“Dad, there is some guy downstairs who wants to see you.” And then she stopped as Jake’s eyes landed on her, and they studied one another.
“Lily?” he finally whispered, and she furrowed her brows.
“Jake. You’re back. Good to see you.”
Jake cleared his throat. “Nice to see you again.” And Dom, next to me, tensed.
She nodded, put a strand of hair behind her ear as she blinked rapidly, and then said, “So, Dad, see that guy, yeah?” And with that, she was gone again like lightning.
“Off-limits, Abdulabekov,” Dominic snarled, and it startled me, as I didn't expect such a reaction because of one small exchange—although I did feel an unfamiliar surge of energy around them.
“Until when?” Jake asked straight, not budging under Dom’s fury. His hands fisted as he awaited the answer, and to diffuse the situation, I placed my hand right in the middle of my husband’s chest, patting it gently and hoping he’d calm down.
“Until she is legal to drink.” Jake opened his mouth to say something, but Dom cut him off, “Legal, as in the States legal. Four years, Abdulabekov.” Calling the boy by his surname was rude as hell, but it indicated how unsettled Dom actually was.
“Fine.” With that, he left, chasing after my girl while I tried to understand what just happened.
“Fuck me,” Dom muttered, while I leaned my head against his chest, and we hugged close.
I had a feeling life at the Bratva headquarters would get very interesting in a few years. “Would he?” I suddenly asked, and Dom exhaled heavily.
“Yes, he would love her as much as I love you.”
And somehow, it settled my heart.
Dominic
Walking inside the hallway of my house, I threw the keys on the counter, removed my jacket to hang by the door, and inhaled the smell. It always amazed me that so many years after Rosa got her dream house, the sense of empowering peace it gave me never went away.
I turned off the lights downstairs, as the big wooden clock showed twelve and everyone would have been sound asleep. I usually came home before dinner to have time with my family, but Radmir came back, and we had some important matters to discuss.
“Give me that, you freaking loser,” Monica shouted, while Sorcha screamed.
“You psycho! Let go of my hair.” What the ever-loving fuck? Bursting inside my twin daughters’ room, I stopped, shocked as Monica held Sorcha’s head in a tight grip in the crook of her elbow and tugged on her hair while Sorcha tried to escape, but it didn't do much good, because Sorcha kept on holding some stupid notebook in her hand, out of Monica’s reach. My young ladies behaving like some of the Bratva’s new recruits? It ended now!
“Girls,” I barked, and they froze.
In an instant, they let go of each other and hugged tight, plastering on fake, wide smiles in the process. “Hey, Papa. You came to tell us goodnight?” They batted their lashes at me, probably hoping it’d take my attention away from their argument.
“What’s going on here?” Cutting straight to the chase seemed like the best solution with these two.
Identical green eyes, which they inherited from my mother, looked at me with all the innocence they could muster, and replied cheerily at the same time, “Nothing at all, Daddy. We were just getting ready to go to bed.”
When would they learn that hiding stuff from me was pointless? They were dealing with the master.
“Girls.” Just that one word, spoken in my no-bullshit tone, made them frown, huff, and finally start to speak at once, and I instantly regretted wanting to know the truth.
“She stole my diary!”
“It was lying around, so what was I supposed to do?”
“She won’t give it back to me!”
“Not until she lets me use her makeup box!”
“Dad!”
“Dad!” Finishing on a high note, they folded their arms, stuck their tongues out at each other, and turned away, each one of them gazing in the other direction.
