Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Leah she didn't run—just launched herself at me like a cannonball, knocking me flat on the carpet.
"This won't work on me," I glared into Mira's hostile black eyes. "The more you try to get rid of me, the more I'm staying."
Mira pressed her lips tight and yanked again.
I winced, still threatening her through gritted teeth.
"Listen up. If you don't let go right now, I'm moving into your room tonight. I'll drive you insane!"
Best threat I had.
And it worked on a kid who hated me. Mira's eyes widened slightly, her grip loosened.
Score one for threats—though her horror at sharing a room with me stung a little.
Back home, my parents ignored me, but my siblings always loved me.
My bed was prime real estate for the little ones.
So yeah, I thought I was good with kids. Mira shattered that confidence.
Just as her grip loosened, I was about to seal the deal—threaten her with no strawberry cake—when the heavy door to the sitting room got kicked in from outside.
The crash made me jump. Mira jerked too.
In this mansion, only one person kicked doors open like that.
I turned. Of course. The man who'd passed his violent genes straight to Mira.
Roman Volkov.
His usually immaculate clothes looked rumpled today. Dark spots stained his cuffs. The faint, unmistakable scent of blood drifted in.
I swallowed instinctively. Told myself not to think about what the Pakhan had just been handling outside.
Roman's gaze swept the mess, landed on Mira's hands tangled in my hair.
His brow furrowed. His face darkened.
"Mira."
Not harsh. But instant results.
Mira dropped my hair like it shocked her, scrambled off my legs, and bolted out of the room, flying up the stairs.
Fast. Watching her vanish, I thought bitterly—train her right, she could win Olympic sprints.
"How long are you going to sit in that garbage?" Roman's voice cut in, impatient.
I flinched, scrambled up, brushing oatmeal off myself.
Roman never showed much emotion, but today? His mood was foul.
As an employee, a boss in a bad mood meant bad news.
Roman
What a goddamn mess. Just got back from the docks after putting down two traitors, head full of moles and betrayals. Now this domestic circus.
But when I looked at the woman in front of me—grinning apologetically, covered in trash—
The rage from the docks evaporated. Just absurd helplessness and something close to laughter left behind.
Days ago, she swore she could handle Mira.
And now? Beaten down by a five-year-old every other day.
"Come with me." I sighed.
"Where?" she muttered behind me.
"Clean up that garbage you're wearing."
The sitting room and master bedroom were steps apart. I led Leah down the hall, pushed open the door, and pointed her toward the bathroom.
Leah stood obediently at the sink, turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing at the oatmeal and glitter. She muttered curses the whole time.
"God, that little psycho, I swear she mixed super glue in this."
Leah grabbed a towel and scrubbed her face hard. Too hard—her cheeks turned red, but it barely helped.
"Enough. Stop. You're not getting it off anyway. Emily can deal with it later."
Leah sighed heavily, gave up, dropped the towel, ran fingers through her tangled curls, muttering.
"Mira's got insane strength. Now I totally believe she's your biological daughter."
I watched her disaster of a reflection. Suddenly lost patience for this circus.
"So that's it. This is over."
Leah turned, brow furrowed hard. "Over? What do you mean?"
I stared at her glitter-covered, wrecked face, expression flat.
"You don't need to deal with Mira. If she hates you this much, there's no point wasting time. I'll get another nanny. Sergei's already found someone suitable."
Mira's trauma ran deep. Wrong approach just made both of them miserable.
But Leah didn't look relieved. She slammed the towel on the counter.
Then turned, glared at me—angry, unguarded.
Surprising. First time since moving in she'd shown me this side. Thorns and all.
Before, probably because of that insane contract, she'd played the obedient contractor perfectly.
"Give up on Mira? Not a chance, Roman." Leah bit out, refusing me flat.
I narrowed my eyes. No one in this house talked to me like that.
"You're defying me?"
Leah lifted her chin. She looked terrible—wild hair, glitter stuck to her forehead.
But more spine than I'd ever seen.
"You think you can throw money at emotional problems and fix them?" she snapped.
"She hates you. I'm paying to keep my daughter away from someone she hates." I stated facts.
Couldn't see how separating two people who couldn't stand each other made her this angry.
"You're wrong!" Leah raised her voice and didn't back down. "Mira's improving. She used to ignore everyone. Now she fights back."
She stormed right up to me, tilted her face up, and kept going.
"She's reacting to the outside world, Roman. That's good!"
I studied the red-faced woman in front of me.
Interesting. Sold like trash by her ex to cover debts. Kicked around by her own parents since childhood.
A woman in a tragic situation, yet she still had this kind of foolish warmth and passion.
