Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ivan
"Of course not!"
I nearly roared.
Five years.
I'd spent five goddamn years looking for her.
And now? She stood right in front of me, casually telling me she'd slept with some guy for one night and gotten pregnant. Like she was putting that bastard on the same level as me.
Fine, I'd admit I wasn't a good man. I'd had my hands in plenty of shit, but I had one bottom line—I'd never leave a woman to raise my kid alone.
Just thinking about what her life might've been like felt like a red-hot iron pressed against my chest, the pain tearing through every breath.
I wanted to know who that man was. Wanted to snap his neck with my bare hands.
"Ivan, you're scaring me."
Anna's voice trembled, panic bleeding through. Her hand still pressed against my chest, so pale, so delicate—like I could snap it with the slightest pressure.
Through the fabric of my shirt, I could feel her shaking.
Calm down.
Ivan, you need to calm the hell down.
I sucked in a breath and forced myself to step back, giving her space.
These five years, I'd imagined finding her a thousand times. I thought she'd throw herself into my arms crying, or curse me out for wrongly accusing her back then, or maybe go completely ballistic.
But I never imagined she'd be this calm. So calm it was like I was just some old neighbor she'd bumped into on the street, exchanging pleasantries about the weather.
She wouldn't even spare me her anger.
She just pushed me away, like shoving aside a chair in her path. Like these five years I'd spent clinging to hope, every single day—it was all just some one-man show I'd written myself.
In her world, I wasn't even a supporting character.
Anna shouldered her bag and headed for the door. No hesitation in her step.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, pressed hard, shoving that explosive frustration back down.
A voice in my head reminded me: Don't rush. You can't rush. You scared her. She ran once before. If she runs again, you won't even catch her shadow.
I knew she was in New York. There had to be a way to bring her back to me.
Nadia came up with juice and saw Anna heading downstairs. She immediately followed.
"Anna, are you leaving?"
Anna smiled faintly. "Yeah, work's done. I need to get home."
Nadia wanted to say more, but Anna stopped. She turned around and picked up the juice Nadia had prepared for her, drinking more than half.
"Nadia, thank you for having me. It was really good to see you today."
When she said that last sentence, her gaze swept across my face. Just for an instant. So quick it felt like an illusion.
My back went rigid, my breathing instinctively softened—afraid that if I opened my mouth, the fragile thread of control I'd been clinging to would snap completely.
She told Nadia goodbye. Said she was happy to see her.
This was absurd. I was actually jealous of my own daughter.
I wanted to rush over and ask her—you're happy to see Nadia, but what about me? Didn't you feel anything at all?
But I said nothing.
Nadia looked back at me. That look was a prompt, like she was saying: Dad, go.
But...
I didn't move. I knew if I chased after her now, she'd only run. She was like a startled cat—the more you chased, the faster she fled.
So I had to be patient. At least for now.
I waved Nadia over. She trotted up to me.
I bent down and whispered in her ear. "Baby, you want Anna to stay?"
Nadia nodded hard.
"Then go after her now. Ask her to stay." I said softly, "She'll soften."
I felt pretty damn low. Using my daughter to gamble on Anna's tender heart. But I had no choice. Clearly, Nadia mattered more to Anna than I did.
I wasn't as important as my own daughter.
Fucking hell. I ranked below my four-year-old.
Nadia's eyes lit up. She took off after Anna.
I stood at the top of the stairs. Didn't follow. Just listened to them talk below.
"Anna, will you come back?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Of course." Nadia sounded close to tears. "I'm sorry I went behind Dad's back to hire you. I lied to you. I'm so sorry. I just missed you so much."
I tilted my head back slightly, the corner of my mouth twitching up despite myself.
That's it, baby. A little more pitiful. A little more hurt. The kitten will soften.
Silence downstairs for a few seconds. Then I heard Anna sigh quietly.
"I'll come back. But you have to promise me something."
"What?"
"I can only come when your dad's not here."
My smile froze. That flicker of satisfaction I'd just felt, still warm in my chest, got doused in ice water.
Great. She agreed to stay—as long as I was completely excluded.
I clenched my fist and slammed it into the wall.
My knuckles scraped against the rough surface. Skin tore. Blood beaded up slowly, one drop, two drops, trickling down between my fingers.
It hurt. But it cleared some of the suffocating weight in my chest.
At least she agreed to stay. As long as she kept showing up in this house, kept spending time with Nadia, I had the patience to wear her down.
