Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elena
"Ms. Jensen, we need to talk."
On the other end of the line, Mr. Calovino's voice was as cold as a Milan winter rain. This was his third call this week, each one starting the same way, followed by twenty minutes of picking apart my designs.
"Of course, Mr. Calovino." I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice professional and calm. "About the revisions for the new collection—"
"No need for revisions." He interrupted, his tone laced with impatience. "Ms. Jensen, I think our collaboration might not be the right fit."
My heart sank like a stone.
"Wait, Mr. Calovino, if you could just give me one more chance—"
"I've already given you three." His voice grew even colder. "Frankly, I'm starting to question the professionalism of the 'Stella' brand. Maybe you should stick to something simpler instead of dreaming about the high-end market."
His words hit like a slap in the face.
"That's not fair." My voice trembled. "My designs matched your original requirements. You're the one who's been changing the standards."
"The market changes, Ms. Jensen. Adapt or get left behind." He was merciless. "I'll have my lawyer contact you to discuss terminating the contract. Goodbye."
The call ended.
I stared at my phone screen, the world spinning around me. This project was crucial for Stella—not just a big order, but our gateway into Europe's luxury market. If it fell through, all those interested buyers and distributors would scatter.
"What happened?"
Igor's voice came from the couch. He'd been working on his laptop, but clearly, he'd been paying attention.
"Nothing." I quickly wiped the corner of my eye. "Just a minor work issue."
He closed his laptop and stood, walking over to me. "Elena."
"I said it's nothing."
"Don't lie to me." He stopped in front of me, those deep green eyes seeing right through me. "What happened?"
My defenses crumbled, and I slumped into the chair.
"A partner in Milan wants to pull out." My voice was hoarse. "He says I'm not professional enough, that I should go back to making simple things. I've revised the designs multiple times, but he's never satisfied. Now he won't even give me another shot."
"Which bastard said that?" Igor's voice turned ice-cold. He pulled out his phone. "What's his name?"
"Malco Calovino," I said wearily. "But it's no use, Igor. He's made up his mind."
"Give me five minutes."
He stepped out onto the balcony and dialed a number. I watched him turn his back, murmuring in Russian.
I should have stopped him. Told him this was my business, that I'd handle it on my own. But I was too exhausted, too drained to even argue.
Three minutes later, my phone rang. It was Calovino.
I glanced at Igor on the balcony; he nodded. I took a deep breath and answered.
"Ms. Jensen." Calovino's voice had completely changed. "I was too impulsive earlier. I reviewed your designs again—they're outstanding."
I froze. "What?"
"In fact, not only do I want to proceed with the collection," his tone was almost ingratiating, "I'd like to triple the order. Does that work for you?"
"I..." My mind went blank. "Mr. Calovino, ten minutes ago you said—"
"I was mistaken," he said quickly. "Entirely my error. Your designs are brilliant. We'll sign the addendum tomorrow—how does that sound?"
"Okay," I said mechanically.
After hanging up, I turned to Igor, who had just come back inside.
"What did you do to him?"
"Just made a call," he said casually.
"That's all?"
"That's all." A faint smile curved his lips. "I simply reminded the company's owner."
I stared at him for a long moment. "You threatened him?"
"I didn't." Igor spread his hands. "I just suggested that a savvy businessman wouldn't pass up an excellent partner."
"Igor."
"Your designs are excellent," he said earnestly. "I just helped him see the truth."
"But—"
"Elena." He moved to my desk, planting his hands on it and leaning in, effectively caging me. "You can be angry with me. Call me overbearing. But don't doubt your own abilities. Your work deserves the highest recognition."
My throat tightened. Damn it, why did he always know exactly how to hit my soft spots with just a few words?
"Thanks," I said finally, my voice a bit rough. "You remember what Stella said—tomorrow you're taking her to the amusement park."
Last night, Igor came over and cooked us a great dinner.
When Stella called him Daddy, I saw his eyes mist over.
She asked for Mom and Dad to take her to the amusement park this weekend.
If it was reasonable, I wouldn't say no to Stella.
Igor agreed right away, saying he'd be at the apartment bright and early.
"Of course I remember." Igor looked at me. "Honestly, I didn't expect Stella to accept me so quickly, to call me Daddy."
"Maybe it's the blood connection," I admitted. "But if you mess up down the line, Stella and I can kick you to the curb anytime."
"Then I'll have to be on my best behavior." He straightened up, a softness flashing in his eyes. He glanced at the time. "It's time to pick up Stella from school. Want to come?"
"Sure." I gathered my things. "But promise you won't intimidate the other parents. Last time you went, Stella's teacher said several single moms were asking about you."
"Jealous?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Shut up." I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, but I couldn't help smiling.
The next morning, I woke to Stella's cries.
"Mommy! Daddy ruined my hair!"
I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of the bedroom, only to see the funniest sight of my life.
Igor stood behind Stella, comb and hair ties in hand, staring intently at a video tutorial on his phone. My daughter's hair—oh God, it wasn't a braid at all. It looked more like a bird's nest ravaged by a tornado.
"This damn tutorial is useless," Igor muttered in Russian, then noticed me. "Good morning, Elena."
"Morning." I stifled a laugh as I approached. "What happened?"
