We walk together towards the massive leather chair that resides behind my desk. I spin it so it faces out the window of my study, then sit down and lift Niko into my lap. He curls into my arm and we look through the glass together. It’s dark out, and the stars are beginning to show over the hedges at the far end of the garden.
“What are you afraid of, Niko?” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Monsters.”
I stifle a chuckle. Those things feel so real at Niko’s age. I remember being scared in the dark, many years ago. No one came to comfort me then. I wonder what things would be different if someone had.
“What do you think we can do if monsters come?” I reply carefully.
He looks up at me, curious. “I don’t know?”
I fix him with a serious gaze. “We can fight them,” I say. “Because we are strong, and if we are brave, then we can conquer anything.”
“Brave,” he echoes. “Strong.”
I nod. “Exactly.” I give his little biceps a squeeze and offer him a smile. “Strong like your daddy. Strong like your uncle. Tell me, Niko, what is your last name?”
“Morozov,” he mumbles. I can see sleep starting to overtake him. His chest rises and falls against my own.
“Yes, Morozov. And like all Morozov men, you are strong, you are brave, and you can conquer anything. Even monsters.”
I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope and making up the rules of gravity as I go. Is this what parenting is like? It’s fucking exhausting.
But, for now, it seems to have worked. Nikolas nods solemnly and tucks his head against my shoulder. I can feel his breath growing slower and slower.
Just when I think he’s about to fall asleep, I hear him ask, “When are Mommy and Daddy coming back?”
This again. I squeeze the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
“I don’t know, Niko,” I say simply.
He must be able to pick up on my frustration, because he doesn’t ask again. He burrows deeper into my embrace.
We stay there for a while, and it doesn’t take long before Niko’s breathing finally settles into the slow rise and fall of a sleeping child. I stare at the clock hand on the wall, ticking time slowly away.
Thirty minutes pass like that. Just Niko and me, breathing in time.
Wondering what comes next.
When I’m certain that Nikolas is fast asleep, I rise slowly to my feet and settle him down on the leather couch at the other end of my office. He curls up tighter into a little ball, but he doesn’t wake up.
Moving back to my desk, I pour myself another glass of whiskey to replace the one I hurled and knock it back in one swallow. Just as I put the tumbler down on the tabletop, I hear a commotion outside.
A woman, struggling, yelling at someone to get their hands off her. Another man, trying to calm her down. The headache behind my eyes throbs harder, and I quickly toss back another shot before they can make it up to my office. My soldiers are returning with their quarry.
Moments later, the door bursts open and my men drag in Daniel Elwood and his daughter.
Daniel looks just as he did the last time I laid eyes on him, though I can see the faint scars from the beating I sent his way. He’s an older man with graying black hair and deep wrinkles that can no doubt be attributed to a sordid lifetime of drinking as much as his money could buy and gambling the remainder.
That, and the fact that prostitute he fucked ended up dead beside him. That would be stressful for anyone, I’m sure.
His daughter, however, is a breath of fresh air. Her chestnut hair is tousled, more than likely from her being dragged out of her house, but her face glows with vitality. She’s got the perfect almond-shaped brown eyes and her lips are pouty and pink. Her skin is pure porcelain, save for the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
Under any other circumstance, I’m sure I’d have her in my bed, begging me to touch her. Unluckily enough, her night won’t be as pleasant as that.
“Get off me,” she growls, pulling herself away from Miron. She takes a step to put distance between the two of them, then adjusts her clothing. Her dark eyes cut to me, and she glares angrily.