It was never-ending. This was the fate I had to look forward to as the boss. It was the fate I had been dealing with since I turned eighteen and my mother, father, and older brother Dmitri were killed.
Hell, it’ll be the fate you’ll have when I’m gone, too.I let out a heavy sigh, glancing at my son and wondering if that day wouldn’t be here for a long time coming. Staying healthy and fit was a passion of mine, especially as I entered my fifties just this year, but danger was ever-present, at every corner and behind each shadow.
With Anya coming here, she’d be exposed to it all, too. Just being my daughter and living with me would set her up as a target. It was one of many reasons her coming here would be more of a headache on top of all the other things I worried about.
“There she is,” I commented when the cars pulled into the private drive that would lead to the front of the building. Owning this entire block was a safety measure. It was also a godsend when we wanted privacy andsomedegree of distance. Andre, Sergei, and Roman all had their own buildings, residing in the penthouse level of each. I supposed Anya could have a buildingwhen she was older, but for now, she’d live in my building under the best security.
“I do have eyes,” Andre replied dryly.
“And I bet you’ve got the same enthusiasm about her being here that she’ll show us.”
He grunted and rolled his eyes like this was a bore. A tiring waste of his time. Perhaps it was. I wasn’t in the mood to force any relationship between them. It would be a fruitless effort. Campaigning to undo all that the Volkovs said about me and my son wasn’t going to happen.
“No.” Andre shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the car pull up closer around the drive. “I havezeroenthusiasm and absolutely no interest. I’m only out here to ‘welcome’ her because you asked me to be present.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Likewise, Father,” he quipped drolly. “But I really do hope you won’t be distracting and bothering to make her like you, or us. Or being here at all.”
“I don’t intend to be distracted by anything or anyone.”
Not even that nurse.Or was she a doctor?I couldn’t tell since I’d rushed to help her in a hurry at the hospital last night. Maybe Andre was after a valid point with me. I supposed I could have a bleeding heart, some smidgen of empathy and compassion to give a shit about others who were down. I seldom let women into my life, but I wasn’t raised to be a brute for the hell of it. That Giovanni had been inches from kicking that medical professional, and sometimes, bullshit like that was simply uncalled for, no matter the circumstances. My moral compasswas skewed, but I bet my son and nephews sometimes wondered if I could be too… soft.
A softie at heart. And I didn’t often let anyone get close enough to my heart to begin with.
The car stopped and the guard strode toward the back to open the door like Anya was royalty. In any other fashion, she was. Anya Orlov was a Mafia princess purely because she was my flesh and blood. Yet, I wasn’t rushing to pamper her or spoil her. If that was the treatment she was used to back in Moscow, well, she had another thing coming.
As the door opened, I stood straight and watched with a blank face.
First, one leg swung out, then the other. Showing a graceful nimbleness, Anya turned and exited the back seat until she stood tall and proud, pointed chin tipped up. Blue eyes, so cold and serious. Long, golden-blonde hair swept back over her shoulders. In a simple dress and plain heels, nothing over-the-top or too stylish, she looked… almost normal.
Like a teenager who never had to worry about money might.
Elite. Poised. Well-dressed and not slouching.
Then she glanced at me. And damn, what an icy glare that was.
“Anya,” I greeted simply with a single dip of my chin as an acknowledgment. “Welcome to New York.”
She slitted her eyes more and began to take measured steps up to us at the front door. With every placement of her heels, a sharpclacksnapped on the stone risers. She didn’t run. She didn’t amble. This was a steady march forward, like she wasn’t anestranged daughter coming here to live with her only surviving parent but like she was a warrior squaring up to go to war.
I prided myself on instilling a solid sense of confidence in Andre. But watching my daughter as we saw each other for the first time, I wondered if they were just born with it. If they were simply wired to be this confident and appear so powerful because they were my children.
Fuck, that’s so weird to say.
Children.
Not just him.
It’d always been Andre I looked forward to raising. Anya had been so distant.
As she strode up the steps, not letting her chilly glare fade for a second, she looked just like I’d imagined her. Sure, I had pictures of her over the years. I knew what features defined her as my daughter. But it was this bratty attitude, this coldness and instant hatred and loathing.
Just like I fucking expected.
She stopped in front of me and Andre. Sparing him an icy glance, she didn’t lower her chin once. Defiant without a break. I could admire that tenacity—but right now, it was a bother I didn’t have time for.
“This is your brother, Andre,” I introduced.
