Page 3 of Sexting the Silverfox Daddy

Gennady

I gently closed Anya's bedroom door, the heavy oak cutting off the hallway light and shutting out the complicated world beyond.

Inside, my five-year-old daughter's breathing was soft and even as she slept peacefully.

I leaned against the cool door for a moment, listening until that steady rhythm became the only sound in the silence—the only sound that brought me any peace.

Only here, listening to her breathe, did my perpetually frozen heart crack open just enough to let in a trickle of unfamiliar warmth. Anya was the only light in my life, the only pure thing left in this world stained by blood and betrayal.

The study door closed silently behind me.

I didn't bother with the lights, letting the scattered city lights and pale moonlight outside sketch the hard lines of expensive furniture in shadow.

That bone-deep exhaustion—the kind that had nothing to do with physical tiredness—settled over me again like a heavy coat.

I'd just reached my massive desk when soft knocking echoed from the hallway.

"Come in." My voice sounded even deeper in the darkness.

Dimitri pushed through the door, carrying a stack of files. As my most trusted right-hand man, he knew when to appear and when to disappear. Even at this late hour, his suit was still perfectly pressed, though his eyes showed the strain of a long day.

"Boss, the East End situation's been handled." He set the files on my desk, keeping his voice low. "Tony's betrayal has been dealt with appropriately."

I nodded without asking for details. In my world, traitors met only one fate, and I didn't need to know the specifics of execution.

"What's the situation at the South Shore shipping dock?" I asked, fingers drumming lightly on the desktop.

"Everything's running smooth. We've got the cops squared away—this month's shipments won't have any problems." Dimitri paused. "But there's some movement from Marco Moretti's side."

Hearing that name, my eyes sharpened instantly. Marco—my old rival, an ambitious Italian bastard who was always trying to muscle in on my territory.

"Keep talking."

"His guys have been showing up on our turf more frequently. Surface level, it looks like business, but they're clearly fishing for information." Dimitri hesitated. "Should we beef up security around Anya?"

"Absolutely." I lifted my gaze slowly, fingers still tapping the desk. "Anyone suspicious gets within a hundred yards of her, I want to know about it immediately."

"Yes, Boss." Dimitri nodded and started to leave.

Just then, sounds came from outside again—not knocking this time, but the soft click of heels on marble. Dimitri caught my eye and wisely slipped out through the side door.

The main door was pushed open gently, and a wave of sickeningly sweet perfume drifted in, mixed with some deliberately manufactured seductive scent.

"Gennady." Ginnie's voice was silk-smooth, dripping with calculated charm. "Still working? It's so late."

I slowly raised my head to look at the figure in the doorway.

Ginnie was leaning against the frame, wearing a semi-transparent silk robe with practically nothing underneath.

Moonlight streamed behind her, outlining her body's curves.

Her blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, her lips painted deep red, looking sultry in the dim light.

This was her game. Using her body, using her resemblance to Isabella, trying to stir up my desire and memories—even though those memories had been worn down by time and reality until they were barely recognizable.

A nameless irritation mixed with something like a biological alarm began rising in my chest.

"You should be in your room." My voice was darker than the shadows in the room, without a trace of warmth.

"I couldn't sleep." She ignored my dismissal, slithering into the room like a snake, every step deliberately swaying her hips as the robe's hem gave teasing glimpses of skin. "This house is so big and quiet. You know how it scares me."

She walked to the desk, placing both hands on the smooth surface, leaning forward so her neckline gaped open.

The deliberately displayed expanse of smooth chest was fully exposed in the moonlight.

Her breathing was intentionally heavy, her chest rising and falling obviously, eyes locked on mine with naked invitation.

Heat surged uncontrollably in my lower abdomen—a purely physical reaction, an instinctive response to the living flesh before me. My muscles tensed instantly, fingertips unconsciously curling against the desktop.

Fuck. Three years of celibacy had made my body hypersensitive.

But this physical response only made me more disgusted—not disgusted with the desire itself, but disgusted with her arrogance in thinking she could manipulate me with such cheap seduction.

"You know what?" Her voice became even more sultry, with that bewitching huskiness as she slowly circled behind me, her cold, slender fingers like a snake's tongue lightly stroking my shoulder, sliding down my tense neckline.

