Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

" K nowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people."

—Carl Jung

Nikolay

I couldn't remember where I'd heard the quote, but it was more than appropriate at this moment. I'd tried to become lighter, freer. To be someone who could enjoy life more but as always, something dragged me back to reality.

Being in the Bratva was almost like an imprisonment for life. Although I wasn't a fool. That life was full of riches and man toys, huge homes and private jets.

And often beautiful women.

In this case, the woman who'd sparked more than just the need to protect hadn't left my mind in days. I hadn't caught a wink of sleep during the night. I'd continued to envision her rounded bottom, the way the curve and heat felt to my palm.

I'd almost lost my mind, thrusting fingers into her glistening pussy.

There was no doubt our attraction was mutual, too much so. I'd need to make a point of staying away from her. As if that was fucking possible.

I'd called Vissarian after she was safe, letting him know the circumstances. I'd also grilled him on if he'd handled a ‘different' kind of business either before or during his recent trip. He'd acted as if he was almost incensed I'd asked, but when I'd reminded him that Sonya, his wife's niece had issued an out of the blue and what I considered out of place warning, I'd felt his anger through the phone.

Then when I'd mentioned the possibility one of the Italian crime syndicates was involved, he'd gotten quiet. I hadn't grilled him while he was here on what business he was conducting because in truth, I hadn't cared.

Now, I did.

But I knew my half-brother. It was going to take him a little while to come clean. After he potentially cleaned his own house.

I pulled the mug of coffee to my lips, still furious Chantel had been forced to live in the shithole she had and had endured both danger and increased fear. The nastiness with her boss annoyed the fuck out of me but as I'd told her, his penance would need to wait.

But I would dole it out in a way that would ensure the man would never treat women like a chauvinistic pig again.

I dialed Danny's number, trying to ensure my new guest had been secured at the warehouse.

He yawned immediately after answering the phone. "Jesus, Nikolay. It's fucking early."

"Seven-thirty, for God's sake. Not that early. Don't you remember I have a son who needs breakfast and is almost without a nanny?"

"Still no luck?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"How about Chantel? She lost her job and needs something to do."

I resisted laughing. "She doesn't seem like the motherly type to me."

"I don't know about that."

There were times his teasing voice annoyed the hell out of me. "Our buddy on ice?"

"He is. Not happy about it either."

"Did he spout off anything else?" I asked, staring at the blackness in my mug. For about a million reasons, the coffee tasted bitter. That usually happened when I didn't feel in control of a situation.

"Some crap in Italian I couldn't understand. But I swear to God, the man's eyes are evil."

For Danny to say something like that was fascinating. "I'll get through that evil layer as soon as I figure out what to do with Damien. I'll let you know the time. I want you and the others there. I don't like the way the dude is acting."

"You and me both," Danny huffed. "Just let me know."

"Any word from the street yet?"

"Just like before, all is too quiet, almost ominous. I may send a couple of people into Cosa Nostra territory later. Incidentally, have you talked with Aleksander to see if his wife knows anything?"

"Her father isn't exactly forthcoming on crime syndicate business. But I plan on talking with him later in case he's heard anything. Let me get Damien awake. It's always a bear to get him dressed and ready for breakfast."

"I don't know how you do it, Nik. He's adorable but I know he's a handful."

"Yeah, but he's my son. That trumps everything else."

"You're a good man," Danny said. "Call me with the time."

"Will do."

After placing the mug on my desk, I glanced out the window briefly. Through the decades, various syndicates had fought over turf and family, arranged marriages becoming fashionable a long time before to try to stop the violence. From every story I'd heard through spending time with the old timers in Brighton Beach who'd lived through so much, I'd realized the evolution of the mafia had been inevitable. Of course.

Back in the old days, the bloodshed was almost daily, which is why so many of what had been called the five families had been on every law enforcement's radar. In the age of computers, big corporate business and more legitimacy, in addition to owning half the police department, entities shared the streets in certain respects. The FBI and CIA mostly left us alone.

As long as you didn't fuck with each other's turf, which most syndicates didn't bother any longer, you could easily get along with each other to a limited capacity.

I headed out of the office, wondering how Chantel had slept. Better than me, I hoped. Even with the terror, she at least understood the life of a Bratva princess.

There were several aspects about what we'd heard and experienced that last ten days or so that troubled me.

Whoever was behind the planted threat, and I was beginning to think that's what it was, to place us on edge, had no desire to openly state who they were and what beef they had. That wasn't the norm with the unwritten rules that almost every city had in place. No one wanted cities destroyed or to be unable to enjoy time with their families. That just wasn't acceptable any longer.

I jogged up the stairs, turning to the right. Both Chantel's suite that I'd provided and Damien's were close to each other.

Her door was wide open. His was cracked.

For some stupid reason, I approached cautiously. I'd left my weapon in my office. I never wanted a weapon around my son. He was far too curious about everything.

I was still a few feet away when I heard happy chatter. Happy chatter. That was odd because Damien hated the mornings, usually throwing a fit. My heart was thudding in a different way than usual, my mind hopeful that the kid didn't hate Chantel.