Kitten, the game's just getting started.
Three days.
I waited three days.
Dmitri's email sat in my inbox, the attachment waiting quietly. I raised my coffee cup, took a sip. Stone cold. The bitterness wouldn't dissolve on my tongue.
I set the cup on the edge of the desk, opened the attachment. The screen's cold glow washed over my face as I scanned line by line.
Anna Bennett.
Queens. Lives alone. One son, four years old.
Attached was a photo of the boy. A small kid sitting on a blanket, honey-blonde hair sticking up in messy tufts, gray-blue eyes bright and clear, a little dimple denting his right cheek when he smiled.
I stared at that photo. Didn't move.
Dmitri laughed on the other end of the phone. "Boss, this kid really looks like you."
I didn't answer. My knuckles tapped the desk, a soft rhythm.
Yes. Those gray-blue eyes. The way his cheek tilted when he smiled. The face I'd seen in the mirror as a boy—staring back at me from this tiny photo, grinning.
Five years. The timeline matched perfectly.
I suddenly remembered what she'd said. One-night stand.
I pressed my hand over the screen, my fingertip tracing the boy's tousled hair through the cold glass. Something swelled in my chest, pressing against my ribs until they ached.
One-night stand.
I wanted to laugh. Really laugh. That urge bubbled up from my chest, lodged in my throat, like it was going to tear me open.
She'd hidden my son for four years. Raised him alone.
I grabbed the cigarette pack, fumbled before pulling one out.
The lighter flicked open with a snap, flame dancing at my fingertips.
I dragged deep, nicotine sliding down my throat. Cold smoke filled my lungs, but it couldn't crush the wild pounding of my heart trying to crack my ribs.
Ivan Volkov had a son.
"Boss, why'd you go quiet?" Dmitri's annoying voice piped up again. "Don't tell me this kid doesn't line up with you?"
I crushed the cigarette, my fingers grinding the paper out of shape.
Impossible.
The second I saw those eyes, I knew. This was absolutely my blood. You can't fake what runs in your veins.
I stubbed out the cigarette, tugged at my tight collar. "Dmitri, I need you to do something else."
"What?"
"Get me a substitute teacher ID. I want to meet this kid."
Dmitri went silent.
I could practically picture his expression—eyebrows knitted, mouth turned down, like he'd swallowed undercooked pasta.
He probably thought the request was insane.
Years ago, I would've agreed.
Me, Ivan Volkov, Pakhan of the Bratva, running off to teach preschool? The entire New York underworld could laugh for three years straight.
But that was my son.
He was four years old. Four whole years without a father. I couldn't just drop into his life and announce I was his dad.
That would terrify him.
I needed an identity. A legitimate reason to show up in his life. An excuse to take things slow.
"Boss, do you remember what we do for a living?"
I stared at that tiny smiling face on the screen, my mouth curling up uncontrollably.
"Of course I remember. We crawled out of gunfire and bloodshed.
We've got blood on our hands, bodies under our feet.
Everything we do involves betting our lives.
" I paused, my throat working, the swell in my chest growing softer.
"But that doesn't conflict. I just want to see my son.
I'm not taking down a rival operation. Getting a substitute teacher ID isn't hard for you. "
Silence on the other end for two seconds. Then Dmitri sighed, long and drawn out, like it came from the bottom of his lungs.
"Oh God, that woman's got you completely scrambled."
Dmitri hung up.
I knew he thought I'd lost my mind. But I also knew he'd get it done, just like he had for the past dozen years. He never dropped the ball on what mattered.
I turned my gaze back to the computer screen. In the photo, the little boy stood on the school playground, his uniform freshly washed, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Sunlight caught on his honey-blonde hair, making it shine.
Little guy, just wait for me.
Dmitri's efficiency never disappointed. The ID came through the next day, a thick stack of documents in the envelope, even the work badge looked legit.
I didn't give myself time to hesitate. Put on a pressed shirt, clipped the badge to my chest pocket, and drove to the school.
The security guard at the gate checked my credentials, smiled, and waved me through. Like I really was just another ordinary substitute teacher.
I walked toward the playground. Bright sunshine spread across the entire field. Kids' voices flooded in from every direction, high-pitched and crisp, like a flock of birds just let out of a cage. Especially over by the soccer field—particularly lively.
A group of little ones chased a black-and-white ball around. The ball rolled and rolled, veered off course, and bumped into my shoe, stopping.
