinted up at me, lips pursed. “Like Batman?”

“Better,” I said, kneeling to her height. “I don’t wear a cape.”

She giggled, and that sound made everything worth it.

Later that night, after dinner and stories and her favorite cookies, we curled up on the couch. The fire crackled beside us, painting her face in gold shadows.

She situated herself on my chest like she belonged there, one hand curled into my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear again, the other clutching her stuffed unicorn.

Cartoons played quietly on the screen—some nonsense about talking dogs and flying princesses—but I didn’t hear a damn thing. All I heard was the soft hum of her breathing, the rhythm syncing with mine.

My hand rested on her back, fingers sifting gently through her hair, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. My eyes burned from the unbearable fullness in my chest.

All I saw was her. All I felt was peace, real peace. The kind I never found in penthouses, power, or the barrel of a gun.

Her lashes fluttered as she stirred in her sleep, mouth parted slightly. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Because, for just tonight, I wasn’t Damien Yezhov, the cruelest executor in the Bratva.

I was just Katya’s papa.

***

If my life were a fairy tale of normalcy, the most appropriate thing to holler into the quietness would have been, “I’m home!” standing with open arms, and waiting for my daughter to run into them.

Yeah.

Fuck that.

“Katya?” I called out instead and was met with echoes of my voice journeying past the foyer and through the hallways. And then, no response. Just complete silence.

I went into the living room, pleased to see the furniture and decor tidy and in order. When Fedor said he’d handled business, he meant it.

The place was just as I remembered, and it was slightly more organized. The difference was the warmth. It was missing, replaced with an overwhelming emptiness and coldness that felt icier than the hollowness within me.

The curtains were drawn, and natural light flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, causing the marble floors to shine.

Outside, I watched as a few of my men moved suitcases while Fedor talked and gestured, possibly barking out orders.

While the men lined up more suitcases from the cars, I moved to the sectional sofa, gripping the creamy white leather rim. The mere feel of it beneath my fingers jogged unwelcome memories from the past. One was vivid, clearly resurfacing without my permission.

That day had been a rough one. The Irish somehow bypassed our security radars, and there was a terrible clash.

More precisely, a street fight in front of one of the casinos left more of my men injured.

I came home seething and in a foul mood, disappointed that I couldn’t protect my men.

At home, I dismissed everyone, but Irina didn’t care.

She’d said she wasn’t leaving until she pulled a smile out of me.

I growled at her, threatening the pretty head on her neck. But she wouldn’t budge. We’d argued and said hurtful words to each other. And when all was quiet, on this sofa, she climbed onto my lap, determined, and cupped my cheeks, stealing tender kisses until she got what she wanted.

In many ways, we were alike when it came to motivation.

We were fierce and not easily swayed. Other than that, Irina was an angel.

It was one of the reasons I was fond of her: her huge heart and caring spirit.

She’d possessed many qualities I lacked, and, at the time, I thought she complemented me impeccably.

For the first year, our marriage worked out well. Then, Katya was born, and….

I shut the memories down.

Clenching my jaw, I focused on the present. The sofa faced the stone fireplace, and I noticed that the walls held a new eclectic mix of contemporary art. Certainly, an afterthought of Fedor’s touch.

Resounding quiet footsteps from behind made me turn around, with a hand ghosting over the holster between my belt.

A small part of me expected to see my daughter crossing the threshold of the double doors into the living room, but it was a silver-haired woman in a plain brown dress with beady eyes and her hands knitted below her abdomen.

“Welcome home, Mr. Yez—”

“Where’s my daughter?”

The maid’s eyes shifted, her throat bobbed, and when she spoke again, I heard the shaky nerves in her voice. “Katya…she, um, she spent the night at her best friend, Elena’s, house. She hasn’t been back since, sir.”

Eleven years and nine months apart, and she wasn’t even at the house to receive me.

“Were you expecting a housewarming or cocktail party?” Fedor said, emerging from the foyer with a quirky smile on his face. He read the expression on my face and crossed his arms over his chest with a laugh. “Surprised I read thoughts now?”

I gave an eye roll. “Nothing surprises me.”

“And yet, you asked where she was,” he responded in Russian, his eyes shining with mirth.

Beside him, the color drained from the maid’s face when she looked up at the man’s imposing figure, and when she felt me watching, she feigned composure. I didn’t blame her. A brawny six-seven man standing next to an average mortal was practically a giant who could crush skulls.

