Chapter 12
Makari
The estate is quiet in the early mornings.
It’s the only time of day I can hear my own thoughts without someone needing something from me.
The woods outside my private windows look washed in silver; the sun hasn’t fully cleared the ridge yet, and the whole property feels suspended between darkness and daylight.
I stand at the counter in my private kitchen, pouring coffee into a heavy ceramic mug while reading through a list of overnight security updates.
A shipment is late. A contact in Montreal is asking questions he shouldn’t be asking.
Dima wants approval to hire two additional groundskeepers.
I make notes where needed and ignore the rest.
My shoulder still aches from the storm. A lingering reminder of that day. Of Roxy.
I haven’t seen her for a week.
Not for lack of trying—she’s made an art of avoidance.
She still sends reports, still answers any direct instruction within minutes, still stays late at the office.
But she keeps her distance. If I enter a room, she finds a reason to leave it.
If I walk into the operations center, she manages to be on another floor.
I’m not sure if she’s afraid of me again, or afraid of herself. The last thing I want is for her to fear me.
The memory of the cabin sits like a wood stove under my ribs, suffocating as the morning grows warmer. Her breath. Her body arched into mine. Her mouth saying my name as if she’d been holding it in her lungs for years. Her curves, so thick and welcoming under my hands.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself.
Then, my office door bursts open.
A tiny girl—maybe six, maybe seven—marches inside with the confidence of someone who owns the place. Her brown hair is up in a crooked ponytail, her backpack is far too large for her little body, and her face is bright with curiosity.
She sees me, freezes, then tilts her head.
“Are you The Bear?” When I don’t answer, she adds, “Mommy says I shouldn’t go near The Bear. Are you him?”
I blink.
She blinks back, waiting.
Before I can respond, heavy footsteps pound down the hallway. “Child! Malen’kiy! You can’t just—shef, I’m sorry! She was too fast for me!”
Dima skids into the doorway, out of breath and looking like he’s aged a decade in the last thirty seconds. His shirt is wrinkled. His expression is mortified. The little girl is grinning up at him as if he’s Santa.
I stare at the child. Then at Dima.
A laugh breaks from me before I can stop it; it startles even me.
Dima crosses his arms, and the little girl adjusts her backpack. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” I say.
“No, it really isn’t,” he grumbles. “She escaped while I was checking her mother’s paperwork and—”
“I didn’t escape,” the girl declares, planting her hands on her hips. “You said you wouldn’t play hide and seek, so I went exploring.”
Dima groans softly, looking spent and harassed.
I lean back against the counter, arms folded, studying this fearless little intruder who has managed to break into the most restricted part of a Bratva estate without showing the slightest trace of fear.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Andrea,” she says. “But everyone calls me Andi.”
“Everyone?” I ask, amused.
She nods seriously. “Except my teacher, because she’s mean. But she’s not my teacher anymore! I’m going to have a new teacher when I start school here.” She bounces on her toes.
A quiet snort escapes me before I can stop it.
Dima looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
“Here?” I ask, suddenly worried that I’m being infiltrated.
She nods. “In Bar—” her face squiggles up as she tries to think of the rest of the name, and can’t. “In Maine. Mommy bought a house! In a few days, I get to decorate my bedroom. But first I wanted to see where Mom worked, and Grandma couldn’t come with us, so she brought me here.”
“You’re very confident, Andi,” I say.
“Yeah,” she replies, shrugging like this is a universally acknowledged truth. Then she squints at me, steps closer, and points to my mouth. “Why is that tooth silver?”
The room stills.
My canine is usually the last thing people mention. And it isn’t silver; it’s brass, dull. My men know it’s a sign of the world I came from. Women pretend not to stare at it. Enemies see it as the last detail before their lives end.
But this tiny girl? She just looks curious.
I open my mouth—literally, to answer her—and a sharp gasp cuts across the room.
Roxy stands in the doorway.
Her face is flushed, breath slightly uneven, hair wind-tossed like she half-jogged the last stretch of the hallway. God, she’s beautiful. Her eyes flick between Andi and me. Then, the sudden realization in her expression hits like a blow.
She looks mortified.
“I—I am so sorry,” she says, stepping inside and reaching for her daughter’s shoulders. “She wandered off. We took our eyes off her for one second, literally one second, and—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt gently.
But Roxy is already spiraling. “No, really, she shouldn’t be in here. She knows better than to go exploring in other people’s houses, and I’m so sorry if she bothered you, or if she—”
“She asked about my tooth,” I say.
Roxy freezes. Her face drains of color, then floods with it again. Mortification again.
“Andi,” she whispers, horrified, turning her daughter to face her as she crouches down. “Sweetheart, we don’t ask people about their—”
“But it’s pretty,” Andi says defensively. “And shiny. And you said questions are okay if they’re polite.”
Roxy covers her face with both hands.
I find myself smiling without meaning to. My guard lowers in spite of myself, in spite of everything.
Children don’t fear what they haven’t been taught to fear. For the first time in a long time, I feel like… just a man. And I don’t hate it.
It is disarming in a way I’m not prepared for.
