41. Chapter 41

41

Dimitri

T wenty minutes later, we're crowded around the tiny table, demolishing two large pizzas.

The kids are sprawled out on the floor, pizza sauce smeared on their faces. Lenny's got a string of cheese hanging from his chin, and Emma's picking olives off her slice like they're fucking landmines.

"So, you beat people up for money?" Lenny asks, his eyes wide.

I shift in my seat, the cheap folding chair creaking under my weight. "It's called mixed martial arts, kid. It's a sport."

Emma snorts. "Sounds barbaric."

"Emma," Wren warns, her voice low. She's perched on the arm of the couch, nibbling on a crust. Her eyes meet mine, a silent apology.

I shrug. "Nah, she's right. It can be pretty brutal."

Lenny's practically vibrating with excitement. "So, have you like… killed anyone?"

"Lenny!" Wren and Emma shout in unison.

I chuckle. My eyes lock onto the kid's. Serious now.

"Yeah, I have," I say. His eyes go wide. "But not during a fight night. Never."

"D," Wren warns, voice sharp.

I turn, shrug at her. What? It's the fucking truth. Look at her.

I almost laugh when she presses her lips together, eyes widening like she's trying to swallow a goddamn bowling ball. Blyat , if looks could kill, I'd be a steaming pile of guts on the floor right now. Her glare's so hot it could melt steel beams, scorching my skin like I've been doused in napalm.

But before she can tear into me like a pack of rabid dogs…

"Why do you like to fight?" Emma cuts in.

Blyat . Where the fuck did that come from? I blink, caught off guard by the kid's question. My mind's still reeling from the nuclear blast of her sister's death stare, and now this?

Philosophical shit. Not my strong suit. I glance at Wren, but she shoots me a "serve you right, dickhead" look.

Suka blyad' . I can practically hear her thoughts: Dig yourself out of this one, asshole. Her lips curl into a smirk.

My jaw clenches, a growl building in my chest. Fuck me.

I drag a hand down my face, scrubbing at the stubble on my chin. How am I supposed to explain the high of a good fight to a fucking kid? The way the pain lights you up, reminding you that you're alive, that you're not fucking useless, the way the blood pounding in your ears drowns out all the other bullshit. It's a goddamn addiction.

"I like it because…" Shit . Truth is, it's where I dump all my rage. But I can't say that. "It's about discipline," I say finally. "Control. Knowing your body and pushing its limits."

Not the whole truth. But not a lie, either.

Emma considers this, her brow furrowed. "I guess that's not so bad."

Lenny pipes up, "Can you teach me some moves?"

"Absolutely not… from D," Wren cuts in, her tone brooking no argument. "He's a busy man."

"But Wren—"

"No buts. It's a school night, and you both need to get ready for bed."

The kids groan, but they start gathering up the paper plates and napkins. I stand to help, but Wren waves me off.

"Sit," she orders.

I raise my hands in surrender. "Yes, ma'am," I say, sinking back into the chair with a smirk. I shoot Lenny a quick wink, which earns me a wide grin from the kid.

"Don't worry, kid," I murmur in a low voice, "maybe we'll practice some moves someday. You'll be a pro in no time."

Wren's death stare could carve through granite, but my dick's on fire.

She turns and wraps an arm around Lenny's shoulder and pulls him in close for a kiss on the top of his head.

"Don't listen to him," she says. "Fighting is not for kids." She shoots me another pointed glance before steering Lenny toward the room. "Bedtime, kiddos."

"You're the one who fights," Lenny retorts, jerking his shoulder away from Wren's grip. "You're always kicking butt and taking names. I want to do that too, and D's gonna teach me."

Suka . Kid's got fire. He's trying to be the man when there ain't no men around.

Wren's shoulders sag. "Okay, okay," she says, voice soft. "One day, Lenny."

The kid nods and cocks his head aside. "Good night, D," he says as he disappears into the room. Em yawns, waving a half-assed goodnight my way.

