The fact that she thinks she’s out of my league is crazy. My attraction to her is sinful, downright dirty and cruel. I’m held prisoner by the sheer force of it. One kiss and I’d be addicted, and I can’t let that happen.
She has no idea what kind of life I lead, what it takes from you, what it makes you become. Whatever she thinks she’s done,whatever she’s survived, it’s nothing compared to what it means to be mine.
Still, my mind won’t stop showing me the same image: Lev with a mother. A woman in the house who wants him, who brings softness where I never could. Someone who sits beside him and makes the world quieter when I can’t. And it almost feels possible.
Almost.
If I ever bring another woman into Lev’s life, I have to be sure she won’t leave him. I still see the way he cried for his mother, his little fingers twisted in her shirt like holding on tight enough would make her stay.
Suka.Bitch.
She looked him right in the eyes and told him she was going to the store. Said she’d be back just to get him to let go. He didn’t know it was goodbye.
After she left, he sat by the door for hours, waiting. Repeating that small, broken sound over and over—ma-ma-ma—tapping his forehead against the wall until I stepped in and stopped him.
But she was gone. I knew it.
And eventually, he did too.
He regressed after that. He had been starting to form words—not many, but “ma” was the first, and then it vanished days later, like he was mourning her in the only way he could.
I still don’t know if he remembers that day. Part of me hopes he doesn’t. The thought of him carrying that kind of rejection makes my chest go tight with a rage I have nowhere to put.
He was wanted. Heiswanted. I want him more than anything. I always have. I just don’t know if that will ever be enough.
With a low grunt, I shove the memory of that woman out of my head. She doesn’t get space in our lives anymore. Not after what she did tomyson.
Hours later, I’m still awake, staring into the dark while my mind refuses to shut off.
Lev’s room is down the hall. I know he is safe with all the cameras and my men who know what it means to fail. But none of that matters at two a.m. Not when the only thing louder than the quiet is the fear it brings.
I check his monitor, watching him sleep—hair a mess, blanket tangled around his legs.
My chest loosens just a little, then it tightens again as my thoughts spiral.
If something happens to me, he won’t be alone, I remind myself.
Konstantin will step in without question, and my other brothers would burn the world before letting anyone lay a hand on him.
Lev will be protected. That should be enough.
But it isn’t. Because it’s not just about keeping him safe tomorrow. It’s about the years after that. The moments I’ll never see. When he’s grown and I’m not here. When there’s no one left who knows him the way I do. No one who understands what calms him, what sets him off, what he’s trying to say when he can’t find the words.
What happens then? Who stands beside him when life cracks open and he doesn’t know how to hold the pieces together? Who tells him he’s enough when I’m not here to say it? When my brothers aren’t either?
Lev has improved since the diagnosis, but I still don’t know where in life he will land. I’ve watched him fight for every inch in ways most people never do. With Lev, the smallest wins are thebiggest ones. A new word that appears out of nowhere. A routine that holds for a week. A new person he greets on his own.
But I don’t know what life will look like when he’s older. When expectations press harder. When the world stops being forgiving. When childhood slips away, leaving him with a body that’s grown and a mind that has its own rules.
The unknown is what haunts me.
He doesn’t have friends. He’s not even interested in other kids. Lev likes rules because rules make the world make sense. He isn’t interested in chasing other kids around and doing what comes easy to them. He’d rather read or sit with his uncles working on a puzzle.
I’m grateful he has them, grateful he has a circle who doesn’t judge him, who loves him exactly as he is. But it still kills me that he doesn’t have what comes easily to other kids his age. The casual belonging. The effortless “come play with us.” The way most kids can step into the world and the world steps back to make space.
For Lev, everything is different. When he was younger, delayed milestones didn’t scare me at first. Kids develop differently. Some are late walkers. Some talk after three. Some take their time. He was quiet, observant, locked into his own world, and I told myself he was simply behind, that he would catch up when he was ready.
Then he turned two and he still wasn’t walking or trying to talk. He liked toys that lit up and played music. Would stare at them or press them against his ears like it comforted him.
