Eight #2
I’m not cut out to be the emotional dad she needs, I don’t have that in me. But if hell freezes over, I still won’t let anyone hurt her. Not even me. That’s why I know I should stay out of her life. The light in that innocent little soul, how long would it survive in the darkness I live in?
Still, with every passing day, I find myself wanting to see her.
Her and the gorgeous girl I spent the wildest night of my life with.
Yeah, she pulled a dirty move on me, and yeah, I know the second I lay eyes on her, I’d whip her ass black and blue with my belt.
But now that I know where she is, the craving’s eating me alive, and I can’t get her out of my fucking head.
But she’s off-limits. The only thing I do to satisfy the itch is check the security camera feeds every few hours. Just the ones outside the house, though. I don’t trust myself. If I catch a glimpse of them inside, I’d probably jump in my car and head straight for them.
When I get to Heaven, I spend a few minutes talking business with Elen, then order a drink and a girl to take my mind off things. She’s got dyed dark-red hair. Everyone knows by now, if they want a fat tip from me, they’d better have the right hair color.
As I sip my whiskey, she peels off her skimpy lingerie with a sultry dance, showing off her delicate frame and those fake tits. She straddles my lap, grinding her hips in circles against my crotch. I take another swig, and she lays it on thick, rolling her hips harder.
My eyes are on her moves, but my mind’s miles away.
When her slender fingers graze my chest, Aurora’s innocent face flashes in my head, and I slam my hand against her sternum. She hits the floor ass-first, her eyes welling up with pain. My chest heaves with rage, my pulse pounding in my throat.
A few seconds pass before I realize what I’ve done. I run a hand through my hair, set the whiskey glass on the table, and stroke her chin.
The words leave my mouth without thinking. “Where’s your dad?”
Her eyes go wide. “What?”
I smirk at my own stupidity and lean back against the leather couch. “Go get Elen.”
She obeys without a word. Elen walks in, her face full of questions as she sits beside me.
I stretch both arms across the back of the couch. “From now on, no one works here with any shade of red hair. If they want to keep working, they change it.”
She rests a hand on my thigh. “You okay, Maxim?”
I nod. “I’m fine. Just make it happen.”
She gives me a long, searching look, then nods in agreement.
After she leaves, I pull out my phone and check the backyard camera feed again.
My brows furrow when I spot a man walking into the house.
Enrico Conti, Carlo’s clean-cut lawyer who handles the legit side of things, is making his third visit to my place this week.
Once or twice, maybe I could buy. But those gift boxes in his hands? No way he’s there for legal paperwork.
Without thinking twice, I pull up the indoor cameras.
Aurora’s sitting on a blanket in a corner of the living room, far from my strip club, playing with toys while her mom sits beside her.
Ava stands when she sees Enrico, shaking his hand.
When he leans in and kisses her cheek, I feel the veins in my neck bulge.
The bastard then drops to his knees, holding a gift box out to Aurora. She doesn’t move, just looks at her mom. Ava bends down, takes the box, and opens it. Aurora lights up with a squeal at the sight of a big fluffy teddy bear. Enrico takes her tiny hand and kisses it with respect.
That’s the last fucking straw. Heat blasts through my body. Hands shaking with rage, I dial his number. The second he picks up, I growl, my voice low but cold, “What the hell are you doing in my house, Enrico?”
“I’m following Don Carlo’s orders,” he answers, confident, not bothered by my tone in the slightest.
“Don Carlo told you to go to my house and paw at my daughter and her mother?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, Maxim. You’d better talk to Don Carlo.”
Oh, I’ll talk to Don Carlo. But not over the phone. I hop in my car and drive straight to the office. I storm in ready to kill someone, and find him talking to Brando.
Brando flashes a teasing grin when he sees me. “Well, hello, darling. I was starting to worry. Where you been hiding these past few nights?”
I shoot him a death glare, and he chuckles. “What, you can kiss me, but I can’t ask where you’ve been?”
Carlo pours me a whiskey, ignoring his brother’s clowning, and asks, “Did you deliver Nico’s message?”
I take the glass and sit beside him. “Loud and clear.”
“Good. I spread the word to keep everyone on their toes. Human traffickers don’t get to run loose in our territory.”