"I wanted to braid Stella's hair," he said matter-of-factly. "It looked simple in the video."
Stella's hair stuck out like antennae, her lips in a pout. "It's not like the video, Mommy."
"It looks like a little monster." I took in the mess and finally burst out laughing. Then I turned to Igor. "What tutorial were you following?"
"French braid," he said, handing me the comb with a serious expression. "It seemed elegant."
I laughed again. This man could disassemble a gun in five minutes, yet he was defeated by a child's hair.
"Alright, I'll take over." I knelt behind Stella and started undoing the pitiful ties. "You go make breakfast."
"I want to learn," Igor said, crouching down beside me, his eyes fixed on my hands. "So I can do it myself next time."
"Igor, it takes practice."
"I'll practice," he insisted. "Teach me."
So for the next twenty minutes, as I braided Stella's hair, I gave lessons to this over-six-foot mafia boss. He absorbed it all with utter seriousness.
"See, divide it into three strands," I demonstrated. "Then cross them over."
With my guidance, Stella ended up with a pretty French braid. Igor insisted on trying the other side; it turned out better this time, though still a bit asymmetrical compared to mine.
"Forget it," I said, laughing as I pushed him aside. "I'll finish it."
"I'll master it," he said, standing up and kissing the top of Stella's head. "Next time, definitely."
"Next time, leave her hair alone," I teased.
"I won't give up," he replied, his gaze as intense as if he were plotting to take down a rival family.
Damn it, he was so serious even about braiding hair. I complained out loud, but inside, it warmed my heart completely.
The amusement park was packed with people.
Stella was buzzing with excitement like a little sparrow, pulling Igor by the hand everywhere. This man, who usually walked with an air of deadly menace, let his five-year-old daughter drag him along without resistance.
"Daddy, I want to ride that!" Stella pointed at the carousel.
I saw Igor's face stiffen for a moment. The horses were all pink, covered in glittering decorations—totally at odds with his tough-guy image.
"Okay," he said anyway.
Watching his six-foot-four frame squeeze into that tiny carousel seat, his long legs with nowhere to go, I nearly burst out laughing.
"Don't laugh," he glared at me.
"I'm not," I said, holding up my phone. "Just taking a photo to remember this."
"Elena—"
"Daddy, look at me!" Stella waved from the horse next to him. "We're flying!"
Igor's expression softened immediately. "Yes, baby. We're flying."
The music started, and the carousel spun. Stella laughed with pure joy, while Igor—this decisive, ruthless mafia boss—did his best to look like he was enjoying it. My heart felt impossibly full.
After the ride, Stella spotted a prize at the shooting game: a massive teddy bear.
"You have to hit all the targets to win," the vendor said.
"My daddy can do it!" Stella said confidently.
Igor paid the fee. The vendor smirked, looking at him like an easy mark. Igor picked up the plastic air gun, weighed it in his hand, and aimed.
Five shots rang out. Five targets fell. Perfect score. The vendor's smile vanished.
"Another five," Igor said, setting down the gun and picking up a second one.
Another flawless round. A crowd started to gather, people whispering in awe about the tall man's shooting skills.
"Daddy's so awesome!" Stella jumped up and clapped.
The vendor, looking pale, reluctantly handed over the giant teddy bear.
"Here you go, baby," Igor said, passing it to her. The bear was almost as big as she was.
"Thank you, Daddy!" Stella hugged it tightly, thrilled beyond words.
We continued on, Stella clutching her prize, Igor's hand naturally finding mine.
"You did that on purpose," I whispered.
"Did what?"
"Showing off your shooting skills in front of her," I said. "Making her idolize you."
"Is it working?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Extremely well," I sighed. "She thinks you're a superhero now."
"Good," he said, sounding pleased.
Watching Stella's proud little face as she held that enormous bear melted my heart.
In the afternoon, Igor's phone started ringing nonstop. Each time, he'd step away to answer, keeping his voice low, but I caught snippets like "shipment" and "keep an eye on it."
After the fifth call, I couldn't hold back. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," he said, but his eyes flickered away.
"Igor, don't keep things from me."
He glanced at Stella, who was playing on the bumper cars, then pulled me aside. "Just a small problem in New York."
"What kind of problem?"
"Someone's probing my territory," he said lightly. "But my people can handle it."
"If they could, you wouldn't have taken five calls this afternoon."
He paused for a few seconds before speaking. "Some minor actions against the Bratva. Nothing serious—my team can manage."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." He squeezed my hand. "Elena, I won't let anything spoil our family time. If those bastards want to test me, let them. When I get back, I'll take care of it."
"When are you going back?"
"Not sure yet," he said. "But not this week, at least."
I wanted to press further, but Stella came running over.
"Mommy, Daddy, I want ice cream!"
"Okay," Igor said immediately. "Let's go—Daddy will get it for you."
Watching him take her hand and head to the ice cream stand, I took a deep breath. Maybe he was right; it was just minor trouble. After all, he'd been running that huge organization single-handedly for five years—he dealt with this kind of thing all the time.
Maybe this was how life should be. Simple family moments, Stella's laughter, and this man awkwardly learning to braid hair. As for those calls and "minor issues," let them stay in New York.
I shouldn't worry too much. Right now, I just wanted to savor this rare peace.