Chapter 11

“Your coffee, Mr. Chekhov.”

The words are purred, but they sound like nails dragging down a chalkboard to me. I only glance up at Paris to take the mug from her hands. She seems to misinterpret that as an invitation to sidle around my desk, far closer to me than she ought to dare.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Chekhov?”

You can fuck off, spits the voice in my head.

“Remember what the word ‘professionalism’ means, and then show me you understand the definition.” I set the mug aside and snap my gaze back to the paperwork in front of me.

Paris’s cleavage bounces with the force of her giggle. “Should I use the dictionary, or your definition?”

I hate that she has a point. Several months ago, my own version of “professionalism” would have my face buried in that same cleavage and her short skirt hiked up over her ass.

Unfortunately, it seems I created a monster. A succubus hungry for what I can’t and won’t give her, now that my child is growing inside someone else’s womb.

Ice shoots through my veins for a millisecond. What would’ve happened if I got Paris pregnant?

I’m not a religious man. But right now, I am praying my thanks to any god that’s listening that the worst-case scenario never came to life.

“Whichever helps you keep your job,” I drawl.

Paris giggles again and saunters her way out of my office, her rounded hips swaying side to side with every step of those sky-high stilettos. The only reason why I notice is because I want to make sure she does, in fact, actually leave my presence.

Which means I also manage to catch my brother smirking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“What.”

Mak shrugs not-so-innocently. “I’m just thinking. Take a shit or get off the pot, man.”

“The fuck?”

“Fuck her or fire her. But pick one.”

I snarl every curse word in Russian I can think of under my breath, which only makes my little brother chuckle.

“You want her?” I snap at him. “Have at her. Get her out of my hair.”

“Fuck no.” Mak makes a face and settles back into his favorite chair. “I prefer my woman to have more substance between the ears.”

I could defend Paris. She is, after all, a fairly competent assistant. I wouldn’t have hired her otherwise. But she’s also an outlet who was convenient when I needed something—rather, someone—to burn off my horniness.

Now, I can hardly stand her.

I’m pretty sure it’s mostly my own fault.

The door opens again and I’m about to tell Paris off when I see my sister’s familiar smile poke in. “Got a quick question for ya.”

“Fine.”

Sofi slides through the door and closes it behind her. But before she can voice her question, my phone buzzes and I grab it from the desk. “Hold the thought,” I order as I answer.

“Thought you should know about a schedule change,” Viktor, the vor I assigned to tail Daphne, reports. “She’s been consistent every day, but made a sudden outing this morning. We’re following her now.”

“Not to work?” I tell myself to calm the fuck down before I start jumping to conclusions.

“She’s off today. We had Lev call in as a prospective client and they told him she’d be back tomorrow. When he pressed for info, they just said she had a personal emergency.”

My heart leaps into my throat. “Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

“She seems fine.” I can hear the shrug in his voice. “But I thought you should know.”

“Good. Keep on her and let me know what happens.”

“Will do, pak—wait. We’re turning off here.”

I hold my breath. Sofi and Mak look at me expectantly.

Viktor clears his throat and readjusts the phone. “We’re across the street from an outpatient clinic. Looks like an OB-GYN. She’s getting out of her car now.”

“Stay where you are. Call me when she leaves.”

“You got it, sir.”

I hang up and set my phone back down on the desk. My heart has returned—somewhat—to my chest, but it’s not beating any easier. Daphne’s at the doctor? Didn’t she promise she’d let me know about her appointments?

“Hey,” Sofi’s gentle voice wafts over from the small couch. “How you holding up?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why do you look like you’ve been gut-punched?”

She’s got me there. I feel gut-punched. Daphne made an appointment with the obstetrician and didn’t tell me.

I want to be there for her. I want to be there for our baby.

I don’t want to miss anything.

I glance up at my two younger siblings and sigh. Maybe they’re a little to blame for this, just not intentionally. With all the shit our parents had to deal with—Mama more than Otets—I was the one who poured the cereal, helped with homework, divvied up chores, basically raised them.

Family is everything. And if Makari and Sofiya are anything to show for it, I could actually raise a decent, happy kid.

If I’m allowed the chance.

“Dinner didn’t exactly go as planned,” I explain haltingly.

“What did you do?” Sofi deadpans.

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s assuming I did anything.”

She stares at me, unflinching.

I sigh. “Fine. I may have come on a little strong.”

“‘A little’?”

If she wasn’t my baby sister, I’d give her a warning glare for questioning me. As it stands, she’s one of the few people who dares to check me. “You might’ve been right. She’s a civilian, and I’m responsible for her safety. I told her as much, and she… didn’t take it well.”

“You told her what, precisely? In what kind of words?”

Again, I sigh. “That we’re a Bratva. And I’m the boss. And… that she’s part of my household⁠—”

“And that means she has to do what you say.”

The fact that both my siblings fill in the answer in unison does not inspire confidence.

Sofi rolls her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose, while Mak laughs and shakes his head. “Great job,” he remarks between chuckles. “Oversharing on the first date. Chicks love that shit.”

I’m allowed to hit him. He’s my brother.

Sofi stops me with a hand held up before I can even rock forward in my chair to launch a swing at Mak’s huge head. “What do we know about Daphne?”

“Not much,” I admit as I settle back down. “She works for an art dealer and she’s probably using an alias, because records don’t go back as far as they should.”

“Okaaay…” She sucks air through her teeth and nods. “So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

Both of them stare at me in disbelief.

“But you always have a plan.”

“Yeah, well, I also ‘always’ manage to not knock up total strangers.” I shuffle the papers on my desk just to have something to keep my hands busy. “This is new. All of this is fucking new. I sure as fuck wasn’t planning on becoming a father any time soon. Or ever. So no, I don’t have a plan—because nothing is going as planned.”

They exchange a look. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear these two were twins with the way they always sync their thoughts.

“You know what’s not new?” Sofi leans against the back of the couch. “You. You’re the pakhan. You told her that, right?”

I side-eye her, suspicious of where she’s going with this. “Yes.”

“So then act like the pakhan. You call the shots. You give the orders. You say the word, and it happens. You want Daphne closer? Make it happen.”

I glance at Mak, who shrugs. “Sofi’s right,” he agrees. “Besides, Daphne probably doesn’t know what it means to be the mother of your child. Yeah, you could tell her. But why not show her instead?”

They both have solid points. Against my better instincts, I set out at the dinner to deliver the news of Daphne’s new reality as gently as possible.

But she also needs to know I’m not a pushover.

And I’m definitely not someone who accepts empty promises.

Daphne is about to learn that lesson the hard way.