"I don't care how many buckets of oatmeal she dumps on me. I'm not giving up on her. This is my war with her. You don't get to interfere."
As she spoke, she boldly poked my chest with one finger.
I watched her quietly.
I'd seen plenty of underground world treachery. Seen scum betray blood for profit. Tonight I'd just dumped two traitors in the river.
In my world, I'd never met anyone like Leah.
I remembered that first night—the way she looked at me like I was a monster. Even now, her finger trembling against my chest, she was scared.
But she did it anyway. Stood up to me for a kid who tormented her daily.
"Three days. That's all you get." I finally gave in.
Hearing that, Leah's tight shoulders dropped. She exhaled hard, relieved.
But this reckless woman immediately pushed her luck, demanding more.
"Mira's healing needs you too. You're her father, Roman."
"I don't have time. And I don't like oatmeal." Instinctive refusal.
"You don't need to play house. You just need to... loosen up. You're too cold. Mira can sense it. You should smile more."
Smile? Smile at enemies waiting to put guns to my head? Most ridiculous thing I'd heard all day.
"You're always like this." Leah suddenly raised both hands.
She yanked her mouth down into a scowl, furrowed her brow hard, widened her eyes like saucers. Even straightened her spine, mimicking my usual posture.
"'I'm Roman Volkov. Who am I killing today?'" She deepened her voice, mocking my accent.
I watched her face contort ridiculously, pink glitter sparkling on her forehead.
A laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it.
Hearing me laugh, Leah dropped the act, her mouth curving into a bright, genuine smile.
"Feel better now?" she asked softly.
My chest jolted. Had she just been trying to cheer me up?
I looked at Leah, my gaze colliding with those clear eyes.
Damn.
I couldn't look away.
I stared at her lips—flushed from arguing, slightly parted. Her damp lashes from washing her face. That small patch of pale skin at her throat.
I almost wondered if she was deliberately seducing me. Right now, with that innocent posture.
I stepped closer.
She startled at the closing distance, instinctively backed up.
"What... what are you doing?" Leah swallowed, voice shaking, panic flashing in her eyes.
I moved in, loomed over her, enjoyed watching her spiral into panic. My gaze swept over her ears—burning red from nerves.
I leaned in, wanted to lick that hot, soft cartilage.
Leah squeezed her eyes shut, bracing.
But I just lifted my hand, hooked a wet strand of tangled hair by her cheek.
My fingertip brushed her skin unavoidably. She shuddered hard at the light touch.
I tucked the hair behind her ear.
"You know what this is called," I lowered my voice, lips almost touching her ear, "in my world?"
"What?" Leah whispered.
"A deliberate attempt to seduce me." I said it plainly.
"Bullshit!" She cursed reflexively, pushed at my chest, tried shoving me back. "I didn't—you're insane."
Her strength felt like kitten paws. But the warmth through my thin shirt? Lit every fuse in my body.
"I am insane."
I stared at her chattering lips. Those red, slightly parted lips.
I knew exactly how sweet, how devastating they tasted.
I wanted to kiss her.
So I did.
"Mmph—!"
Soft contact. Leah made a panicked sound, struggled violently.
I cupped the back of her head with one hand, wrapped my other arm around her waist, crushed her against me.
Same as that night. This mouth pulled me in.
I sucked hard on her lips, pried her teeth apart, pushed inside.
Leah fought in my arms. Pounded my shoulders, whimpered protests.
But that force felt like foreplay.
She started this fire—she'd damn well put it out.
I shoved my knee between her legs, stepped forward, pressed her tighter against me. Rubbed my hard length against her.
I wanted Leah to feel exactly what kind of trouble she'd caused.
Under the assault, Leah's struggles weakened. A tiny, breathy sound escaped her throat.
God, that noise nearly killed me.
She stopped pounding. Her hands slowly crept up to my shoulders.
And that clumsy tongue started responding.
My last thread of restraint snapped.
If I could stop now, I wasn't a man.
I tightened my grip, lifted Leah, and set her on the marble counter behind us.
"Roman..." She pulled back, breathless, eyes hazy, looking thoroughly debauched. "Wait... wait—"
"I don't wait. I take." I growled, cutting off her refusals.
My hand slid along her thigh, slipped under her skirt, gripped the thin lace edge.
No hesitation.
Fabric tore loudly in the bathroom.
Leah gasped sharply, fingers digging into my shoulder muscle.
This reckless, impulsive roughness wasn't like my usual control. But I couldn't wait one more second.
I wanted her.
Now. Immediately.
On this goddamn counter.
Just as my hand moved to go further—
A knock came from the hallway outside.
"Sir? Are you in there?"