Page 50 of Bratva Daddy
The answer came without thinking, the way important things do when you're small. "Little Alex."
A pause, then: "Is that okay?"
Something flickered across his face—surprise maybe, or something softer that made my chest feel warm despite all the tears.
"Perfect," he said, and pulled out the next thing: a blanket in the softest pink, like clouds at sunset, like the inside of a seashell. He wrapped it around my shoulders himself, careful and thorough, making sure I was all tucked in before sitting back.
The blanket was heavy but not too heavy, warm but not too warm, like being hugged by something that would never let go. Between the wolf and the blanket, I felt held even though he wasn't touching me, safe even though the world was still broken because of what I'd done.
Then—and this was maybe magic or maybe just Alexei knowing things—he pulled out a juice box. Apple juice, the kind with the little straw attached to the side, the kind father-daddy would never let me have because it was "full of sugar and beneath us."
"Juice?" I asked, voice small and hopeful, Little Alex pressed against my chest.
"For my little girl," he confirmed, puncturing the box with the straw and handing it over.
The juice was cold and sweet and perfect, everything juice should be when you're small and sad. I drank it careful-slow, not wanting it to end, while Alexei watched with that soft face that made me feel like maybe I wasn't ruining everything just by existing.
"Now," he said, voice still in that gentle tone, "can you tell Daddy why you're upset?"
The words came tumbling out, mixed up and sideways but he listened to all of them. "The TV said my money got frozen. The charity money. People needed it for houses and food and warm places when it gets cold and now it's stuck 'cause I'm gone."
I had to stop to breathe and suck more juice, but he waited, patient like he had all the time in the world for my small problems.
"Marcus sold his art for lots of money to help kids have somewhere to go after school so they don't have to be alone and scared. And David—he promised people, Daddy. Promised they'd have somewhere warm. But now the money's stuck and winter's coming and it's all my fault for being here."
Fresh tears came with the words, but quieter tears now, absorbed by Alexei Junior's fur. The wolf didn't mind being cried on. That's what stuffies were for, to catch tears and keep secrets and never judge.
"Listen to me, little one," he said, and his voice had that sound that meant pay attention but also you're safe. "This is not your fault. It’s Daddy’s. And Daddy's going to fix it."
I peeked at him over Alexei Junior's head. "You can fix the stuck money?"
"I can fix anything," he said, like fixing hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar problems was as easy as making coffee. "But right now, little girls don't worry about big girl problems. That's what Daddies are for."
The words made perfect sense. Big Clara had to worry about charity money and board members and signatures. But I wasn't big Clara right now. I was just small, and small girls had Daddies to fix things, to make the scary go away, to handle all the too-big problems.
"Really?" I asked, needing to be sure, needing to know the families would be warm and the kids would have somewhere safe and Marcus's art money would help people.
"Really," he said, still petting my hair in that rhythm that made my eyes heavy. "Daddy handles the big problems. Little girls just need to be good and let Daddy take care of everything."
"I can be good," I promised, squeezing Alexei Junior tighter. "I can be so good."
"I know you can, baby," he said, and kissed the top of my head like it was the most natural thing in the world. "My perfect little girl."
He didn't make me stand up or walk or do anything except exist in my blanket cocoon while he scooped me up like I weighed nothing.
Being carried felt different when you were small. Not embarrassing like big Clara would think, but right, like this was how small people were supposed to travel—safe in Daddy's arms where nothing bad could reach. Little Alex got squished between us, but he didn't mind. Stuffies understood about needing to be close.
The couch felt bigger when he set me down, like it had grown while I was on the floor. Or maybe I'd gotten smaller. Either way, I pulled my feet up under the blanket and made myself into a ball while Alexei moved around doing mysterious Daddy things.
He came back with more treasures from the magic box. A coloring book with all the Disney princesses on the cover, their faces happy and bright like they'd never worried about frozen charity money. And not the bad crayons that were all waxy and broke when you pressed too hard, but good ones in a box with so many colors I couldn't count them all.
"For my little girl to play with," he said, setting them on the coffee table that was now exactly the right height for coloring if I sat on the floor.
The pictures inside were beautiful—Rapunzel with her long hair, Belle in her yellow dress, Ariel with her fish tail. Big Clara would say she was too old for Disney princesses, but I wasn't big Clara, and these princesses looked like they needed color, needed someone to make them bright.
"Can I really?" I asked, fingers already itching for the purple crayon because Rapunzel should definitely have purple hair instead of boring yellow.
"They're yours, baby. Color however you want."
