Page 84 of Enforcer Daddy
Dmitry—andBear—foundusanhour later, and the expression that crossed his face when he peered into our pillow fort made my heart squeeze with something too big for words. We must have looked ridiculous—two grown women sitting cross-legged in a blanket castle, coloring books spread between us, my hair in braids with purple ribbons, Clara wearing a tiara she'd found somewhere.
"Look who's made herself at home," Dmitry said, but his voice held only warmth, maybe even pride at seeing me relaxed after what I'd witnessed earlier.
"We built a castle," I informed him, still feeling floaty and young from our time in little space. "Bear can be the dragon guarding it."
"A very fierce dragon," he agreed, crouching down to our level. His hand found my face, thumb brushing over my cheek with gentleness that seemed impossible from the same hands that delivered violence. "You doing okay, little one?"
The pet name in front of Clara should have embarrassed me, but it didn't. She understood this dynamic, lived it herself with Alexei. There was no judgment here, only recognition.
"Better," I said honestly. "Clara helped."
The two exchanged a look I couldn't interpret—something that might have been gratitude from Dmitry, acknowledgment from Clara. These connections ran deeper than I'd realized, bonds forged in blood and maintained through care.
"Alexei needs to speak with you," Dmitry said, apology clear in his tone. "Business that can't wait."
The floating feeling evaporated, reality crashing back. Right. The Morozovs. The USB. The fact that I was now a target in a war I'd never meant to join.
Clara squeezed my hand as I stood, silk dress wrinkled beyond salvation from sitting on the floor. "Remember what I said. You're not alone in this."
The walk back to the meeting room felt like traveling between dimensions—soft pastels to industrial gray, fairy lights to fluorescent, safety to danger. The blood had been cleaned up, the plastic sheeting gone, but I could still smell copper underneath the disinfectant. Some stains never really left.
Alexei stood at his wall of windows, Ivan still at his monitors, both turning as we entered. The surveillance photos were already spread across Alexei's desk, and seeing them hit like cold water to the face.
There I was at The Strand, laughing with my head thrown back, completely unaware of being watched. Another showed me feeding Bear ice cream at Smorgasburg, Dmitry's arm around me, looking like any normal couple enjoying the day. The timestamp showed 2:47 PM—while I'd been happy and carefree, someone had been documenting my every move through a telephoto lens.
"They know who you are," Alexei said without preamble. "Where you live, your routines, your connection to Dmitry. The USB's return bought us time but not safety."
More photos. Me entering Dmitry's building. Walking Bear in the morning. Even one through the apartment window, blurry but clearly showing me curled on the couch reading. The violation of it made my skin crawl—all those moments I'd thought were private, witnessed and documented by hostile eyes.
"So what do I do?" I asked, proud that my voice stayed steady.
"You have three options," Alexei said, his tone suggesting he'd already decided which one I should take. "One: we relocate you with a new identity, somewhere far from New York. You'd have money, papers, a fresh start, but you'd have to cut all ties. Including with Dmitry."
My hand found Dmitry's before the words were fully out. Not an option. Not after everything.
"Two: you stay with Dmitry but accept our protection protocols. Limited movement, security details, essentially living in a luxury cage until we eliminate the threat."
"How long would that take?"
"Months. Maybe years. The Morozovs are careful, and all-out war would hurt both families."
A cage, even a golden one, would kill me slowly. I'd spent too many years trapped in foster homes, then trapped by poverty and homelessness. I couldn't trade one cage for another, even for safety.
"What's option three?"
"You become family. Officially. Protected absolutely but also bound to us permanently. You'd learn our operations, understand our business, become valuable enough that losing you would be seen as an act of war no one could ignore." Alexei turned from the window to face me fully. "But understand—once you're family, you can never fully leave this world. Even if you and Dmitry don't work out, you'd still be Volkov. Still be ours. Still be tied to this life."
The weight of that commitment should have terrified me. A week ago, it would have. But I thought about Clara's words—about choosing monsters who were ours, about finding family in the strangest places. I thought about the foster families who were supposed to care for me but didn't, the system that was supposed to protect me but failed, the normal world that had offered me nothing but survival.
Then I thought about Dmitry reading me fairy tales, building me forts, teaching me that I was worth protecting. About Bear sleeping trustingly between killers. About Clara offering me understanding and community in a purple-ribboned package. Even about Alexei and Ivan, who'd shown me violence but also the logic behind it, the structure that made their world comprehensible if not comfortable.
"I've been alone my whole life," I said, the words coming slow but sure. "Been hurt by people who were supposed to protect me, abandoned by systems that were supposed to help. At least here, the rules are clear. The violence has purpose. The protection is real."
I turned to look at Dmitry, finding his dark eyes already on me, intense with something that might have been hope.
"If staying safe means accepting violence, if being loved means being part of this, then okay." I looked back at Alexei, meeting those arctic eyes without flinching. "I choose this. I choose you. All of you, even the parts that terrify me."
Silence stretched through the room, heavy with the weight of commitment. Ivan had stopped typing, watching me with something that might have been respect. Alexei studied me like I was a contract he was reading for fine print, looking for weakness or deception and apparently finding neither.
