Page 81 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Don’t let him in,” I say, approaching her again. “He knows how to play the game. Fighting with fire never solves anything. He’s trying to mellow you out.”

Saskia refuses to look me in the eye. “All I wanted was for him to care.”

“If he can manipulate the world, he can manipulate his daughter.” I tug on her neck, forcing her to look at me. “You wanted your father to pay. Guess what? He’s paying. Karma slapped him across the face tonight, so hard that he’s switching up his strategy.” I look down at her costume, the red corset, the blood smeared across her face. “What inspired you to dress up as a vampire?”

“I wanted to make a statement,” says Saskia. “Show the world I’m the least beautiful thing to exist.”

She tries her best, but Saskia will always be beautiful in my eyes, no matter what she wears.

And I know what she’s wearing underneath. Her father can play with her, try and get his daughter back by playing games, but Saskia is mine to own. I know what’s best for her. I know how to set her free.

I curl my hand under Saskia’s soft chin, forcing her to look at me once more. “Your father thinks he can control the narrative by threatening you. Little does he know what you’re wearing underneath those clothes.” I glance down at her crotch pointedly. “You’re no longer his little baby, or a pawn for him to use. You’re your own woman now, Honeysuckle, with real wants and desires. And you deserve the fucking world.” A tear streaks down her cheek, and I wipe it away, smearing the black makeup further. “He ruined your night. Don’t let him ruin your life. Because he will, sweetheart, if you let him.”

“Can we get out of here?” she says, raking a hand through her matted brown hair. “I need some air.”

I glance down the stone walkway, making sure the coast is clear. “Come with me.”

I grab her hand and pull her away from the alcove, taking the back entrance. I make a quick call to the private taxi service, arranging a car to pick us up.

The air is fresh when we eventually make it outside. People walk down the street wearing ridiculous Halloween outfits, trick-and-treating while drunk. Looks like heaps of fun.

I open the back door for Saskia when our lift arrives, clambering in after her. I slam the door, the driver shooting me a scolding look through the rearview mirror. I toss him one right back, soon putting him in his place.

Too fucking right. I’m Count Dracula. Halloween is the one night of the year I can show my true colors, and these people are lucky I chose to wear fake blood this year.

I attended an event a few years back with real blood smeared across my mouth. The mafia allegations were big at the time, and we wanted to play the reporters at their own game. One of the journalists asked me to lick the blood, prove everyone wrong. The conspiracies died down after that when I licked my lips clean.

I glance at Saskia, headlights passing on her face as we drive down the main avenue. Tonight was relatively successful. Vesper has been destabilized. Everyone knows something fishy is going on with him.

I never had the chance to make my own father pay, so this feels restorative, like I’m killing two birds with one stone and seeking revenge. You never see the truth when you’re wrapped up in the lies. I developed a clear consciousness after my father died. To a certain extent, you must be disciplined. Life happens to all of us, and you have to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Saskia blows out a heavy breath, shutting her eyes. Such a fierce soul, and yet so fragile.

I think about the launch, all the cameras, the reporters asking questions. I was congratulated by some pretty successful people. For someone who never wanted this, I have come far, exceeding my own expectations and my father’s. He wanted easy money, a steady life where he got to live on his own terms, and I came to want the same thing after his death—plant seeds and reap the rewards in years to come. Harvest the fruits of your own labor. Never rely on another person. You are responsible for your own success.

Events like these are necessary. It keeps business alive, my priorities in check, but I would have rather spent the night alone with my Honeysuckle, getting lost in her sweet pussy.

I focus on her side-profile, cheeks shimmering in the light. She was playing her own game tonight, and it makes me question horrible things, stuff I want to bury and not think about. Am I more invested in her success than my own?

I care for her more than I’ve ever cared about myself.

I do what I need to do to survive, and so does she. We’re both trying to stay afloat, and she uses my name to keep her head above the water. Thanks to me, she can make her father pay. And though I want that too, I wonder if she’s using me.

And I’m letting her.

The driver pulls up outside of my house. I stick the money in his hand and help Saskia inside. She walks like a zombie, staring vacantly into space, stiff as a doorpost, like her mind and body are in misalignment. Dissociation. I know the feeling. It never keeps you safe, but sometimes you have to go through the motions to come out stronger.

“I know it’s not real,” she mutters under her breath as we walk upstairs. “But every cell in my body wants it to be.”

“I know,” I say, my hand on the small of her back. “Shower, get some rest. I’ll make you coffee in the morning, and you can take the day off.”

“I should work.”

“I’ll still pay you the same.”

Saskia turns and looks at me, her features tightening, like she’s recognizing a pattern and trying to not get stuck in it. “My latest tutorial is doing well.”

“You post dancing videos?”