More than apakhanprince for a father.

More than a mother who doesn’t know how to shield her from this world.

19

IGOR

New York Lennox Health Center is familiar territory.

I’ve been here more times than I can count—patching up bullet wounds, stitching up knife gashes, or visiting someone after a job gone south. This hospital isn’t just a place for treatment; it’s an extension of the Bratva, with plenty of staff on the payroll to ensure privacy when it’s needed the most. Gunshot wounds thatnever happened,medical records that magically disappear, doctors who don’t ask questions as long as their envelopes stay fat.

It’s efficient. It’s clean. It works.

But today, as we step inside, it feels different. This isn’t about business. It’s not about the Bratva.

This is aboutSofiya.

I glance down at her as we approach the otolaryngology department. She clutches Katya’s hand, her expression calm, as always, but I can see the tiny flicker of nerves in the way her fingers tighten against her mother’s.

I’m not used to feeling this way. Off balance. Vulnerable. Powerless.

But I’ll be damned if I let anyone see it.

Dr. Tolliver is waiting for us outside her office, her crisp white coat as spotless as her reputation. “Good morning, Mr. Sokolov,” she says warmly, extending her hand to me.

“Dr. Tolliver,” I reply, shaking her hand firmly. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Anytime,” she says with a practiced smile before turning to Katya. “You must be Miss Volkov.”

Katya steps forward, shaking the doctor’s hand. “Yes, and this is my daughter.”

Herdaughter.

I bite down the urge to correct her, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Sofiya isourdaughter, but Katya seems determined to act like I’m nothing more than a bystander. If she thinks she can cut me out of Sofiya’s life, she’s delusional.

“Ah, Sofiya,”Dr. Tolliver says, switching smoothly to sign language.“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Sofiya takes half a step back, hiding behind Katya’s legs.

Dr. Tolliver chuckles softly, waving her hand in a way that feels friendly, not patronizing.“A shy girl, eh?”she signs as she speaks, her movements deliberate and gentle.

For a moment, Sofiya doesn’t move. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she edges forward, still gripping Katya’s hand like a lifeline.

I can’t explain the sudden tightness in my chest. Watching her like this—hesitant, unsure—stirs something in me. Without thinking, I reach out and take her free hand.

She freezes at first, her small fingers stiff against mine. For a second, I think she’s going to pull away. But then her dark blue eyes flick up to meet mine, and the tension eases.

Her hand stays in mine.

And I don’t let go.

“Now why don’t we all step inside so we can get started,” Dr. Tolliver says, motioning toward her office.

I follow, holding Sofiya’s hand tightly in mine until she moves toward a corner of the room, where a small collection of toys is neatly arranged.

“How about you play for a bit while I talk to your parents?”Dr. Tolliver signs to her.

Sofiya glances at Katya for approval, and when she nods, Sofiya slowly lowers herself to the carpet, running her fingers across the toys like she’s deciding whether they’re safe.