Page 38 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

The accusation stings. I haven't had a lady caller in years, almost a decade. I stopped being foolish when I was in my late twenties.

"No, Mother, it's a small child. And I might need your help with him." She accepts my help with the comforter as some of the creases in her forehead relax.

The look on her face isn't exactly acceptance anymore, more like confusion, but she's not backbiting anymore at least. "You hate children. Why would you bring one into your home?"

She's not wrong about that. I've been known to abhor small children and their messes and noise.

I'm no different than she is, just varied in the things I dislike.

But if that boy is mine, I won't spend my life in resentment or bitterness, not training him to take over my empire.

If I have an heir, he'll be raised as an heir.

"Will you consider helping me with the child? He will need a feminine touch." I won't tell her who he is yet, or what my suspicions are, but she'll demand to know soon enough.

She glares at me and tosses her hair across the pillow, then closes her eyes. "If I tell you yes, will you get out of my room?" My mother has never been a kind woman, but in her old age she's become impossible to deal with.

I sigh hard and leave her to her sulking, slipping into the hall as I hear my phone start to chirp and my mother utter a few curse words at the noise invasion.

When I bring my phone to my ear, I speak quietly to avoid perturbing her more.

"Go," I say sharply, walking up the hallway as briskly as I can. This has to be news on Emory and if it is, it's time for me to move.

"Yeah, boss, it's me. She's gone.Kid's inside and we can move when you're ready." It's Daniil, and he sounds ready to move.

"You're positive you know which unit? We can't stomp into a stranger's home and hold them up. The girl will know and we'll lose our shot." I'm already moving toward the door, grabbing my coat. My driver has been on standby for an hour waiting for me to give him the signal. When I walk out he rushes to the back door to open it for me.

"Yeah, we got it, boss. Three twelve is our target. Should we move?" he asks and I climb into the car.

"No. I'll be there in twenty minutes." I hang up as the door shuts and the driver rushes back to his seat, then we're off, racingacross town to the apartment building where I plan to take that boy and make sure he's my son.

The apartment building isn’t far, but every second feels like torture.

We pull up to the squat brick building and the driver keeps the car idling as I climb out.

Daniil and two of my men fall in behind me as we take the stairs. I'm not doing this out of rage or revenge; this is necessity.

If the boy is mine, he belongs under my roof.

Today.

The sitter is Irina Morozova, married to an American called Remington who works at the port.

My men tell me they're decent people who genuinely care about the boy, which means they're going to resist me when I walk in there. I'm counting on it being brief.

I'm sure Daniil would prefer to bust this lady's door down, but I prefer to be civil for a change.

I knock on door 312 and wait, but Daniil and Igor pull their weapons as insurance.

When I hear movement inside I tell Mikhail, "You wait here and watch." Then I turn to the others. "You two come with me, but don't do anything unless I tell you to." I'm not here to harm anyone. I just want my son.

A woman opens the door; she has flour on her apron and a warm smile that drops off her face the second she gets a look at me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here for the boy."

Her whole body tenses and she tries to push the door shut, but I put my hand against it and hold it open without much effort.

Behind her a man stands up from the couch who's easily six foot three with shoulders like a dock worker.