Page 49 of Bratva Daddy
"Need . . . need . . ." The word came out broken, incomplete. I knew there were more words, bigger words, but they'd gone somewhere I couldn't reach. Everything I wanted to say got stuck behind this wall of small, behind tears that wouldn't stop, behind the part of me that had forgotten how to be a grown-up.
The news lady kept talking on the TV, her voice sharp and mean even though she probably wasn't trying to be. More words about money and signatures and investigations. Big girl problems that made my head hurt, made the room spin worse, made me want to hide under something soft until it all went away.
My thumb found my mouth without permission. The shame of it—twenty-three years old with her thumb in her mouth—tried to surface, but it got drowned under the wave of comfort the action brought. Familiar, safe, something I hadn't done since Mom died and Dad said I was too old for baby things, that Albright women didn't suck their thumbs.
But I wasn't an Albright woman right now. Wasn't anything except small and scared and sorry, so sorry for ruining everything.
"The money's stuck," I told the pillow, words muffled around my thumb. "The people need houses and food and warm places and it's stuck 'cause of me. 'Cause I'm bad. I got taken. I’m always breaking things."
My father's voice echoed in my memory—not cruel, just disappointed. "Clara ruins everything she touches." He'd said it to someone on the phone once, not knowing I was listening from the stairs. Or maybe knowing and not caring. The words had burrowed deep, became part of my bones, and now they were all I could hear.
The pillow wasn't enough. Needed something else, someone else, needed—
"Daddy," the word escaped in a whimper that would have mortified adult Clara. But adult Clara was gone, locked away somewhere I couldn't find her. "Daddy, I was bad. Made everything bad."
Where was he? Still in his office talking Russian to someone important, not knowing I was falling apart, breaking into pieces too small to put back together.
"The money's stuck and the people need help and I broke it," I whispered to the pillow, rocking slightly because the movement felt necessary, felt like something that might keep me from disappearing completely. "Broke it like everything. Like Mommy's vase when I was eight. Like Daddy's deal when I asked the wrong question at dinner. Like everything I touch."
My free hand found the carpet, fingers digging into the expensive fibers like they might anchor me to something real. But nothing felt real except the tears and the guilt and the knowledge that somewhere in New York, David was trying to explain to homeless families why their shelter wouldn't be ready for winter.
"Daddy," I tried again, louder this time, but it still came out small and broken. "Need Daddy. Please."
The office door opened—I heard it even through the fog of tears and snot and shame. Footsteps on the hardwood, quick and purposeful, then stopping sudden like he'd hit a wall.
"Clara?" Alexei's voice, sharp with concern.
I couldn't answer properly, couldn't find the words to explain that Clara was gone, had been replaced by something smaller and needier and so much more broken. All I could do was reach for him with one shaking hand while the other kept the pillow pressed tight to my chest.
"Baby girl, what happened?" His voice changed completely on those three words, went from pakhan to something else, something that recognized this wasn't his contract submissive having a bad day.
The tears came harder at the pet name, at the care in his voice, at the way he was already moving toward me with purpose. I was too stressed, too sad to tell him what was going on. Instead, I kept sucking my thumb.
"Daddy," I sobbed around my thumb, and even I could hear how young I sounded, how different from the woman who'd signed a contract three days ago. "Daddy, please."
Alexei dropped to his knees beside me, and his bigness made me feel even smaller, but in a good way, like I could hide behind him from all the scary things.
His eyes did that thing where they looked at everything all at once—my thumb in my mouth, the way I'd made myself tiny in the corner between couch and coffee table, how I was holding the pillow like it might run away. His face changed, got softer in a way I'd never seen before, like he was looking at something precious instead of pathetic.
"Little one," he said, and his voice was different too. Gentle like when he brought me coffee but more, like talking to something fragile. "How old are you right now?"
"Don't know," I mumbled around my thumb, the words coming out mushy. "Small. Smaller than big Clara."
Big Clara—that was her name, the one who wore nice dresses and ran charities and signed contracts. But I wasn't her right now. Was someone else, someone who didn't have a number age, just small.
He didn't laugh. Didn't look scared or confused or any of the things I thought he might. Just nodded like this made perfect sense, like finding grown women sucking their thumbs on his expensive carpet was normal.
"Stay right here, baby. Daddy's getting you something."
He stood up quick but careful, like he didn't want to startle me, and disappeared down the hallway. I could hear him moving things, opening drawers or maybe a closet, and then he was back carrying a box I'd never seen before. Not fancy like everything else in the penthouse, just a regular cardboard box with worn edges like it had been saved for something special.
"Look what Daddy got for his little girl," he said, sitting back down and pulling things out like magic.
First came a stuffed wolf, gray and soft with eyes that looked kind instead of scary. Not new—worn in places like it had been loved before—but clean and perfect and exactly right. My hands let go of the pillow without thinking, reaching for the wolf with grabby fingers that would have embarrassed big Clara.
The wolf's fur was softer than anything, softer than the cashmere sweaters Alexei bought me, softer than his expensive sheets. I buried my face in it immediately, and it smelled like lavender, like calm, like everything might be okay even though the TV was still saying terrible things about frozen money.
"What's his name?" Alexei asked, watching me clutch the wolf like I'd been reunited with something I'd lost long ago.
