Page 31

Dimitri Volkov

I never thought I’d be jealous of my own children, but here I stand, wishing Camilla would hold me to her as tightly as she does Maksim and Zoya.

Her eyes drift toward the pillows. Exhaustion emanates from her. The ice packs crinkle on her limbs.

My phone vibrates in my pocket in a rhythm saved for important messages, so I yank it out and check large the text.

Giorgio’s expert hacker of a wife found signs of Feliks mobilizing groups of men all over the city. I fill in the gaps with ease, since my brother is an egotistical, conniving bastard who only does things that benefit himself.

He didn’t care when I took the two men I overheard heard outside the club because they knew nothing, but the three my soldiers caught an hour ago must have information he doesn’t want me to know.

“Is everything okay?” Camilla asks.

“Da, so?lnyshka . Work can wait until tomorrow. Sit and rest for a few more minutes, then I will remove the ice packs and prepare the bed,” I say.

I will not get the privilege of alone time with my wife tonight, but I do not mind. The gratitude shining from her eyes solidifies my decision and helps me ignore my aching blue balls.

She relaxes her shoulders. I guide Maksim to her side, surrounding her in innocent bundles of joy, and ensure the snacks and drinks are in easy reach before heading into the hall.

I send my brother-in-law a reply, confirming I received the information, and agree to his proposed plan before slipping my phone back into my pocket and starting toward the hall.

The house security chimes, so I detour to the front door and retrieve the food delivery. As I carry it into the kitchen, the delicious smells waft through the home. Tiny feet patter along the floor toward me. Maksim skids into the kitchen.

I recruit him to help spread the food over the table and prep the disposable place settings before giving him the task of retrieving his brother as I return to Camilla. Zoya clings to the seam of her pants and sucks her thumb as I follow them down the hall with the tray.

After an uneventful dinner, with Artur subdued and Maksim yawning at the end of every sentence, Camilla drags herself with Zoya in tow back to the master bedroom as I tend to the boys.

When they finally settle into their beds, I leave their door cracked open, put the leftovers away, and turn off all the overhead lights in the house.

Camilla and Zoya already lie snuggled under the covers. After a quick shower and change into clean sweats, I join them on the bed.

Unlike before, I slip under the covers and scoot toward the center of the bed.

Camilla turns her head and offers me a sleepy smile as she weaves her fingers into mine.

Zoya gives the cutest little snore with her face pressed against Camilla’s side.

Her leg jerks and lands over my wife’s hips.

She drags the ever present stuffed animal over Camilla’s chest to rest against my arm as she snuggles closer.

Camilla gives a contented sigh and slips into an exhausted doze.

A familiar scent—Anastasia’s signature perfume—wafts from the stuffed animal and fills me with bittersweet nostalgia, but my mind remains acutely aware of who I’m lying beside.

I quiet my mind and relax each muscle of my body, trying to give myself the rest I need while the ones I hold most dear are safely nearby.

A few minutes later, Maksim stumbles into the room with fear and confusion in his bleary eyes.

“ Dada ? Where are we?” he mumbles in Russian, still half asleep.

I lift the edge of the blanket. He climbs in with uncoordinated movements and plops onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh.

So much has changed in the last year.

For the better.

I never would have known how fulfilling it could be to have my young children tucked against me if it weren’t for Camilla.

It isn’t the same, since I chose the violence that gave me my scars and others forced hers upon her, but her bravery in the dressing room made me realize how much of a fool I’ve been to hold myself apart from my family.

My children deserve every good part of me.

Denying them physical affection is a form of torture I should have never begun.

It will be a long road to healing the wounds I didn’t realize I was inflicting, but I will ensure my children never hesitate to take what they need from me.

A thin frame blocks the hallway nightlight. Artur stands in the doorway with his pillow in one hand and his blanket in the other. Without a word, he shuffles into the room and settles on the floor beside the bed.

I hurt him the most. He has many expectations on his shoulders, but that’s no excuse for my lack of affection. If anything, I should have spent more time with him. Instead, our father-son bond is frayed because of me.

This is the first step of mending our roles in the family.

