Page 29 of Claimed By Daddy

“But I’d face worse for you,” I add, kissing her again. “Hell, I’m already willing to fight the whole fucking Armenian mob for you. What’s your brother too if it means I get to keep this?”

Her smile slowly blooms across her face, staying in place a bit longer this time. She shifts closer, curling her fingers into the hem of my shirt.

“I don’t want to sneak around forever,” she murmurs.

I lean in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know. And we won’t.”

“But for now…”

“For now,” I echo, begrudgingly agreeing to keep my promise to her. “We keep it between us. And Nikolai, apparently. I’ll keep him in check.”

“Do you think he’ll actually keep his mouth shut?”

“I do.” While he is loyal to us both, I truly believe he’ll keep his word. “He doesn’t want to be caught in the middle. He’d rather Cillian just kill me,” I deadpan.

“That’s not funny.”

Eavan watches me for a long moment, eventually leaning into me again and resting her head on my shoulder, her fingers still gripping the edge of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.

It’s been a week since Cillian and Nikolai came back from Armenia. A week of tiptoeing, fleeting glances, and stolen touches when no one is looking. A long week of pretending. Enzo and I have mastered the art of stealing seconds. A quick whispered word when we pass in the hallway. Passionate kisses tucked behind a closing door. We live in a haze of nearly getting caught during the day, only to find ourselves hidden away with limbs tangled together under the moonlight.

It’s not enough. We both want more. But right now, it’s all that we’ve got.

Having learned that, like my brother, Nikolai can’t boil water without burning the building down, I have been cooking for usthe past few nights with Enzo’s help. A new ritual that’s really just an excuse to be left alone together. One that neither Cillian nor Nikolai objected to—well, Nikolai a little… in private to Enzo.It gets us thirty minutes of closeness, A time for us to laugh and brush against each other as we move through the kitchen without drawing any suspicion from my brother.

I carry my bowl of finely diced vegetables to the stove, where Enzo is currently browning ground beef, and place them on the counter. He stirs it slowly while I lean against the counter beside him. We stand too close for casual friends—but just far enough apart that we can deny anything if it comes to it.

His hand slips behind me, his palm teasingly brushing the small of my back as he reaches for the bowl of vegetables. I glance up at him with a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. He knowsexactlywhat he’s doing. “I swear to God, if you’re about to start singing Sinatra again, I’m stabbing you with this wooden spoon,” I murmur, keeping my tone light and playful.

Enzo chuckles, low and warm. “That’s not very romantic, princess.”

“Neither is your blood under my nails,” I quip.

“You might be right.” He dumps the vegetables into a pan sizzling with olive oil with a broad smile. Leaning closer and lowering his voice, he adds, “It might not be romantic, but I sure as fuck love it when those perfectly manicured hands of yours rake down my back.”

I playfully elbow him in the ribs with a smile and roll my eyes.

His eyes darken slightly, and he gravelly whispers, “You know how I feel about that, princ?—”

The rapid thud of boots hitting the hardwood floor echoes across the apartment, interrupting Enzo, as Cillian hastily makes his way down the staircase. My smile falters when he turns toward the two of us and prompts Nikolai to join us from the pool table. Enzo’s jaw ticks, and he turns off the stove, stepping back enough to widen the space between us.

Cillian storms across the apartment with his phone pressed to his ear, his expression hard and unreadable. I know that look. It’s one I have seen far too much of in the past couple of weeks. It’s the same one he wore when he informed me that he had killed our father. The same one I stared at when I learned of the reason why.Something is wrong.

“This is a call for all of us,” Cillian announces, his voice tight, almost choking on the words. He places the phone on the counter and hits the button to flip the call to the speaker. “Go ahead. We’re all here.”

A voice crackles through the phone—deep, gravel-thick, and unmistakably Armenian.Sargsyan. His voice alone sends chills down my spine. The room constricts around me, the air suddenly too thick to breathe—I know exactly why he’s calling—and my stomach twists in knots at the thought.

“It’s been a week,” Sargsyan says, smooth yet venomous. “Have you made arrangements to send me what I’m owed? Or do I need to come and pluck that pretty little redhead from your penthouse apartment?”

I swallow hard at the immediate realization that he knowsexactlywhere to find me. Without thinking, I reach beside me and grasp Enzo’s hand. Even with Cillian a few feet away, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he grips it firmly and laces our fingers together, squeezing it protectively, silently letting me know he’s not letting go.Not just of my hand, but of me.

Sargsyan continues, “It’s a long flight, plenty of time for my men to ensureallof those virgin holes of hers are ready to be put to use when they deliver her.”

My stomach flops, and I choke back the bile rising in my throat. “Fuck you,” I spit, the words spewing from my lips before I can stop them. The phone falls silent—the whole apartment actually. It’s so quiet that I can hear Enzo’s heated breathing beside me.

“Feisty, are we?” Sargsyan darkly laughs, his chuckles slow and measured. “Good to know. I have a few clients who will really enjoy that. They’ll want to know in advance, though, spitfire. Are you true Irish? Do you have a pretty fiery bush nestled between those thick thighs to match that beautiful hair of yours?”

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