Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Alexander
Saturday morning.
For most people, that meant sleeping in, leisurely brunch, or golf with friends. But for me, Saturday was just another workday—only in loungewear, handling paperwork in my study. Usually I'd rest on Sunday—well, at least part of Sunday.
But this Saturday morning, just one day after confirming that Anna Parker—the woman who'd haunted my thoughts for five years—lived right next door, I found myself completely unable to focus on work.
I stood at the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows with my coffee, my gaze drifting to the neighboring yard again and again.
I'd barely slept the night before, my mind constantly replaying that scene—Anna's terrified expression, Sofia's innocent smile, and those brown eyes identical to my mother's. These questions gnawed at my sanity like insects. How old was Sofia exactly?
Five? If she really was five, that meant Anna got pregnant shortly after our night together.
Or that very night.
The thought made my heart race. We'd used protection that night—I was always careful. But protection could fail, and we'd been so lost in each other, we wouldn't have noticed any mishap. That night we were like two raging fires, consuming each other.
I took another sip of coffee. It had gone cold, bitter enough to make me grimace.
Through the window, I could see the neighboring yard was still quiet.
Sofia hadn't come out to play yet. Maybe they'd slept late, or Anna was deliberately keeping the child inside, away from me. The thought made my chest tighten.
To better observe their movements, I decided to work from home today.
Those meetings weren't urgent anyway—Ivan could handle most of the business.
I sat in my study and pretended to open my laptop, but couldn't concentrate on the financial reports and contract clauses.
Every few minutes, I'd walk to the window to check if there was any activity next door.
Around ten o'clock, the back door opened and Sofia bounced into the yard. She wore a pink little dress, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight. I instinctively stepped back, hiding behind the curtains to watch her.
She played on the lawn, sometimes chasing butterflies, sometimes crouching to examine something—maybe a beetle, or a small flower.
Her every movement was filled with a child's natural curiosity and vitality.
Watching her, an unfamiliar warmth surged in my chest, an emotion I'd never experienced before.
Was this what it felt like to be a father? Even without certainty, even though she might not be my daughter, just watching her made me feel... complete.
Just then, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
I frowned and went to answer it. Ivan stood there, his face grave.
"Pakhan, sorry to disturb you, but there's an urgent matter I need to report." His voice was low, as if afraid of being overheard.
"Come in." I stepped aside to let him enter.
Ivan walked into the living room, looked around to ensure no one else was there, then spoke. "It's the Kolov family. Our informant reports they've been increasingly active in New York lately. And... they seem to be asking about your whereabouts."
That name hit me like a sledgehammer.
The Kolov family.
The family that killed my parents.
Time seemed to reverse, taking me back to that bloody night—ten-year-old me hiding in the closet, watching through the crack as my parents lay in pools of blood.
Mother's desperate screams, Father's dying struggles, and those killers' vicious laughter.
.. These images had never truly left me.
They lurked in the depths of my consciousness, waiting to be awakened.
"Pakhan?" Ivan's voice pulled me back to reality. "You okay?"
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "What's the situation exactly? How many of them? What's their purpose?"
"Still unclear," Ivan said, "but according to our informant, their boss, Sergey Kolov, came to New York personally. That's not a good sign."
Sergey Kolov. The butcher who killed my parents.
My hands unconsciously clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain couldn't drive away those memories.
"Strengthen security at all locations," my voice sounded calm, but only I knew what rage simmered beneath that calm. "Put people on every move the Kolov family makes. If they dare set foot in my territory, I want to know immediately."
"Understood, Pakhan." Ivan hesitated. "And... are you sure you don't need extra bodyguards? If they really are coming for you—"
"No," I cut him off. "I'll be careful. Now go. I need to be alone."
Ivan looked at me, seeming to want to say something, but finally just nodded and left.
The moment the door closed, I felt my legs weaken. I had to lean against the wall to stay upright. Breathing became difficult, my chest felt crushed by a boulder, making it hard to breathe. The familiar symptoms—dizziness, trembling, heart palpitations—all told me the PTSD was about to hit.
No, not now.
I closed my eyes, trying to use breathing techniques to calm myself, but the images became clearer—Father falling, Mother's blood-splattered body, and my own helplessness and terror. I heard my breathing getting more rapid, my heart beating so fast it felt like it would burst from my chest.
"No... don't..." I mumbled, holding my head in my hands, slowly sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.
Logic told me this was just post-traumatic stress disorder, told me I was safe now, told me it was all in the past. But my body wouldn't listen. Fear flooded over me like a tide. I felt like I was back in that closet, helplessly watching my parents die, unable to do anything.
Just then—
"Alex?"
A childish voice cut through my panic.
I forced my eyes open and saw Sofia pressed against the window outside, her little face against the glass, those brown eyes full of concern.
"Alex, what's wrong?" Her voice was soft, gentle, like a breeze clearing the darkness from my mind. "Are you sick? You look really upset..."
I wanted to answer, but my throat felt blocked. No sound came out.
Then something shocking happened—this little girl actually started running toward the bottom of the fence.
"Sofia... you can't..." I said hoarsely. "Your mother will worry..."