Or maybe literally knock teeth out, like I’ve seen him do.

With his arms as big as boulders and thighs the size of small human beings, he left that stunning effect on almost everyone else.

She faced me, shaking in her flat shoes. “If that is all, may I be excused, Mr. Yezhov?”

One quick look at the serpent tats crawling up the side of Fedor’s neck, and clearly, the woman was beyond terrified. I might have smiled if there hadn’t been a frown already on my face when I observed that she was relatively new. I didn’t recognize her from years ago.

“What’s your name?”

“Winter, Sir. Winter Dmitri.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Winter?”

“Really?” Fedor seemed as interested.

“My mother was cruel.” A brief explanation, but it told the whole story.

Fedor shrugged. “That explains it. But I think the master here is trying to figure out who you are. Your name wasn’t on the list of help I requested.”

“Yes.” Her eyes shifted again. “I’ve worked closely with Katya for a while. She hired me personally to take care of the maintenance while she was away.”

My frown deepened. “Well, you work for me now . You take orders only from me. Do you understand?”

She nodded, spilling some hair over her face. “Yes, sir.”

“For now, you can go back to whatever it is you were doing.”

She walked away briskly like she couldn’t wait to disappear from our sight, and Fedor didn’t hold back his laughter. “That was…interesting.”

“There was nothing interesting about that interaction. Is there something you came in here to tell me?”

Fedor’s countenance shifted to granite, and he stood straighter, folding his hands behind his back. “The master bedroom is closed. Not only the locks, but the entire door has been changed. It doesn’t take a genius to know your daughter’s the brain behind the idea, and the act was intentional.”

No, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, and it was only a further statement that, whatever grievances she had against me, she’d nursed them for a long time, and it didn’t appear that there were plans to let them go in the near future.

I looked away from Fedor and stared at the fireplace. “So, you came to ask my permission to break the door down?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘ break the door down .’ Maybe change the locks.”

I shook my head and said, “Leave it. Move my things to another bedroom. I’ll sort it out with her personally.”

Briefly, he stayed silent, as if too stunned to speak, until I heard his boots retreating. My left pocket vibrated, and I pulled the phone out of my pants, somewhat uninterested in seeing yet another direct call from the Pahkan himself.

I eyed the screen before accepting the call. “ Privyet.”

“Damie!”

It wasn’t the Pahkan, but my cousin, Matvey.

His deep voice came smoothly through the speakers, and I heard the low rumble in his chest, vibrating with his usual hint of playfulness that suggested he was in on a secret joke.

When we were much younger and spent more time in the same company—I’d rather drink vinegar than admit it—the idiot was one of the few people I could stand listening to for more than an hour.

“Mat. Ty zvonish’ tol’ko togda, kogda ya tebe nuzhen.”

You only call when you think I’ll be useful to you.

“What can I say to that?” He laughed because we both knew it was true. “Today, though, I’m thinking I could be useful to you. Word has it that you’re back.”

My eyes did a full three-sixty. “The Pahkan’s Sovietnik has a way of spreading word faster than the boss himself. The entirety of the brotherhood knows already, correct?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” He chuckled. “We’re glad for the news. Our excitement is over the roof and that is why I’m inviting you over to the Gipsy tonight. Drinks on the house. Your house, technically.”

“I trust you’ve kept the place in good shape and have been managing just fine.”

“You know I have, Damie. Coming around to have a look at the place yourself will do you some good. You’ll see I practically raised it from the rubble you left behind when you ran off to Moscow,” he bragged.

I clenched my jaw.

My first thought was to say no.

Something about not meeting Katya in the house and the sudden memory of her mother rubbed off on me the wrong way. I needed a drink, but alone, within these four walls, away from the noise, blinding lights, and smoke curling in the air.

“Don’t overthink it,” Matvey urged over the phone. “We need you around.”

The shrouding thoughts resurfaced, but as I said, there was something about Matvey. Sometimes, he called it a gift, but I called it a skill. He didn’t need to exert effort to persuade anyone; people leaned in to him naturally.

To his credit, he was like the force of a magnet, and right now, he had successfully pulled me.

So, I listened to him; I didn’t overthink. And with Fedor supervising the men, not much was left for me to handle tonight.

I exhaled slowly. “The next time you say I ran off to Moscow, I promise, I’ll break your fucking fingers.”