Page 136 of Single Mom's Daddies
I tilt my head at him. “You sound like someone who’s speaking from experience.”
“I am.” He sips his tea again. “Long time ago, back when I still had hair and a grocery store on the south end of Milwaukee.”
I blink. “You knew them then?”
He hums. “I was getting hit left and right—shoplifters, protection scams, you name it. I went to the usual suspects. Mob types. Italians. They didn’t give a damn.”
“What happened?”
“I went to the Bratva,” he says. “Alexei Orlov said he’d think about it. But the one who actually showed up? His wife, Olenna.”
My mouth falls open.
He nods like he’s reliving it. “She walked in wearing this ridiculous fur coat and a hat with feathers. Looked like she stepped out of a Bond movie. Asked for a list of names. Three days later, not a single thief ever came back.”
“And you just…trusted her?”
“She didn’t ask for money. Just said, ‘You’re under our care now. Keep your prices fair, discount for the poor, keep your shelves full, and keep quiet.’” He sighs, staring out in her direction. “She was glorious.”
I blink. “You sound like you had a little crush on her.”
He shrugs, grinning. “She was terrifying. Of course I did.”
A shadow detaches itself from one of the pillars.
Aunt Olenna steps into the firelight like she’s been waiting for her cue the whole time. Her expression is dry and amused, like she’s been eavesdropping—which of course she has.“Many men had a crush on me.”
Grandpa’s not even startled. He just lifts his cup in a toast. “Still do, maybe.”
She eyes him coolly, then holds out her arm. “Come. Let’s talk about old times.”
He winks at me, then takes her arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They walk off toward her cottage in companionable silence, his old work boots and her kitten heels keeping oddly perfect rhythm.
I stare after them. “Do I…want to know what that’s about?”
Roman appears beside me, grinning. “No.”
“Definitely not,” Nikolai adds from behind.
“I hope he survives the night,” I murmur.
Victor chuckles. “He will. Probably.”
I turn back toward the house, where laughter rings from the kitchen and the light spills onto the stone patio like gold.
Yuri’s inside now, shamelessly flirting with Lolita, who’s pretending she’s offended while clearly not. Max is refilling her drink and trying to tell a story about Bora Bora sunburns. Ivy and Mila are trying to draw fake lashes on Alex, who looks both horrified and intrigued.
And then I see them—my men. They look at me and smile, like I’m the center of their world. I know that look, because it’s the same one I give them. I walk back into the house slowly, like if I step too hard, the spell might break.
But it doesn’t.
The fire crackles in the kitchen. There’s the sound of mismatched laughter from two different conversations. Something’s playing quietly from the old record player in the corner—jazz, slow and dreamy. Ivy and Mila coach Alex, who has accepted his fate and now models his fake lashes like he’s on a runway.
Max gives him an enthusiastic ten out of ten. Lolita’s laughing so hard she’s doubled over, her drink forgotten in her hand. Yuri tries to say something slick. She smacks his arm. He looks thrilled.
And standing near the window, watching it all with that quiet intensity that makes my knees weak, is Roman. He doesn’t move when I walk up to him. He just smiles. One of those rare, soft ones he gives only to me.
Victor appears a second later, holding two mugs of something warm. “You’ve got that look.”
