Page 92 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

No. I fought to find a way to say it that didn’t come off as a challenge.

Luka wiggled in Peyton’s arms, turning and twisting. “Down, Mama. I want down.”

Watching us the entire time, she bent and set Luka on his feet.

The boy giggled and threw his body forward. Straight for Misha.

Misha hit his knees so fast, the whole house shook.

Luka laughed and patted Misha’s face, squealing when the beard tickled his palms. “Tickle, tickle.” He laughed and clapped, then patted Misha’s face again. “Who are you? Your face is soft. I like it, beard man.” He grabbed two fistfuls of Misha’s beard and tugged experimentally.

Misha did not move or flinch. He stayed right there on his knees in front of everyone and let the boy pull at him and make his discoveries.

I sat in awe of the sight of the man who had broken three of Anton’s men with his bare hands remaining completely still for this child. Our child.

Peyton’s brother–the one standing closest to us–made a low sound in his throat, clearing it.

Misha ducked his head, but not before I caught the bright tears flooding his eyes.

The entire room held its breath. No doubt, they expected us to grab the kid and run.

We would never.

I took a breath and stopped my train of thought.

Peyton’s parents stood side by side, their arms around each other.

I swung my gaze around to Peyton, who had lifted one hand to cover her mouth.

Tears ran down her face, her expression torn with indecision.

I wanted to believe that she was realizing her decision to run had cost her more than she’d been willing to admit.

My anger evaporated. I could not be mad at her for protecting herself and our child. She’d done what we could not. Until now.

I almost raised my arms to offer her comfort but dropped them to my sides before the motion became obvious.

How did I hold her, comfort her, when we were the cause of her pain?

The distance between us had nothing to do with physical space. I’d spent so long being angry that hurt came out the same way. Standing in her parents' living room, I didn’t know who we were anymore.

A throat cleared again, and her brothers stared at us with heads tilted to the side. I knew where Peyton got the look now.

“We can protect you, Peyton.” Saying her name out loud sent spikes of pain through me, and I had to look at her again to remind myself that she was right there, right in front of us and not dead. “We can protect both of you. We will not let anything happen to you again.”

Her father shifted his weight. It was a small movement, barely perceptible, but obvious enough to me after years of reading emotions and intentions. He was not convinced. I had no doubt he’d believed the worst of us after how Peyton left.

I didn’t expect him to trust us, but I had to try. “I understand our word means nothing to you right now. I’m not asking you to trust us today. I’m asking for the chance to earn it.” I managed to stop long enough to breathe before I went all in.

It might be too much, too soon, but I had to get it out before we all recovered from the sight of Misha breaking down as he spoke to the tiny boy running his hands over Misha’s face. “We should have been honest with you before. We should have told you everything from the beginning so you could face our world and the risks with your eyes wide open. If you give us a second chance, we will not make that mistake again.”

35

PEYTON

I’d heard Viktor talk to men in boardrooms and I’d seen Leo charm the socks off stockbrokers. I’d never seen either of them in this state. I’d never heard either of them talk like this.

Viktor’s words hit me in all the right places, offering me comfort and options that had been denied the first time.