“Just past noon.” He sets the bowl on the nightstand, then sits on the edge of the mattress. “Brought you something proper to eat. Porridge with maple syrup and a little cream. Daddy’s Orders. You need good food too, not just sugar and snacks.”
I wrinkle my nose playfully even as my stomach growls. “But the snacks are right there…”
“Porridge first.” He picks up the bowl and the spoon, scoops a small bite, and blows on it gently before holding it to my lips. “Open for Daddy, boy!”
I obey without argument. The oats are warm, creamy, perfectly sweetened. I hum in appreciation as I swallow.
“See?” he says. “That’s my brilliant and brave Little.”
He feeds me another spoonful, then another. We don’t speak much while I eat—just quiet sounds of spoon against ceramic, my occasional contented sigh, the distant hum of city traffic far below the apartment windows. When the bowl is half-empty he sets it aside and wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
“I spoke to Viktor this morning,” he says.
Ivan notices the lot of alarm in my eyes and takes my wrist gently.
“All is good,” he continues. “There will be no reprisals. Not for you. Not for me. The hit on Mikhail is already being spun as a multi-family coalition move. Armenians and Italians both claiming credit. Viktor’s letting the story stand. No one’s looking for us. No one’s coming.”
I exhale shakily. “Really?”
“Really.” Ivan brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “But he does want to meet us both. In person. Later this week. His club downtown. He says it’s to clear the air, make sure lines are drawn, and… to congratulate us, I think.”
My stomach twists. “Congratulate us?”
Ivan shrugs one shoulder. “His words. I don’t trust him completely. But I trust that he’s a man of honor in his own way. He gave his word. He’ll keep it.”
I chew my lip. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure enough to take you there,” Ivan says. “And I’ll be right beside you the whole time. No one touches you. Not while I’m breathing.”
I nod slowly. The knot in my chest loosens—just a little.
My Daddy leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “We’ll be okay.”
I tilt my face up, chasing his lips. The kiss is soft at first—gentle, reassuring—then deeper. I taste maple syrup on his tongue and smile against his mouth.
When we separate I rest my forehead against his.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too, baby,” I van replies, his square jaw looking extra defined by his stubble.
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes.
“You’re the best Daddy ever,” I tell him. “The absolutebest.”
He cups my cheek, thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip.
“And that’s only possible because you inspire me to be better,” Ivan says. “Your sass keeps me on my toes. Your intelligence keeps me honest. Your adorable little personality makes me want to protect you from everything and spoil you rotten at the same time.”
I giggle, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly bright.
Ivan grins—wicked, boyish, the way he does when he’s about to tease me.
“You know,” Ivan says, nodding toward the bowl, “I’d rather pour the rest of that syrup somewhere else and eat it that way.”
My cheeks flame instantly.
“Daddy!” I holler, my special places tingling and my eyes widening with delight.