I am glad he trusted us enough to come into the room, even if his pride led him to sleep on the floor instead of the bed. Steps are progress, no matter how small.

I slip into a comfortable doze, my mind more relaxed than it has been since Anastasia died, and when Maksim steps on Artur in the middle of the night on his way to the bathroom, I wake just enough to acknowledge their brotherly spat before falling into the best sleep I’ve managed in my adult life.

The morning begins early and in chaos as Maksim pops awake with enough energy to power all of New York City if we could bottle it. When I tell Camilla we’ll visit her sister today, her eyes light with excitement.

Camilla and I fumble through managing the kids, Artur fairly set in his ways but Maksim so free-spirited he has trouble remaining on task.

Zoya follows Camilla around like a shadow throughout breakfast, but then latches onto first Artur, then Maksim.

When she eyes me from across the room, I scrub my hand over my stubble and realize I never let my children see me before dressing for the day.

I was a stiff, formal asshole.

Camilla’s laugh pulls me from my musings. She’s gorgeous with her hair tangled and loose around her shoulders as she responds to Maksim’s enthusiasm.

As Zoya slips from Maksim’s side to Camilla’s, she glances toward the front room.

Following a hunch, I set my coffee onto the counter and offer her my hand. She pins her stuffed animal under her elbow and wraps her tiny fist around my finger.

I lead her around the house, showing her no one is lurking around the corners. When she realizes she already knows everyone under the roof, the tension drains from her shoulders and she patters around the house on her own but still checks on each person often.

When Camilla heads to the master bathroom to wash and dress for the day, Zoya follows right on her heels. They emerge forty-five minutes later with sparkles in their eyes and matching hairdos. Camilla even put a bit of blush and lip gloss on Zoya.

They’re the most precious sight I’ve ever seen.

After ensuring Artur and Maksim are ready for the day, I take my turn in the master bathroom. My balls ache, but the thought of jacking off in the shower isn’t appealing, so I wash quickly and exit without relieving the pressure.

The doorbell rings as I slip my pistol holster into the harness at the small of my back. I shrug into my suit coat and fasten my cufflinks before walking into my dress shoes as I exit the walk-in closet.

Giorgio’s voice filters down the hall.

Maksim’s gasp and excited ramblings carry clear through the house. I allow myself a self-indulgent smile but don a neutral expression as I turn into the living room.

Artur and Tristan stand close together, comparing their watches as Maksim basically bounces around them.

Giorgio and his wife, Aurora, stand in the foyer, the boys blocking their attempts to move deeper into the house, but neither seems perturbed. They watch with amusement as Aurora’s brother and my eldest child become fast friends.

Camilla and Zoya linger beside the coffee table, Zoya with her thumb in her mouth, her stuffed animal in her arms, and half hiding behind Camilla’s legs.

Giorgio offers to secure my children in my vehicle. When I accept, Camilla gives me a skeptical look.

She’s right. Her brother and I coordinated this so I could have a few moments to speak with her alone.

When Aurora steps forward to coax Zoya away from Camilla, Zoya fully disappears behind her legs.

Maksim saves the day by bragging about Zoya’s new skill—climbing into her seat by herself.

Artur glances between me and his new stepmother before leaving his new friend’s side and taking Zoya by the hand.

“We will go together,” he says in Russian.

Zoya aims wide eyes up to Camilla.

“I’ll be there in less than five minutes. I won’t leave without you, Zoya,” Camilla says.

In two sentences, she addresses and alleviates Zoya’s fears, and my daughter surprises me by trusting her, following her brother without looking back.

The moment the door shuts behind them, Camilla steps in front of me with squared shoulders and the bitchy persona I adore.

“What happened?” she demands.

“Feliks is preparing for a big attack. You will stay with the rest of the women and children in the Russo building where it is safest,” I say.

“But—”

“I will call you and you can confirm your attackers over the phone,” I interrupt.

Her brows pinch together in consternation.

I frame her face with my hands and drop my defenses, letting her see the desperation gnawing at my insides. I need dozens of years beside her as we watch our children grow.

“I need to know you and my children are safe. My brother has many followers. This will not be an easy fight, even with your brother and Nico Russo on our side.”