I fix my eyes on him, keeping my voice steady. “Why’s Enrico in my house?”
No surprise. No shock. He just replies, “I sent him.”
I grip the glass tighter. “I got that part. Tell me what I don’t know.”
Brando jumps in, amused. “Carlo’s trying to find a decent father for your kid, Maxim.”
I turn a stunned look on Carlo, who takes a calm sip from his glass and shrugs. “It’s true. You know Enrico up close. Don’t you think he’d make one hell of a dad?”
Brando chimes in again, tossing out, “I wouldn’t bet on it. Guy’s the type to clock out after ten p.m. If God gives him kids like yours, he’ll either keel over from exhaustion or throw himself off a balcony within the year.”
Carlo muses, “Aurora’s a quiet girl. But that ‘lights out at ten’ thing might be tough for Ava.” He looks at me and adds, “Don’t worry. If Aurora and Ava don’t like him, I’ve got better options lined up.”
My jaw clenches so hard I hear my teeth grind. Either the air’s getting thinner, or I forgot how to breathe. Carlo seems pretty damn pleased with the effect he’s having, happily finishing his drink.
“This is how you planned to handle it?” I grind out through gritted teeth. “By forcing my kid’s mom to marry some lowlife motherfucker?”
“No one’s forcing anyone into marriage,” he says firmly.
“I talked to Ava. If she wants to stay in Aurora’s life, she needs to choose one of the suitors I send her.
Someone who can bond with Aurora. And no lowlifes are getting near your girl.
I’ve picked out my cleanest guys, ones deep in my legit businesses. ”
“Carlo!” I growl.
His voice hardens. “Only a man who’s truly worthy gets to step into their lives. You have my word.”
And I lose it. The rage coursing through me snaps the leash on my reason, and for the first time in years of running with Carlo, I raise my voice at my capo. I shoot to my feet, slam the glass on the floor, and roar with everything I’ve got.
“They’re mine!”
The claim feels so right coming out of my mouth, I repeat it.
“Mine. Both of them are mine.”
There’s no trace of anger on Carlo’s face for me crossing that line, just the familiar glint of victory in his eyes. Brando’s got a weird, sly smile.
Carlo calmly pours another whiskey and commands, “Sit.”
I let out a sharp breath but do as he says.
He leans back in his chair. “I’ve been watching your daughter up close for almost a year.
I know her habits, her spirit. Every kid’s got their own personality, and your girl, Maxim?
She’s the kind who needs a father figure.
She needs a protector, someone she can lean on.
She needs that more than anything. Sure, she loves her mom, but she craves a dad even more. ”
His words douse the fire of my anger. I focus on him as he continues. “You’ve dealt with more women than any man I know. Tell me, aren’t the girls who end up in places like Heaven usually the ones without a strong father?”
He’s right. Most of my whores had deadbeat or abusive dads who treated them like trash, planting the idea they were worthless. The things that take root in childhood don’t let go easy.
Carlo keeps going. “The last few times I saw her, when she watched me with my boys, her eyes welled up. She’s starting to get what a father is. She’s a naturally quiet, cautious kid. At this age, she needs to know she’s got a solid protector so she can bloom and shake off her fears.”
My little Carrot’s jealous of Carlo’s boys? I saw her tears once and didn’t give a fuck, but something’s shifted this past week. Just thinking about it now twists my heart into knots.
Brando pulls out his phone with an annoyed groan. “For fuck’s sake, Carlo, enough with the lecture. Just show him the video so he gets the whole picture.”
Carlo shoots Brando a warning tone, but before Brando can pull the phone back, I snatch it from him. I hit play, and my soul damn near leaves my body.
There’s little Carrot in a purple dress, spinning around the goddamn stripper pole in my house, singing a childish tune. Seconds later, Ava rushes in, scoops her up, and carries her off as Brando’s laughter fills the background.
I grip the phone so hard my hand aches. Alarms blare in my head, and my vision goes red. Hell will freeze over before I let my daughter end up like that.
Carlo mutters a curse at carefree Brando, then turns to me. His voice stays calm and steady. “If they’re yours, go claim them.”
I hurl the phone onto the table and bolt for the door. As I go, I hear Brando crowing to Carlo, “And you said I don’t know him better than you.”