Ruthless Daddies (Reverse Harem Daddies)

14. Dmitri

14

DMITRI

T he hum of the city filters faintly through the windows of my office in the city, muffled by the thick glass that separates me from the chaos outside. Manhattan never sleeps, but up here, perched above it all, there’s a sense of detachment.

Not that I ever truly feel detached.

I sit at my desk, the glow of the computer screen illuminating the dark room. The air is stale, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering from whoever was here last, but I barely notice. My focus is entirely on the task at hand—tracing the number that texted Ivan.

I lean back in my chair, clicking through encryption tools and database records, every click bringing me closer—or so I tell myself. Whoever sent that message knew what they were doing. The number is masked, bouncing off servers across continents. It’s clever, but not infallible. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone leaves a trail.

And if someone is playing games with us, I’ll find out who. I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face.

As I work, my mind drifts, unwillingly, to the past. To her .

It’s been almost two years, but the memory is still sharp, clear, as if it happened yesterday. I was the last one to see her alive, the last one to talk to her before everything went to hell. And I let her go. I knew something was wrong, that she wasn’t herself, but I let her go anyway.

I close my eyes, the memory flooding back with cruel precision.

She was standing in the foyer of the mansion, her coat draped over one arm, her keys clutched in her hand. I remember the way her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting toward the windows as if she couldn’t wait to leave.

“Elena,” I called from the bottom of the stairs. She turned, her smile forced, tight. “Where are you off to?”

“To my parents’ house,” she said lightly, too lightly. “I’m taking the kids for the weekend.”

Her parents. The Zhurovs. One of the most powerful families in the city, with a reach that extended far beyond the confines of Manhattan. They were allies in name, but their loyalty was always tenuous, tied to Elena’s marriage to Ivan. And Elena herself…she was the glue that held everything together.

Something about the way she said it struck me as off. “Are you okay?” I asked, stepping closer. “You seem…tense.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, brushing off my concern. “Just tired.”

She wasn’t fine. I could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly, in the tightness around her eyes. I should have stopped her, pushed harder, but I didn’t. I let her brush me off, let her walk out that door.

She didn’t take the kids to her parents’ house. She changed her mind at the last second, and a few hours later, she was gone. A car crash, they said. An accident. But something about it has never sat right with me. And the fact that she was upset, that I saw it and did nothing…

The guilt is suffocating.

I haven’t told anyone how upset she seemed that day, how I could have stopped her, made her stay. It wouldn’t change anything now.

But the doubts linger. And now, with that text— I know what happened to her —those doubts are louder than ever.

I shake the thought away, refocusing on the screen. Clicking through the images my men have been gathering, I study the faces of our enemies, the ones we know are watching, waiting. The Solonovs. The Kovals. And him .

Vadim.

Elena’s younger brother.

My jaw tightens as I stare at his image, his face sharp and cold, his eyes filled with the same calculating hostility I’ve come to expect from him.

I’ve heard rumors of him taking over from his father in the coming months. And now with the text…the timing can’t be a coincidence. Even if it isn’t him trying to play some kind of twisted games, there’s someone out there who knows something.

What if Vadim had something to do with Elena’s death? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for years, one that’s become harder to ignore the more hostile he’s become. Ivan doesn’t agree, of course. He’s always been reluctant to point fingers at Vadim, too tied up in old allegiances and the complexities of family politics.

But I don’t have the same reservations. If Vadim was involved, I’ll find out. And when I do, I’ll make him pay.

I turn back to the computer, pulling up another file, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I cross-reference the number Ivan received with recent movement in Manhattan and Brooklyn.

The phone buzzes on my desk, interrupting my train of thought. I glance at the screen to see a number I recognize, one of Ivan’s latest recruits—a nervous little bastard who has no business calling me directly.

Normally, I’d ignore it. Whatever he wants, it’s likely trivial. But something about the timing makes me pick up.

“Dmitri,” I say, my tone clipped.

“Uh, Mr. Morozov,” Anton stammers, his voice shaky. “I…I was supposed to pick up Miss Parker from the city, but I’m…tied up. Something came up, and I can’t get to her in time.”

I sit up straighter, the name catching my attention immediately. Alice.

“And you’re calling me why ?” I ask, my voice cold.

“Well, I—I didn’t want to call Mr. Morozov, I mean Ivan. He’d…you know, I didn’t want to bother him with something so?—”

“Thought I’d be less terrifying?” I interrupt, smirking. “You thought wrong.”

“No, no! I just—she’s waiting, and I didn’t know who else to?—”

“Send me the address,” I snap, already pulling my jacket off the back of my chair.

“Thank you, sir, I?—”

I hang up before he can finish, irritation flickering in my chest. Normally, I’d leave something like this for someone else to handle. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Alice.

The address Anton sent isn’t far, tucked in a quieter corner of Manhattan. The ride doesn’t take long, but as I pull up to the sidewalk, I spot her immediately. She’s standing near a lamppost, arms crossed, her tiny frame almost swallowed by the oversized jacket she’s wearing. Her face is a mix of irritation and confusion, her gaze darting toward me as I pull to a stop.

“A bike?” she says, loud enough for me to hear over the rumble of the engine. “Really? How cliché.”