She blinks. Swallows. Inhales through her nose.

When she lifts her chin and quirks her brow, my heart aches over her perfection.

“You will come back to us, Dimitri Volkov. Capisci ?” she demands.

I trail my thumb along her lower lip and nod. She huffs and grabs my wrists.

“I want revenge, but I need you more. Your children need you. I won’t try to stop you—I knew who I was marrying—but you can’t promise me a future and then die. I wouldn’t survive, especially when the kids fall apart without their parents. It would kill me, for real.”

“You love them already, don’t you, so?lnyshka ?” I marvel.

“Yes, I do. Wholeheartedly. So get the job done and come back in one piece. Capisci ?”

“Da, Camilla. For you and our children, I will do this,” I vow.

She plasters her front to mine and embraces me. I encompass her in my arms as she shudders, and for a moment, I soak up her sweetness, but she pulls back and sticks her hand into mine.

“Good. Let’s go,” she says.

I escort her to the backseat and use buckling her in as an excuse to get close to her again before I settle behind the wheel.

When I turn before she expects me to, she pins alarmed eyes on mine in the rearview mirror.

“Nico Russo requested we stagger our arrival, so we will detour for about ten minutes,” I say.

She nods. Her trust floors me.

I keep my attention on the road, because even though my men and two more teams of Giorgio’s soldiers flank and follow us, the streets are a madhouse. Even the interstate teems with crazy drivers.

When unexpected construction forces me to detour, my senses sharpen and hackles rise.

My unease grows when blockades funnel us down to one lane.

The sound of impact and metal crunching pulls my attention to the car behind me. Sergei’s face flashes into focus as he yanks the wheel to the side, attempting to direct his SUV away from ours as the truck behind him pushes him forward.

I swerve to the right and hit the gas, but it’s too late. He clips our bumper. We spin.

The side of the car slams against the concrete barrier of the overpass. Blinding pain cracks through my skull as I break my side window with my head.

The world goes in and out of focus. Splintered smudges flip through my vision.

Maksim cries in the rearview mirror. Camilla leans over him and reaches into Zoya’s seat. Blood trails down her temple.

Light streaks across my eyes. Broad shoulders drop into view and masculine arms reach for Artur.

My body won’t move.

Camilla’s head and shoulders appear out of nowhere. She bites the man’s hand so hard blood gushes onto Artur.

My numbness ends on a terrible wave of agony, but my arms respond as though trapped in sludge.

The man curses and grabs Camilla by the hair. She crawls over the center console, clamping down on her bite, and knocks Artur’s hands away as the stranger drags her out of the car.

When she kicks the door shut behind her despite landing hard on her hip, I know she means to sacrifice herself for my eldest.

Desperate fury floods my veins. With my door against the barricade, I can’t exit from my side of the vehicle, so I unbuckle and wriggle across the car, cursing my bulk in the tiny space, and swat Artur’s grappling hands away until his words register.

Spoken in our native language in a high, terrified voice, his begging shreds my heart.

“Da, don’t go! I’m scared and not ready. You can’t leave. Stay here. Please.”

I encompass his hands in mine and grab his chin.

“No one is ready, moy syn , but we must be brave. Climb into the back. Unbuckle your siblings. Hide them on the floor. Protect them, Artur. I will protect you , da? ”

Every passing millisecond feels like a millennium as moya so?lnyshka faces the threat alone. It pains me to leave my children, but I cannot stay when Camilla needs me.

Pulled out of his spiral with clear instructions, my son curls his hands into fists and nods. I reach for the door.

A body slams against it. The man leaves a streak of red as he slides down the outside of the car. Maksim’s screams rise in pitch.

Camilla staggers backward, falls to her knees, and vomits. Blood covers the knife in her hand.

I meet Feliks’s eyes as he steps from the back hatch of a black SUV along with two other men.

My heart and soul screams for Camilla to look behind her. I yank on the door handle and shove with my shoulder. The corpse blocks the door. Artur screams for her and lends his strength.

Camilla looks up in shock, meets Artur’s gaze, then follows it over her shoulder.

I shove again.

The body tumbles away and the door swings wide open.

Too late.