Using a single finger, I slowly opened his door. I'd spent a fortune since his arrival, trying my best to make him feel special. Plus, the sensory activation with colors and textures seemed good for him. Sometimes, that wasn't the case with autistic children, but he adored his room.

I'd been shocked before by both good and bad things in my life. Who hadn't been? But seeing Chantel on the floor with him, zooming his favorite trucks and cars across the floor like he adored was priceless and my heart almost stopped.

She acted as if she completely understood what he was saying to her, and I had to admit his speech was more adult-like this morning. Plus, she was completely attentive, her eyes lit up as much as his.

The little man was also dressed, his hair combed.

I had no words, no easy way of processing what I was seeing but there was no doubt my son's connection with Chantel was as strong as mine. Perhaps she could be a godsend, at least in the interim.

Something caught her eye and she finally turned her head, smiling at me. "I found this little guy whimpering. I didn't know what to do."

"You're doing amazing," I told her as I walked further into the room. "Hey, little buddy. What do you think about our guest?"

He scrunched his little nose, staring at her for a few seconds before nodding. "She's beautiful. And nice. I want to keep her."

The two of us laughed and he thought it over, which was also unusual.

"I just figured you were busy and he seemed to want to change from his PJs," she said, the tension remaining. I hated this being so awkward.

"Never too busy."

I tried to concentrate on the moment. She was dressed in a darker pair of jeans, a bright red tee shirt, and tennis shoes. Not running shoes either. "What's his name?"

"Damien and getting him dressed is usually… complicated."

"Not at all. I just made it a game. But I think he's hungry." She rose to her feet, tousling his hair.

"Then let's go to the kitchen. I'll show you his six favorite cereals," I told her.

"Six, huh? Wow."

"You'll see. Hey, little man. You hungry?"

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. I think that was another first. Maybe Chantel was good for him.

And maybe I was jumping the gun.

We all trotted downstairs to the bright kitchen, my housekeeper not set to arrive for a few hours. She didn't cook, but took care of the house, much like I had a landscaper and men who handled any repairs on the various houses. Given the renovations had been completed a few months before, there was only the need for my landscaper once a week.

The property was tiny as pretty much all of them were in the Brighton Beach area.

I opened the door to the pantry, trying to act thrilled for Damien. "Which cereal this morning?"

She walked closer, laughing. "All full of sugar."

"Trust me on this. You'll learn quickly that getting him to eat can be a bear."

"Trix!" He seemed happier than normal. Usually having guests in the house bothered him more than anything. Somehow, she'd struck a right chord.

"Trix it is." While I got out the bowl from the cabinet and one of his favorite purple spoons, she got out the milk. Together, we made certain he had exactly what he wanted. "Come on, little man. Let's get you set up."

Damien scoffed and it was almost the cutest thing about the morning so far. "I'm a big boy now, Dad."

"Dad?" she whispered, lifting her head and locking her eyes on me. There was a mixture of curiosity and concern, as if I had a wife hiding somewhere.

"Okay. I'll take the bowl over," I told him, waiting until he'd hopped up on the chair all by himself. Great strides had been made today. When I returned to the huge island, she had her arms crossed, staring at me with utter trepidation on her face.

"Tell me quick. Are you married?" She moved to the Keurig machine, grabbing a mug and finding a raspberry chocolate coffee pod. It was interesting to see her choice and that she seemed comfortable in my kitchen already. However, she glared at me as she pulled out the half and half from the refrigerator.

Did she really think I was? Evidently so. "No, I'm not married and never have been. You can imagine how tough it would be for any woman to put up with me." I was trying to make it light but she just cocked her head, giving me the look that said in no uncertain terms I wasn't funny. "I'm not married, Chantel. One night in the middle of a storm his mother, a woman I slept with maybe twice showed up dropping off Damien with a stuffed animal and a suitcase. There was a letter explaining it was too dangerous for Damien to be around her. Before my men could catch her, she was gone, jumping into the passenger seat of a car. Up until then I hadn't known he existed. She'd never told me. We hadn't talked since the last night we'd spent together."

"She just dropped him off and left."

"Exactly. With a few clothes and toys and a letter."

"What a bitch," she said under her breath to keep Damien from hearing her. But I did. "How the hell could a mother, any mother do that?" The coffee brewed, she pulled the mug and drizzled some half and half inside, turning back to face me.

"Well, the letter indicated she was in danger, which meant Damien was in danger. She was leaving the country and felt it best for the little man to be with me."

"You said it was dangerous."

"Yes," he said between gritted teeth. "But Ginger Lee was always a wild child."

Chantel could give the harshest looks that allowed you to know exactly what she was thinking. "Ri-ight. Did you try and find her?"

"Are you kidding me?"

She huffed and glanced at Damien. "I don't know how he's so well adjusted. But he's so intelligent and adorable." She took a sip, holding the hot mug with both hands. Like a kid would do.

"He's autistic."