But she'd already crouched down at a spot near the bottom of the fence hidden by bushes. I noticed several wooden boards had come loose there, leaving a hole just big enough for a small child to crawl through.
She was obviously familiar with this secret passage, skillfully lying down and carefully crawling through the hole, then running to the glass door and pushing hard. Fortunately, I hadn't locked it. She pushed it open and rushed in, running to my side.
"Alex, don't be scared," she said seriously, her small hand gently stroking my cheek. The touch was warm and soft. "It's okay, it'll pass. Mommy says when you're sad, having someone with you makes it better. So I'm here with you, Alex."
Her hand was so small, with that special warmth children have, gently and tenderly stroking my face. That gesture... that gentle way of comforting... just like how my mother used to comfort me when she was young. Exactly the same.
Miraculously, my breathing began to steady. My heartbeat gradually returned to normal. Those terrible images started to fade, replaced by this little girl's caring face before me. Her presence seemed to have some kind of magic that could drive away the darkness in my heart.
I stared at her in shock. How was this possible? My PTSD attacks had never subsided this quickly—usually it took hours to fully recover. But she... she'd calmed me down in just minutes, maybe even seconds.
"Better now?" she asked, tilting her head, her little hand still gently patting my cheek. "Your face looks better."
I nodded, my voice still trembling slightly. "Much better. Thank you, Sofia. How... how did you know what to do?"
She smiled happily, that smile pure and radiant. "Mommy taught me! Mommy says I have magic that makes people happy. When kids at kindergarten cry, I hug them and then they stop crying!"
Magic. Maybe she really did have some kind of gift, something inherited from Volkov family bloodline. My mother had this ability too—she could soothe others' pain with her presence. Had Sofia inherited this trait?
I reached out and carefully pulled her into my arms. This was the first time I'd ever hugged a child.
Her body was so small, so light, nestling in my arms like a little bird.
But that feeling... that warmth, that sense of security, that feeling of finding something long lost.. . made me not want to let go.
More importantly, that sense of blood connection—I couldn't describe it in words, but it was there, clear and strong. Like some instinct telling me: This is your flesh and blood. This is your daughter.
"Sofia," I said softly, my voice carrying emotions I hadn't even noticed myself, "do you know? You're a very special child. Very special."
"Really?" She looked up at me, those brown eyes sparkling, identical to my mother's eyes. "Mommy says that too! She says I'm her most special baby!"
Mommy. Anna. She was raising this child alone, teaching her how to be kind, how to comfort others. And I... I knew nothing, had done nothing.
"Your mother's right," I said, complex emotions surging in my heart—guilt, regret, and irrepressible longing. "You are the most special baby."
"Alex," Sofia suddenly asked, "why do you live alone? Don't you have family?"
The question stung. "I... my family died a long time ago."
"Oh," her eyes filled with sympathy. "Then you must be very lonely. Just like I said."
"Yes," I admitted. "Very lonely."
"Can I come keep you company often?" she asked innocently. "Then you won't be lonely. Mommy says lonely people need friends."
My heart was deeply touched by those words. This child, this child who might be my daughter, was expressing care in her innocent way. But I knew Anna wouldn't allow it—she was trying to keep Sofia away from me.
"Sofia," I said gently, "didn't your mother say you couldn't be friends with me?"
She bit her lip, looking upset. "Yes... Mommy said no. But I don't know why. You're nice—you helped me get my ball, and now I helped you. We should be friends."
I held her tight, feeling that blood connection. No matter what Anna thought, no matter what reasons she had for hiding the truth, I was certain of one thing—
Sofia was my daughter.
This wasn't rational judgment, but certainty from deep within. Her eyes, her smile, her way of comforting people, and this connection I couldn't explain but knew was real... all told me the truth.
"Your mother's right," I finally said, though every word felt like cutting my own flesh. "You should listen to her. She loves you very much. Everything she does is to protect you."
"Really?" She looked somewhat disappointed.
"Really," I said. "But Sofia, if you ever need help with anything, you can always come find me. Just like now—you helped me, and I want to help you too. Is that okay?"
Her face bloomed with smiles again. "Okay!"
"Now you should go back," I released her, though reluctantly. "Your mother will worry if she finds you missing."
"Mm-hmm!" She stood up. "Alex, are you sure you're okay?"
"Much better," I said. "Thank you, Sofia. Thank you for your magic."
She laughed happily, then ran toward the door. I walked her to the yard, watching her nimbly crawl back through the fence. Before disappearing into the house, she turned and waved at me.
I waved back, then stood there looking at that house, my mind churning with countless thoughts.
Anna was inside. Our daughter had just returned there. Did she know Sofia had come to see me? How would she react? Would she become more vigilant, more determined to flee?
But I wouldn't let her run again.
Whether she wanted to or not, we had to talk.
Because that child—our daughter—had changed everything. She'd healed my pain with her presence. This wasn't a coincidence. This was the power of blood.
And she deserved to know the truth.
She deserved to have a father.
I turned and went back inside, my mind made up.
No matter what concerns Anna had, no matter how much she wanted to avoid this—
I wouldn't let go again.