Page 67 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

"He's not even three, Rashid. That's what they do with food at this age."

I watch him smash his palm flat into the oatmeal and then look at me with a grin so wide I can see every tooth he has, which isn't many. He babbles and slaps the tray again, launching a piece of banana onto the table near my coffee. Emory catches my expression and bites back a smile.

"You could talk to him," she says. "He's right there."

"And say what?"

"Anything. Say good morning. Tell him the banana is good. He doesn't care what the words are, he just wants to hear your voice." She wipes Lex's face with a cloth and he squirms away from her hand, making a grunt of protests as he waves his fist at her. He's got my fire; I like that.

"Good morning," I tell the boy, but I fear I'm a bit too stiff or formal. I'm not good at this. Lex stares at me for a second, then goes back to destroying his oatmeal.

"Softer," Emory says gently. "You're not giving orders. Just talk to him the way you'd talk to someone you like."

The only frame of reference I have for what she's saying is her. She's the person I like. So I suck in a breath and try again, saying, "Good morning, Aleksandr." The boy looks up at me again, and this time he reaches one oatmeal-covered hand in my direction, opening and closing his fingers. Emory watches the exchange quietly, though I can feel her measuring me against whatever standard she's been keeping in her head. I'm not sure I'll ever measure up. Having been raised in this world, I'm afraid I'm far too cold and rigid to be paternal. But I'm trying.

I'll never be the father this boy deserves, and I know that. I don't have patience for noise or messes and I don't understand why a child needs to be spoken to like he's fragile. But he's my bloodand my heir, and those two facts outweigh every reservation I have.

I push back from the table and stand, buttoning my coat. "I have business this morning. I'll be back this afternoon." Breakfast is nice, but I'm feeling uncomfortable, and I don't normally eat.

"Can I spend time with my father while you're gone?" Emory asks, wiping Lex's hands as she looks up at me. "He's been alone down there for days, Rashid."

I consider it for a moment, watching her face for the angle. There might not be one. She just wants to see her father and feed him a meal that isn't water and bread in a locked room.

"Krispin," I call toward the hallway, and he appears in the kitchen doorway. "Bring Rostov up for breakfast. He stays on this floor and you stay with all three of them until I get back. He doesn't leave your sight."

"Yes sir," Krispin says, heading for the basement door.

Emory mouths the words "thank you" across the table, and I nod at her before I leave. I'm not sure what that exchange will look like between her and her father, but I'd like to be a fly on the wall. I'm sure Krispin will report to me, but seeing it firsthand would give me a great deal of pleasure. I could tell immediately that she wasn't happy with him. I can only imagine the words they'll exchange.

I climb into my car, and the driver has me across town in under twenty minutes. When I walk into the warehouse, Devid has a few men gathered to discuss our plans. We've got a lot riding on this, and testing Gusev is essential to know how deep this runs and how bad of a situation we're up against.

"Tell me what we have," I say, stomping over toward him.

"We've got a shipment window opening in four days on the northern route," Devid says, tapping the gun on his hip. "It's the same corridor Gusev hit last time. So if we load a truck and send it through on schedule it'll look like business as usual."

"Except the truck will be empty?" I ask, glancing around. The goal of the decoy is to throw them off our trail, and hopefully confuse them enough they have to go back to the drawing board to make new plans for their attacks.

"Not empty. We put enough weight in it to make the stops feel right, but nothing of value. The real cargo stays here until we clear the route."

"And when Gusev's men pull it over?" I turn to Igor, who looks clueless. As much as these men are trained muscle, they don't make the plans or decisions.

Devid looks at Igor and then back at me. "We have armed teams staged at three points along the corridor. When Gusev's crew moves on the truck, our men close in from behind and box them in. They won't see it coming because they'll be focused on the driver, and by the time they realize the truck is bait they'll be surrounded."

"How many men?" I ask uncertainly. So Devid is becoming more aggressive... I can't fault him. It's his livelihood as much as it is mine, and I have been distracted for a few weeks.

"Fourteen total across all positions."

"Make it eighteen," I say, going with his idea. It's a good one. It may just put a real crimp in Gusev's plans. "Pull from the eastern detail if you have to." I look out over the warehouse, seeing myproduct being packaged up. "And nobody fires unless Gusev's men draw first. I want prisoners, not bodies. Dead men can't tell me who's giving orders."

"Understood," Devid says, rubbing his hand over his chin.

Igor grunts his acknowledgement, and I turn to stare out the dock bay, the door wide open. Gusev won't see this coming. And in the meantime we can get more intel from Mr. Rostov, hopefully enough to truly sink the Gusev organization once and for all. And with Emory getting closer to believing in me and trusting me, it will go smoother than ever.

I'm not down for the count anymore.

The Krasnov name is making a comeback.

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