A boy in a blue jersey ran toward me. He tilted his round face up and smiled. "Excuse me, sir, could you kick the ball back to me?"
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Sweat glistened at his temple against his short hair, honey-blonde strands blown up by the wind, gray-blue eyes shining bright.
He looked exactly like the photo.
But he was living, breathing, standing right in front of me. His breathing still quick from running.
This was my son.
Mine and Anna's child.
He stood less than three feet away in the sunlight, real and solid.
When I didn't respond, the little guy looked at me curiously. "Sir, I haven't seen you before. Are you a new teacher?"
His voice was soft, words sticky with childish sweetness.
I swallowed the roughness rising in my throat, keeping my voice as steady as possible. "Yes. My name's Ivan. I'm subbing for the school."
I looked at him. "What about you? What's your name?"
His eyes sparkled as he puffed out his little chest. "I'm Alex. I'm four years old!"
Alex.
I repeated the name in my head, my eyes burning. Like rolling too-sweet candy on my tongue, not wanting to swallow.
His father was Ivan. His mother was Anna. He was Alex. Our three names finally came together in this moment.
I pointed at the soccer ball by his feet. "Want to play together?"
He tilted his head, bouncing as he pushed the ball toward my feet. Sunlight filtered through the sycamore trees lining the playground, broken light falling across his face. Every strand of his bouncing hair carried Anna's shadow when she smiled.
I lifted my foot gently, pushed the ball to him.
He caught it, giggling as he ran forward, his short legs alternating in quick steps, the ball bumping clumsily under his feet.
I followed behind, all the words I'd stored up for years stuck in my throat. Couldn't get a single one out.
God. I never believed in him. But in this moment, I wanted to thank him.
Thank him for this unexpected reunion.
The bell rang.
Alex stopped, tilted his head at me, regret crossing his face. "TI have to go back to class. Can we play soccer again at recess?"
"Sure. I'll wait for you."
That day, whenever he was free, I stayed with him. Kicked the ball, crouched by the sandbox digging, sat on the steps listening to him talk about his favorite cartoons.
When he talked, he liked to gesture with both hands. When he got excited, he'd bounce on his toes, like a little bird that couldn't stop chirping. The sun moved from overhead to the west, painting the whole playground in warm, golden red.
After the dismissal bell rang, he stood on the steps at the school gate with his little backpack, face tilted up looking at me.
The strap hadn't been fixed right, hanging crooked on his left shoulder. He reached behind with his right hand, trying to grab it but couldn't quite reach.
I bent down and straightened the strap for him. He blinked, then smiled.
"Teacher," he asked, "I had so much fun today. Will you come tomorrow?"
I shook my head. "Not sure."
His mouth drooped, eyelashes lowering then lifting. Those gray-blue eyes held a flicker of disappointment. "If you don't come, I'll really miss you."
I crouched down, my palm settling on his fuzzy head.
So soft. Soft like Anna's hair. I couldn't help it—my fingertips pressed gently on his cowlick.
"I'll miss you too, little guy."
After saying that, I straightened up. My gaze moved past his head and landed on the figure hurrying across the street.
Her honey-blonde hair lifted in the wind, edged with a fuzzy golden glow in the evening light. She wore a light-colored jacket, a canvas bag across her shoulder, Alex's water bottle hanging from it. Her steps were quick and urgent—probably worried she was running late.
Anna.
My wandering kitten.
My eyebrow arched slowly. I looked down at Alex. "Maybe you could invite me to visit your house."
I was a terrible father. When it came to using my kid, I had no shame.
Alex's eyes lit up. He let go of my hand, his short legs pumping as he dashed across the street.
"Mommy!"
Anna smiled, catching him. "Baby, how was school today?"
Before Alex could answer, I was already standing in front of her.
Anna looked up. Saw me. Froze completely.
Her mouth opened, then closed. The light in her eyes flickered, like a candle caught in wind—shock, trembling.
Alex introduced me, his voice crisp and bright. "Mommy, this is our new substitute teacher."
Anna's gaze shifted from her son's face to mine. Stopped for two seconds.
"Teacher?"
Her voice pitched up a notch. Of course she didn't buy this bullshit cover story.
I smiled at her. Watched the panic she couldn't hide. Watched her struggle to wrap herself in composure, like a layer of ice about to melt.
Alex nodded excitedly. "Mommy, can I invite the teacher over to play?"