I chuckle, pulling off my helmet and running a hand through my hair. “What can I say? I aim to please.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but there’s a flicker of amusement there, one that makes me grin. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Where’s—what’s-his-name?”

“Terrified,” I reply smoothly, leaning casually against the bike. “He called me because he couldn’t handle the pressure. Lucky for you, I decided to be generous today.”

“Generous?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what we’re calling this?”

I cross my arms as I look her over. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

I smirk, shutting off the bike and swinging a leg over to dismount. “You’re free to walk home,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “But it might take a while in those shoes.”

She glances down at her boots, then back at me, her brow arching. “And riding on that thing is supposed to be the better option?”

“Obviously.” I grin, letting my gaze sweep over her. “Though you’d look adorable clinging to me for dear life.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory.” I push off the bike, taking a step closer, lowering my voice just enough to make her pause. “But I seem to remember you enjoy it.”

She blinks up at me, her cheeks flushing slightly, and for a moment, she looks like she’s about to snap back with something sharp. But instead, she tilts her head, giving me a once-over that’s almost as appraising as my own.

“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she says, crossing her arms again.

“And you’re more stubborn than I thought you’d be,” I counter, enjoying the way her eyes narrow in defiance.

She’s tiny compared to me, barely reaching my shoulder, but there’s a fire in her that makes her seem larger than life. It’s infuriating and fascinating all at once. I can’t stop myself from wanting to poke at it, to see just how far I can push her before she snaps.

“Are we going to stand here all night, or are you getting on?” I ask, stepping back and gesturing to the bike.

Her gaze flickers to the bike, then back to me, her expression skeptical. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” I reply, holding out the spare helmet.

She hesitates, her arms tightening around herself. “I don’t know. It looks…dangerous.”

“Life’s dangerous,” I say, my tone light but pointed. “And besides, you strike me as the kind of girl who can handle a little danger.”

Her lips part, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but she stops, her gaze meeting mine. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the air between us charged with something I can’t quite name.

Finally, she sighs, grabbing the helmet from my hand. “If I die, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” I say, grinning as I climb back onto the bike.

She swings her leg over, her movements careful but confident, and when she settles behind me, her hands resting lightly on my waist, I feel a flicker of something unexpected—satisfaction.

“Hold on tight,” I say, revving the engine again.

She hesitates for a split second before tightening her grip, her arms circling my waist fully, and I can’t help but chuckle as I pull away from the curb.

Manhattan at night is a symphony of lights and shadows. The skyline glitters above us, the glass towers reflecting the neon glow of the streets below. The city pulses with life—people hurrying along the sidewalks, taxis weaving through traffic, and the distant hum of music spilling from late-night bars. The cool breeze whips past us, carrying the faint scent of rain on asphalt.

I maneuver the bike through the streets with practiced ease, leaning into sharp turns and darting between cars like I’ve done it a thousand times before—because I have. Alice clings to me tighter with every curve, every burst of acceleration, and I hear her mutter something under her breath, though the words are lost in the wind.

When I take a particularly sharp turn, the bike tilting low to the ground, she finally yells, “Show-off!” into my ear.

I laugh, the sound low and genuine. “Admit it,” I shout back over my shoulder. “You’re having fun.”

Her only response is to tighten her grip, and I take that as a win.

As we leave the chaos of the city behind, the streets grow quieter, the lights dimming as we head toward the suburbs. The buildings give way to tree-lined roads, the distant hum of the city fading into the stillness of the night. The moonlight filters through the branches, casting patterns of light and shadow on the pavement.

When we pull into the driveway of the mansion, the bike rumbles to a stop, and I feel Alice let out a breath she’s been holding. Her arms loosen around me, but she doesn’t move to get off right away.

“See?” I say, glancing over my shoulder with a grin. “Not so bad, was it?”

She glares at me, but there’s no real heat in it. “You’re lucky I didn’t fall off.”

“You weren’t going anywhere,” I say, chuckling as I pat her hands still resting on my waist. “You were practically glued to me.”

She huffs but finally swings her leg over, sliding off the bike and brushing her hands down her jacket. “Well, thanks for not killing us, I guess.”

I smirk, getting off the bike and stepping closer to her. “You guess?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t move as I lean in slightly, my grin softening. “You’re braver than I thought, Parker,” I say quietly. “Most people wouldn’t have trusted me on that thing.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, something unspoken passing between us. “Most people wouldn’t have gone with you in the first place,” she says, her voice just as quiet.

We stand there for a moment, the night pressing in around us, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Her eyes search mine, and before I realize what I’m doing, I take a small step closer. She doesn’t back away. Instead, she tilts her head up, her lips parting slightly, and the space between us disappears.

Her scent—something light and sweet, like vanilla and lavender—fills the air, and I feel her breath against my lips. My hand twitches at my side, the urge to close the gap, to pull her closer, overwhelming.

“Dmitri…” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but the sound of my name from her lips sends a jolt of heat through me. She leans in, just a fraction, her face so close now that I can see the faint flush on her cheeks.

But before anything can happen, the sound of the front door opening shatters the moment.

“Dmitri,” Nikolai’s voice calls out, sharp and curious. “What are you doing out here?”

I step back quickly, my hands dropping to my sides as I turn to face him. He’s standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, though his sharp brown eyes flicker between me and Alice with a glint of suspicion.