Page 104 of Second Chance Daddy

Three black cars crawl onto the lot, windows tinted darker than a moonless night, plates scrubbed clean. Bratva underbosses from within the family—men I’ve known, some I’ve bled beside, others I’ve buried friends because of.

They step out one by one. My uncle Mikhailov, grey hair slicked back, leather gloves like he’s still straight out of Moscow’s coldest years. Cousin Kiril, tall, snake-eyed, with that faint scar along his jawline— a souvenir from a bar fight that nearly got him executed. And the others, wolves in tailored suits.

All watching me.

I push off the SUV, boots crunching gravel as I cross the lot. My hands stay loose by my sides. No gun visible—but they know better than to think I’m unarmed.

“Nephew,” Mikhailov’s voice is as rough as sandpaper. “Your father sends word. The time has come.”

“I heard.”

Tina falls in beside me, silent, unreadable. But her presence? It anchors me. They know she’s my shadow, my sister, my existence. They know she’s now eyes for my father, in on the dealings. They know crossing her means crossing us all.

Mikhailov wastes no time. “You’ll step in. Lead the western operations. Expand the empire. Your family’s legacy depends on it.”

I nod once. “I’m in.”

Kiril arches a brow, waiting for the catch. Smart bastard.

“But,” I add, “this comes with terms.”

A flicker of amusement crosses Mikhailov’s face. “Naturally.”

“I’ve got a woman,” I say. “Cassie.” Her name feels like fire on my tongue, warm, wild, untouchable. “And a daughter. Three years old. Aria.”

There’s a pause. The kind of silence where you can hear the wind change direction.

“They stay out.” My tone turns sharp enough to draw blood. “Out of the papers. Out of the deals. Out of every fucking mess this empire brings. They stay protected, no questions asked.”

Mikhailov considers, eyes narrowing, reading between every word. “And if someone doesn’t respect that boundary?”

I smile, slow and dangerous. “Then we stop being a family… and we start a war.”

Kiril chuckles under his breath, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Spoken like your old man.”

Mikhailov inclines his head, a rare, solemn gesture. “Understood. Family first.”

The weight lifts from my chest—but the warning stays coiled under my ribs like a loaded gun.

Behind me, I feel her.

Cassie.

She’s watching from the car, face barely visible through the windshield, eyes locked on me like she already knows what I’m doing and who I’m doing it for.

I promised her peace.

I’ll damn well deliver it—one way or another.

The underbosses disperse, boots echoing across concrete, engines firing back to life. One by one, they vanish into the city’s veins.

The second they’re gone, Tina sidles closer, voice low with that knowing, smug little edge. “So…” she drawls, tugging her leather gloves off. “You’re in this now. All of it.”

I glance back toward the SUV where Cassie waits, where my kid’s drawings still hang from the dashboard, where the future I never thought I deserved sits, breathing under my protection.

I square my shoulders.

“I’ve always been in it,” I mutter. “Now? I’m just done running from it.”