I nod, watching as the kids vanish into their room. The door closes with a soft click, muffled laughter drifting through the thin walls.

And just like that, I'm alone in this fucking shoebox of a living room.

Outside, glass shatters. Some drunk mudak shouts, "Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!" Another voice answers with a string of slurred curses. A police siren wails in the distance, getting closer.

Yob tvoyu mat' . What a neighborhood to raise kids in.

I shift, the chair's springs digging into my ass like they've got a grudge. My eyes scan the room again. Those past-due bills. The wilting plant that's one day from the grave. Cheap-ass food that wouldn't satisfy a starving rat.

It's all so… normal. So fucking far from my world of blood-soaked rings and brass knuckles.

Why the suka am I here?

The thought hits like a bullet to the brain; this ain't my scene. Wren and me, we're just a good fuck. Nothing more.

But watching her with those kids… Blyat . It digs at something. Something I thought was long dead and buried.

I rub my face, feeling the stubble scratch my palms. What the hell am I doing? Playing happy families? Eating pizza with a stripper and her kid siblings?

" Suka ," I mutter. "You've lost your fucking mind, Dimitri Orlov."

The laughter from the kids' room gets louder. I hear Wren's voice, soft but firm. "Alright, alright. Settle down now."

My chest tightens. This is dangerous territory. I don't do family. I don't do… whatever the fuck this is.

But I'm still here. Still sitting in this piece of shit chair, in this tiny apartment, listening to Wren mother those kids.

Blyat, stop fucking caring.

I stand up, my knees cracking like old floorboards. The siren outside wails louder, then fades, replaced by the sound of tires screeching.

My hand's on the doorknob when I hear footsteps.

Soft, but there. I turn, and there's Wren leaning against the wall. She looks… different. Softer, somehow. Like she's peeled off that ice-cold shield she always wears.

Suka . My dick twitches, yeah, but there's something else. A tightness in my gut that ain't just about wanting to fuck. It's… respect? Shit. I don't know what to do with that.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see everything. The exhaustion. The worry. The fierce protectiveness.

"You didn't have to do this," she says, her voice low.

I know that. But seeing her like this, all raw and real… Fuck . I wanted to. I wanted to give her and those kids one normal fucking night.

I shrug, trying to play it cool. "I wanted to."

She looks at me, really looks at me, like she's trying to figure out some complex puzzle. "Why?"

I step closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "Because you deserve it, Wren. You deserve good things."

She scoffs, but there's no real heat in it. "You barely know me."

"I know enough," I say. And I do. I've seen her fight, seen her protect her own. Seen the way she looks at her siblings like they're the only thing in this world worth a damn.

We're standing so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off her. Her eyes flick to my lips, then back up.

"D," she starts, but I cut her off.

"Tell me to leave," I say, my voice rough. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll go."

She doesn't say anything. Just looks at me, her breath coming a little faster.

I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted to. But she doesn't. Our lips meet, and it's like earlier but different. There's no hesitation now, no uncertainty. Just heat and want and something deeper, something I'm not ready to name yet.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Wren's cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You should go," she says without conviction.

I nod, stepping back. "I should."

But neither of us moves. We stand there, the air between us charged with possibility.

Finally, Wren breaks the silence. "This is a bad idea."

I can't help but grin. "Probably."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she's trying to hide. "Get out of here, you big lug. Before I change my mind and keep you."

I lean in, pressing one more quick kiss to her lips. "Yes, printsessa ."

As I leave, I hear her lock the door behind me. Three locks. Good girl.

I walk down the creaky stairs, out into the night air. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since I slipped her my number. Not a peep. Not that I've been waiting or some shit. But every time my phone buzzed, I'd—

Pizdetz. It doesn't matter.

I look at the screen. It's from her. Wren.

"Thanks for the pizza. Don't let it go to your head."