“He’s single,” I respond, knowing it isn’t what he wants to hear. “But he isn’t exactly trying to change that. He’s very focused on family lately.”
“This is my daughter, Dante,” Anton says suddenly. “My only girl. She’s had an excruciating past few years. I know you understand what that’s like. So I need you to be honest with me. We’re allies now. Our children love each other. They made children together. I need you to tell me—as family—if you think Matteo is capable of hurting my Anya. If you think for even a moment that his intentions are impure, I need you to tell me.”
A feeling of sympathy fills my gut as I digest his vulnerable words. I can understand where he’s coming from, even if I don’tenjoy being grilled about my son. Matteo is a good man. But I know, as a father of a girl who’s been hurt, what it’s like to do anything in your power to prevent that hurt from happening again.
“I don’t think you’ll ever be able to take my word for this, but he won’t hurt her, Anton. I’m not sure when he decided he was going to insert himself into her life, but you’re either going to have to forbid her from speaking to him, or let him earn your trust.”
Dmitri earned mine. Slowly, but naturally. Watching him with my daughter was the only thing I could do to thaw the coldness I’d built up toward him. Dmitri cares for her in the way that Jade deserves. And he cares for their children the way a father should.
He sighs. “Did you know that he planned to approach her?”
“I didn’t,” I answer honestly. “But I’m not surprised that he did. He has a way of making people feel welcome. He makes friends easily. He’s personable, has been since he was a baby. A bit like our grandchild, hmm?”
Momentary silence echoes again.
“Is he there?” Anton finally asks, sounding resigned.
“Matteo,” I call out, tucking the phone closer to my neck so my volume isn’t blared over the line. My son looks across the fire to me, finding me slightly in the distance, and gets up from his seat. Armani and Colton ignore us, not hearing their own names and knowing they’re not needed.
It takes only a few seconds for him to jog his way over to me, his messy hair flopping wildly as he comes to a halt in front of my chair.
“What’s up?”
“He’s here,” I say into the phone, nodding to Matteo as if Anton can see me. “You want to talk to him?”
An affirmative grunt.
Holding out my phone, I gesture for Matteo to take it.
His eyebrows draw down in confusion, but he accepts the call without question.
“Hello?”
He freezes, hearing whatever is said over the line.
Listening intently, Matteo eventually replies, “Yes, Sir.”
Then, “No, Sir.”
And finally, he rattles off ten familiar digits. Anton asked him for his phone number.
A proud smile spreads across my face, knowing that he’s decided to take a chance on my boy.
“Yes, I understand,” Matteo adds slowly. “Goodbye.”
After clicking the end call button, he releases a long, held breath.
“Good talk?” I ask innocently.
Chuckling, he hands back my phone and shakes his head. “Holy shit, he’s intense.”
“Did he threaten you?”
Matteo snorts. “Wouldn’t you have?”
Of course, I would.
“You let me know if he crosses a line,” I tell him. A command, not a request. I don’t care that Anton is being a protective father, and a proper Pakhan. If he goes too far, I’ll put him in his place. The Morozov Bratva may be a powerful force, but one on one, he doesn’t stand a chance against me.
