Page 29 of Inked in Devotion

“I’m trying to do what’s best for Sebastian without signing my life away to the goddamn bratva because, admit it, once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”

Kolya tsked at me softly. “I thought we’re watching our language around Sebastian.” He held a stuffed octopus toward our baby. I watched them interact for a while. Father and son. A requirement for the arranged marriage was that my husband had no say in the raising of my son. The marriage would be in name only.

Margo mentioned she had several candidates lined up:

The workaholic who had no time to be a husband and father, but would need a wife for social events and the appearance of stability.

The CEO with an alternative lifestyle that, if known, would ruin the reputation of his company. I thought about Bruce Davenport and Anya’s marriage. Bruce was bisexual, and when he couldn’t gain an heir through Anya, he started using male escorts again and fell in love with one. That was his downfall. So I guess for me that was an option. No expectation of heirs, though, but that can be negotiated.

Interestingly enough, Margo didn’t have any candidates who were only after a strong infusion of cash. She said one rule of Marriage Ink was not to dilute the client pool with losers whose only claim was generational wealth left by their parents.

There would be stringent prenups on both sides.

“I’m not about to let another man raise my son,” Kolya said.

“Then give me an alternative that doesn’t include marriage and joining the bratva...”

Kolya’s eyes flitted briefly to me, then back to Sebastian. “I’m working on it.”

Okay. That was fair. After all, I just sprung this son thing on a confirmed bachelor who probably avoided these kinds of entanglements because of the world he lived in. I’d read up a bit on this. The leaders of the bratva clearly wanted to secure the next generation and have heirs.

Enforcers. They would go to whatever ends necessary to protect the bratva. These types of soldiers rarely had families. They would even voluntarily have a vasectomy.

Sebastian emitted distressed sounds and was staring at the baby bag. Kolya looked at me questioningly.

“He’s slept and eaten, and pooped.” I pushed up and sniffed his butt. “He’s okay. Do you want to feed him? He threw away most of his food earlier, so he might be hungry.”

“He’s feeding himself?”

“Yep, I’m trying to help him eat more solids, but his pediatrician told me not to worry too much about that until he turns one.”

I dug into my bag and brought out the banana blueberry pudding I’d softened up with milk. It was room temperature, which Sebastian seemed to like. I handed the plastic cup and spoon to Kolya.

“I have an idea,” he said.

I was amazed at how easy it was for him to rise from a crouch, lifting Sebastian in one arm while still holding the feeding container in the other hand. I’d probably lose balance and tip over. He walked over to a miniature couch like the ones you saw in an eight-year-old’s room.

“Sit, and I’ll hand him to you while I feed him.”

My eyes met Marena’s across the room. She continued taking notes, but she was smiling approvingly. Meanwhile, my heart pounded with exhilaration while my stomach rioted with butterfly wings. I sat and swallowed hard as Kolya handed Sebastian to me.

Then he went down on a knee and fed our son.

It took all my willpower to stop the tears from falling. This yearning. Was this what Mom felt when Ivan took over being surrogate dad? But Ivan wasn’t my father the way Kolya was Sebastian’s dad.

Fate must be laughing at me when my life was veering close to the same path my mother took. Funny thing was, I barely remembered Ivan visually, but he left a void where he was supposed to be. He left when I was four. I couldn’t see his face in my memories, but I remembered his features from photographs that were no longer in my possession. Mom burned them. Sometimes I questioned if that child waiting behind the door, waiting for Ivan to come home, was an actual memory or manufactured by my subconscious as a way to cope. That once upon a time, I had a father figure who cared.

But one thing was for certain, I would never let my son feel disposable.

Chapter

Seven

Kolya

These once-a-week, two-hour custody visits sucked. For the past six weeks, that was the only time I saw my son, and I even missed out on one because of bratva business. Chloe was rarely present. Dora and a nanny, together with two De Lucci soldiers, supervised my interactions with Sebastian. It grated me from the get-go.

Pictures and videos on my phone had never been enough to tide me over until the next visit. I had resorted to stalking mother and son to catch a glimpse of them. Because it wasn’t simply about Sebastian. It was the anticipation of seeing his mother, too. Every time she was absent, the visit didn’t feel complete.