"The moonlight's so beautiful tonight. Watching it alone feels like something's missing. "

I didn't move.

"Gennady," her whisper was like feathers scraping against my eardrums, hot breath brushing my ear. "You're always so cold. Can't you just relax for once?"

Her hand started sliding downward, through the thin shirt fabric, her palm burning hot as it slowly and teasingly traced circles on my chest. The sensation was like kindling, igniting every nerve under my skin.

Reason struggled to build dikes against the tide of desire. I forced myself to ignore the heartbeat accelerating under her fingertips, to ignore the primitive craving awakening deep in my body.

This wasn't about any sacred promise or loyalty—it was because I refused to be seen through and used by such a greedy, hypocritical woman.

"It's just the two of us here."

She circled to my front, with that self-assured confidence of someone who thought victory was guaranteed, slowly settling onto my lap, arms wrapping around my neck like serpents, her warm, soft body pressing close, radiating heat and fragrance. Her voice was pure, naked temptation.

"Nobody will know, nobody will interrupt. We can do whatever we want."

Her hands began unbuttoning my shirt, movements gentle but determined.

Just as her fingertips touched my bare skin, a wave of intense revulsion finally overwhelmed that lingering physical agitation. But what really killed it was her next words.

"Do you remember?" Her lips kissed my neck, leaving wet marks, her voice sickeningly sweet. "When Isabella was in that hospital bed, how I took care of her." She deliberately paused, feeling my muscles instantly stiffen. "I can take care of your needs, too."

Her hand slipped inside my shirt, palm pressed against my chest, feeling the heartbeat that was racing with anger, not lust.

Those words hit like a bucket of ice water mixed with acid.

She dared to use Isabella's deathbed vulnerability and her "care" as bargaining chips for lust! That sense of responsibility based on a promise was instantly replaced by towering rage and ice-cold disgust.

"Enough!" I shot to my feet, the movement barely containing explosive violence. Ginnie was caught off guard, crying out as she slipped from my lap, clutching her sliding robe, her smug smile freezing into shock and panic.

"Gennady?" She tried to maintain that pitiful act, her voice trembling with feigned hurt. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." I turned away, my back to her, voice cold as Siberian permafrost. "But this isn't right."

"Why isn't it right?" She stood up stubbornly, trying to approach again. "We're both adults, we both have needs."

"No." My voice was absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. "Ginnie, you're Isabella's baby sister. I promised her I'd take care of you, but not like this. Put away those pathetic tricks."

Her face went ghostly white, her carefully constructed seduction crumbling. Maybe it was desperation, maybe embarrassment at being exposed, but she blurted out, "But I love you, Gennady! I loved you even when Isabella was still alive! I just never had the chance to tell you!"

Those words were like lighting the fuse on a powder keg.

I spun around, fury in my eyes enough to tear her apart, the room's temperature seeming to plummet to freezing. "What did you just say?" My voice was terrifyingly low, each word like an icicle.

Ginnie finally realized she'd crossed an absolute line, her eyes filling with terror. "I-I meant—"

"You meant," I stepped closer, overwhelming pressure making her retreat instinctively, "that when my wife was lying in that hospital bed, suffering Satan's own torture, when she trusted you, treated you as her closest family, confided in you and depended on you, you were already plotting in your heart how to take her place and crawl into her husband's bed?

!" My voice wasn't raised, but it carried destructive force, each word hitting her like a physical blow.

"No! It's not like that! I was just—" She stammered incoherently, tears mixing with terror streaming down her face.

"You know what I hate most?" I stopped in front of her, looking down with eyes holding no warmth, only pure, bone-chilling disgust. "Deception. Betrayal. And you—you not only betrayed her sisterly love for you, but now you want to use my love for her to deceive me?"

"Gennady! Listen to me—" She tried one last desperate struggle.

"Get out." Those three words carried tangible killing intent, freezing the air. "Now. Before I change my mind."

The vein at my temple pulsed violently from extreme restraint, but Ginnie kept pouring gasoline on the fire.

"Gennady, you can't treat me like this! Isabella—" she screamed hysterically, trying to grab that last straw.

"Don't say her name!" I cut her off sharply. That forbidden name spoken by her at this moment was like salt in a wound, the rage in my voice almost tangible. "Dimitri!"