Chapter 15
Sergei
“You let a man attack your wife in public, and you think that makes you father material?”
Elena’s voice cuts through my phone like a scalpel dipped in poison. I’m in my office, staring at the emergency custody motion her lawyer just emailed.
“I neutralized the threat.” My jaw locks so tight, I taste blood. “Izzy wasn’t hurt.”
“Neutralized.” She laughs, cold and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling killing a man? Very stable, Sergei. Very appropriate behavior for someone with a child.”
“How do you know—”
“I have friends everywhere.” Smug satisfaction bleeds through her words. “Friends who tell me when my daughter’s father commits murder at a charity luncheon. The judge will be very interested to hear about your extracurricular activities.”
“That man came at Izzy with a knife—”
“And you handled it like the violent animal you’ve always been.” Her voice drops, venomous. “I warned you. Two more incidents, Sergei. You’re done. Emergency hearing is Thursday. Bring your lawyer and your excuses. Neither will save you.”
She hangs up.
I sit frozen, the phone hot against my palm. Emergency custody hearing. Witnesses from The Plaza who saw me drag a man away. Security footage that probably caught more than I’d like. Elena’s lawyers will paint me as unstable, dangerous, unfit.
They won’t be wrong.
The wall beside my desk is suddenly too close.
My fist connects with drywall before conscious thought kicks in.
Once. Twice. Plaster cracks, splits, crumbles around my bloodied knuckles.
Pain flares up my arm, but it’s not enough, doesn’t come close to touching the rage and fear burning through my chest.
I’m going to lose Mila.
Another punch. The wall gives way completely, leaving a hole the size of my fist and white dust coating everything.
“Sergei.”
I spin. Izzy’s standing in the doorway, her eyes wide but not afraid. She takes in the destroyed wall, my bleeding knuckles, the phone I’ve crushed in my other hand without realizing it.
“Elena filed for emergency custody. She’s using The Plaza incident. Claiming I’m unstable.”
“Are you?” She moves closer instead of retreating.
“Right now? Yes.” I hold up my ruined hand, blood dripping onto the hardwood. “I’m standing in my office having just assaulted a wall because I can’t assault the woman who’s taking my daughter from me.”
“Then we fight back.” Izzy reaches for my hand, examining the damage. “Come here. Let me clean this.”
I follow her to the kitchen, violence still humming under my skin. She pulls the first-aid kit from under the sink and guides me to sit at the table.
Her fingers are gentle as she cleans the blood away.
Two knuckles split open, already swelling purple.
I watch her work, the way her black hair falls forward, the concentration furrowing her brow.
She’s wearing one of my shirts again, sleeves rolled up, and the sight of her in my clothes does dangerous things to my chest.
“This is who I am,” I tell her quietly. “The Wolf. I don’t just protect with violence—I am violence. Elena knows it. The courts will know it. And they’ll decide Mila’s better off without me.”
“Bullshit.” Izzy looks up, her eyes fierce. “You’re the man who makes pancakes every Saturday. Who reads bedtime stories in different voices. Who taught his daughter that being smart is better than being liked.”
“I also kill people without blinking.”
“To protect the people you love.” She wraps gauze around my knuckles. “There’s a difference, Sergei. The courts just need to see it.”
“How? Elena has witnesses, security footage—”
“Elena has a vindictive ex-wife narrative.” She secures the bandage and doesn’t let go of my hand. “We have the truth. And we have resources.”
I study her face, the determination written in every line. “What are you planning?”
“I’m planning to make a phone call.” She stands, pulling out her own phone. “To someone who specializes in making legal problems disappear.”
“Isabelle—”
“You protected me at The Plaza. You’ve protected me since the moment I showed up at your office with my insane proposal.” Her free hand cups my jaw, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “Let me protect you back.”
Heat floods through me despite the circumstances. She’s looking at me like I’m worth saving, like the violence under my skin doesn’t make me a monster. Like I’m hers.
“Who are you calling?”
“Tallulah Davis. She’s on the boards of half the hospitals in New York, married to a federal judge, and she owes my father a favor.” Izzy’s already dialing. “More importantly, she knows every family court judge in Manhattan and exactly which skeletons they’re hiding.”
I should stop her. Should handle this myself, without dragging her deeper into my mess. But watching her mobilize, wielding her old-money connections like weapons, I realize she’s not dragging—she’s choosing to dive in.
The call connects. Izzy’s voice shifts into that polished Upper East Side tone I rarely hear. “Tallulah? It’s Isabelle Davenport—Orlov now, actually. I need a favor.”
She walks into the living room, giving me privacy but staying visible through the doorway.
I watch her pace, watch her hands gesture as she explains the situation in crisp, efficient terms. No emotion, no begging.
This is business, and she’s conducting it with the same steel spine that runs through every Davenport.
My hand throbs. I flex my fingers, testing the damage. Two knuckles definitely cracked, maybe fractured. Worth it for thirty seconds of feeling something other than helpless.
The Wolf will always live under my skin. I can play at being civilized—the protective husband, the patient father—but strip away the veneer, and I’m still the man who makes people talk.
Elena’s right about that.
But maybe Izzy’s right, too. Maybe the violence isn’t the problem—it’s the target. Point me at someone threatening my daughter or my wife, and I’m a weapon. Point me at a wall, and I’m just broken.
Izzy returns, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Thursday morning, Judge Galeotti will be presiding over your emergency hearing instead of Judge Leroy.”
“I don’t know a Judge Galeotti.”
“Exactly.” She settles beside me, her thigh pressing against mine. “Leroy is Elena’s tennis partner. Galeotti is Tallulah’s goddaughter and owes her approximately a million favors. She’s also fair, which is all we need.”
I stare at her. “You just rigged my custody hearing.”
“I didn’t rig anything. I simply ensured you’d get an impartial judge, instead of one in your ex-wife’s pocket. Elena’s been gaming the system for months. I’m leveling the playing field.”
“By using your connections.”
“By using everything I have.” She takes my bandaged hand, threading her fingers through mine carefully.
“We married each other for protection, remember? This is what that looks like in my world. No guns, no interrogations. Just phone calls and favors and making sure the right people are in the right rooms.”
My cock twitches in my pants. She’s in my shirt, hair messy from sleep, no makeup, and she’s never looked more deadly.
This is the woman who helped me hide a body without flinching.
Who watched her uncle try to kill her and didn’t break.
Who’s sitting here strategizing my custody battle like she’s planning a weekly menu.
“You’re terrifying,” I tell her.
“Good.” She leans closer. “So are you. We match.”
I laugh despite everything, despite the destroyed wall in my office and the custody hearing looming Thursday. She makes me laugh when nothing’s funny, makes me feel human when The Wolf’s too close to the surface.
“Come on.” She tugs on my hand. “Let’s order takeaway and plot Elena’s downfall. I’m thinking Thai food and character assassination.”
“Sounds perfect.”
She leads me to the couch, and we curl up together. My phone buzzes—probably Elena’s lawyer with more threats—but I ignore it
Thursday will come. The judge will decide. But now, I’m taking a moment to be present.
To just be.