“I was just going to eat breakfast downstairs,” I say, surprising even myself with the softness in my voice. “You’re welcome to join me.” Dima glances at me quickly.
Roxy’s head jerks up, eyes wide.
“Oh—we—we don’t want to intrude. I had a few things to tie up today before taking tonight and tomorrow morning off. If that’s okay.”
“I didn’t say you were intruding,” I reply. “And you got the house?” Roxanne hadn’t told me about it, but Lauren had—they’d required proof of steady income.
Her mouth opens. Closes. She looks caught between politeness and panic. She nods.
“Can we please eat breakfast with The Bear?” Andi tugs at her mother’s sleeve, bouncing slightly. “Please, Mommy? Please? I’m so hungry.”
I watch Roxy’s features soften, her instinct to care trumping her instinct to flee. It feels like something is breaking open in my chest—I don’t know what. It makes me feel dizzy and off balance. I steady myself against the counter.
She nods, still pink-cheeked. “Okay. Breakfast.”
Dima clears his throat, eager to escape before more damage occurs. “Shef, permission to—”
“You’re dismissed,” I say, and he scurries out like a man escaping a firing squad.
The moment he’s gone, I glance down at Andi again. “Why does he call you chef?” she asks, oblivious to the tension swirling around her. “Do you cook?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “I’m not a very good cook. ‘Shef’ means ‘boss’ in my language. Do you like honey cake?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “What is that?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I’ll show you. Come on.” I turn to go downstairs, to the small dining area and patio that overlooks the back of my property. A small hand slips into mine, and I stagger, looking down.
Andi stares back up at me. She tugs. “Cake!”
We start forward again, together this time, and I hear Roxanne’s low heels click behind us uncertainly. Andi practically skips down the stairs, earning a chuckle from me. When I glance back, Roxanne’s eyes are wide.
At the little table, Andi happily grabs a muffin, turns up her nose at a boiled egg, and begrudgingly eats some fruit when Roxy gives her a look. Then, the big reveal—I pull the cover off of the many-layered honey cake. She stares in awe.
“How about,” I say, “you take a piece to Dima? He loves it.”
She squeals. “Yes! Can I? Really?”
“Of course.”
Roxy’s hand tightens slightly on her daughter’s shoulder. For the first time, her anxiety seems to lessen—not vanish, but ease like a tight muscle finally unclenching.
“Okay,” she says to Andi. “One piece. Big manners. And say thank you.”
Andi kisses Roxanne gently on the cheek and then dashes off down the hallway with enough force to nearly topple herself.
Her footsteps fade.
Leaving me alone with Roxy for the first time in a week.
She doesn’t move. Neither do I. The air stretches tight between us. Not quite awkward. Something more complicated—something alive.
I study her.
She’s dressed casually—sweater, jeans, hair pulled into a loose braid that shows the soft line of her neck. There’s exhaustion in her eyes, but there’s fire too. And something like wariness.
“You have a daughter,” I say quietly, remembering the paperwork when she was hired—Andi. I thought she’d had a son.
She nods. “Yes.”
“Her father?”
Her arms cross. “Not in the picture. Never has been. And we don’t need him.”
The bitterness under those words cuts deeper than I expect. My jaw tightens. “Good. Because if he ever shows up, he’ll regret ever looking away from you two.”
She blinks, stunned. Then, something unexpected happens.
She laughs.
It rolls through the room, softening everything it touches, especially me. She covers her mouth quickly, as if she didn’t mean to let it slip.
I step closer before I’ve consciously decided to. “You think I’m joking?”
“Mak…” She shakes her head, still smiling faintly. “Threatening people isn’t always the answer.”
“Says the woman who calls my workplace a war zone.”
“That’s because it is one.”
I almost smile. Almost.
Her expression shifts then—less amused, more guarded. “We should go. I’m showing Andi the house. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, and my agent is waiting.”
The words sit strangely in the air. All of a sudden, my chest aches with something—some kind of want. To have her closer.
“Lauren approved a few days, half-days,” she says. “Our things are getting shipped up from Cambridge, and I need to do the paperwork tomorrow morning…”
She looks toward the hallway, where her daughter disappeared moments ago. Something softens in her eyes, something protective and fierce that hits me low in the chest.
“I didn’t plan to bring her here,” she says quietly. “I didn’t plan any of this.”
I watch her, the mother and the woman blurring into one image that feels disturbingly right, like a puzzle piece sliding into place where I didn’t know a space existed.
The silence stretches. I feel it settle deep inside me—the new emptiness forming there, subtle, but unmistakable.
“I see,” I say, though I don’t.
She lifts her chin, sensing the shift. “We should go find her before she eats that slice without giving it to Dima.”
I nod.
She steps toward the door. Just before she turns away, she hesitates. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For… not being scary.”
The words hit harder than she intends.
She disappears into the hallway, her footsteps light and fast.
And I’m left standing alone, coffee cooling in my hand, listening to the distant sound of a child’s laughter echoing down the corridor.
I’ve been feared, obeyed, respected, and followed all my life.
But this empty ache settling beneath my ribs?
This is new.
I don’t know what to do with it.