Page 85 of Bratva Daddy
Alexei climbed into the truck with me still in his arms, settling on the floor between canvas laundry carts that smelled like bleach and provided perfect concealment. The engine was already running, vibrating through the metal floor as Ivan pulled away from the loading dock with careful precision.
"Mikhail can wait," Alexei said, adjusting his position so I was cradled more comfortably against his chest. "Status?"
"Forty million in cocaine seized at Pier 47." Mikhail's voice crackled through someone's phone speaker, triumphant. "Seventeen Kozlovs in federal custody, including Sergei himself. He was there personally to oversee the shipment."
"And Viktor?" Alexei's hand stroked my hair, gentle despite discussing my father's destruction.
"Arrested. Fleeing the hospital," This was Dmitry on the same call, his voice carrying that particular satisfaction he got fromwatching enemies fall. "Federal agents tackeld him when he tried to run. "
"Good," Alexei said, and I felt his chest rumble with dark amusement.
"The man was screaming about lawyers and conspiracies," Dmitry continued. "Something about his daughter being mentally incompetent to testify. The FBI seemed very interested in why he was so concerned about testimony when he hadn't been charged with anything yet."
"Self-incrimination," Ivan added from the driver's seat. "He panicked and gave them probable cause they didn't even need. Amateur."
The truck slowed, stopped. Through my haze, I heard doors opening, felt Alexei lifting me again. Cooler air hit my face—we were outside briefly—then warmth again. A house. Somewhere that smelled like leather and coffee and him.
"The penthouse?" I asked, confused.
"New place," Alexei murmured, carrying me through rooms I couldn't process. "No one knows about it except us. Made sure of it this time."
Us. The family. The bratva that had become my world.
He was laying me down on something soft—a bed with sheets that smelled like fabric softener instead of industrial antiseptic. My fingers found fur, familiar and beloved.
"Little Alex," I breathed, pulling the bear against my chest. "You brought him."
"Of course I did." Alexei's weight settled beside me on the bed, his hand stroking my hair with infinite gentleness. "I know what matters to you."
"ECT," I whispered, the horror of it breaking through my exhaustion. "They wanted to make me forget you. Tomorrow morning. Eight AM. They were going to—"
"Never." His arms tightened around me, and I felt the violence in that single word. "You're mine, Clara. No one takes you from me again."
"Didn't take the pills," I needed him to know this, how hard I'd fought. "Hid them. Stayed clear so I could remember. So when you came—"
"You’re so brave."
"Not brave. Just couldn't forget you. Couldn't let them burn you out of my brain."
"Sleep now," he commanded softly, and I felt his lips press against my forehead. "When you wake up, your father will be in federal custody, the Kozlovs will be finished, and we'll be free."
"Free," I repeated, the word tasting like a fairy tale.
"Free to disappear. Free to be whoever we want. Free to be together without looking over our shoulders."
"Sounds fake," I mumbled into Alexei Junior's fur.
"It's real," he promised. "Everything's real now."
I wanted to tell him about the three days—about Viktor's performances, about palming pills until my tongue went numb, about all of it. But my eyes wouldn't stay open, and the bed was so soft, and Alexei's hand in my hair was the best thing I'd felt in forever.
"Love you, Daddy," I managed, the words barely sound.
"Love you too, little one. Now sleep."
So I did, falling into darkness that wasn't scary anymore because Alexei was there to guard it, my stuffie clutched against my chest, finally safe in a world where the monsters were in prison and the man who'd stalked me for three years had turned out to be my salvation.
Chapter 18