"No, he's not." Her insistence was the first time anyone had contradicted both the letter Ginger had written and the examination from a damn doctor.

Not that I trusted doctors.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, crowding her space. It was obvious she'd taken a shower, either the shower gel or the shampoo she'd used giving off the scent of fresh, ripe peaches, one of my favorite fruits in the world. My cock immediately twitched, which wasn't a good thing. At least not at this point.

"Well, I could easily tell he's very shy, his social skills lacking. I also believe he's been through a trauma that is providing him with thoughts he can't fully process. But autistic? Not a chance. And no, I'm no doctor but you can just tell. He's craving a normal life and family. Hell, all he could talk about was his art, his books, and the fact he wants a dog."

"A dog?" I asked. "First time he's said anything."

"He has six stuffed dogs upstairs, all with a fluffy resemblance of a black lab. Do you honestly think he doesn't want the real version?" She took another sip, grinning at him when he glanced in our direction. "Trix good?"

"Yeah!" Damien squealed. "Daddy lets me have sugar."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Maybe an apple later?"

"He won't eat that," I said completely under my breath.

His face was scrunched up all over again. "A gween one?"

"A gween one," she repeated.

What in the hell was happening here?

"Wow. You've made more sense about my son than anyone else has. Ever."

"Not hard if you love kids and will listen to them. I mean really listen. Even in their limited language at this age, they are telling you stories and desires."

"You love kids?" I asked, kind of shocked.

"I love kids. They used to gravitate toward me if I was ever around them. Much to my father's chagrin. I felt free around them, knowing their little souls and hearts had yet to be jaded by the evil of this world."

For an almost twenty-five-year-old, she was wise beyond her years. Great. Now I was thinking of myself as an old man and her as a young girl. That didn't mix well with my continued lurid thoughts.

Damn it.

"Look, I hate to ask you a favor after everything, but I am literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's gone through six nannies in six months. Six."

"Wow. What did he say about them?" Her eyes were lit up like firecrackers.

I honestly had to think about her question. I also needed to lower my voice. "With one, he said she was out for my money."

She almost spit out coffee, choking slightly.

"I know de Heimdick maneuver, Chantel, if you need my help." His voice was loud and clear.

I had no clue how my four-year-old son had just grown up by maybe four or five years, but the change was astounding. I only prayed it wasn't a plateau that would come crashing back to earth.

"Thank you very much, Damien. I think I'll be fine. You're very sweet," she told him.

The kid blushed.

"Was he right?" she asked.

I had to think about that as well. "Come to think of it, he was. After she quit, I could tell she'd been snooping in my things."

"What else?" She was grinning just like Damien had been.

"That one snagged a watch on my dresser."

Chantel tipped her head.

"Okay. He was right and I was stupid for not paying but so much attention."

"You aren't exactly equipped to be an instant father. No slight."

I laughed. "You're very right. I was in shock for a month."

"You want me to stay with him while you handle business. Right?"

"Would that be too much trouble? He is a bit demanding. His nanny, who had another week, is filling out paperwork at her new employer's home."

"I can handle demanding men," she said in a way too seductive manner. "Maybe later we can take him somewhere for dinner or make it here."

"I admit, I'd prefer to make something here but I'm not certain you want to eat my cooking."

"I think I'll survive," she purred. She freaking purred. "Go to your meeting. We'll be just fine. I assume I can't leave the house to play. I can't take him anywhere, obviously. Anything else?"

"No."

"Well, at some point, you're going to need to realize your son is a little boy and teaching him how to play softball or basketball might be good for him. Just being outside."

"Duly noted," I said, giving her a salute. My cock was still hard. "I should be back in three hours.''

"Take your time."

"Do me a favor at this point. Don't call anyone but your parents. Definitely don't call Sonya. Okay?"

Her sigh was ragged. "Okay. I'll be a very good girl."

"Soldiers have been dispatched to ensure the house is secure. Do you have your phone?"

"Of course." She pulled it out of her back pocket, struggling to do so given how tight her jeans were.

"I'll end up getting you a burner phone but it should be safe to use for now."

"That's not cool, Nikolay ."

Another moment of awkward tension settled in. "Look. This doesn't need to be difficult."

"No? Are you certain about that?" There was more defiance in her eyes.

"Yes, I am."

And my wacked-out mind couldn't stop thinking about the sexy way she'd peeled her other jeans down her voluptuous thighs, revealing the prettiest pink pussy I'd seen in one hell of a long time.

"I'm going to program my number, Danny's and Maxim's, the two men who saved you from yourself last night."

"You're never going to let me live that down. Are you?"

"Doubtful."

"You're a very mean man."

I wasn't expecting to act the way I was around her, losing a bit of my usual strong control. But I needed to touch her, to ensure she was safe, protected, and really here. I flexed my hand and touched her with my fingertips, doing nothing more than caressing her cheek.

Her breath caught like mine had, her eyes opening wider than before.

And the extensive shot of electricity threatened to burn us into the ground.

Or worse.

Send us straight to hell.