Page 18 of Big Bad Daddy

“No?” My mother furrows her brow in disbelief. “What do you mean no?”

“It’s a noun, Mother. It means I’m denying your request. I won’t stop seeing him,” I say with no inflection in my voice. “I’m in love.” My confession comes without thought or reflection. It comes from my heart. I love Boris Volkov, and I won’t let the people who tormented me all my life keep me from him.

My parents turn to one another, unable to comprehend how their scare tactics failed. I was always the pliable one. Sybil Sheridan used to be afraid of her own voice. Not anymore.

As my parents ponder their next steps, lost in a haze of rage and confusion, someone knocks on the door. It’s a light tap, and takes two more to get through to them, but they finally move to see who it is. My mother brushes the hair out of her face with her fingers and smooths out her suit as she strides toward the door.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan…” The voice coming through sounds like one of the men who grabbed me off the street. It was one of the stalkers from the coffee house, probably someone who works at their firm.

My mother peeks through a crack in the door. “What, Jason? I told you we’re busy.”

“Mrs. Sheridan, there are five black SUVs parked outside and over twenty men openly carrying weapons. We don’t have the kind of manpower to handle this.”

I can’t see him from where I’m standing, but I don’t need to see him to hear the fear in his voice.

“Call the police. They know who we are,” my mother shouts prematurely.

“Ma’am, will all due respect, those men wouldn’t be out there if they feared the police. These kinds of people have whole units under their payroll. The police will want to talk to your daughter and what story will she tell them? I’m not going to jail over this.” Her lackey wises up and gives her a dose of reality.

My father turns to me and commands me to cooperate. “She’ll do as she’s told or she’ll be disowned and disinherited.”

A flood of memories returns, like a slideshow of my most miserable days. They’ve used that threat all my life and it’s always worked. They raised me to believe I was unlovable, so I always assumed they were right. But they weren’t.

Daddy loves me. He’s here to save me. I’m not alone anymore.

I scoff, push my mother out of my way, and head to the door. “I’m done here. Now, let me out before I press charges.”

Chapter Sixteen

Four Weeks Later

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Vasily stands behind me and stares at me in the full-length mirror. “You’re old enough to be her father.” My son sounds like a broken record. He’s been singing the same tune since he reappeared two weeks ago, madly in love and newly engaged to Sybil’s friend, Scarlett. They marry next month, and I suspect he resents being overshadowed by his father’s last-minute nuptials. Plus, the little shit loves to antagonize me.

“I feel many emotions today,” I reply, fastening my tie. “Shame is not one of them.”

Vasily smirks and hands me the glass of vodka I asked him to hold. I take a sip and place it beside Sybil’s ring on my bureau. It’s a simple band to accompany the ten-carat diamond ring I bought her two weeks ago. After my divorce from Vasily’s mother twenty years ago, I swore I’d never marry again. That was before I met Sybil Sheridan. It was before I ate my words and met the woman I was always meant to marry.

When you know, you know. A mere four weeks after I first laid eyes on my baby girl, I’m pledging my life and love to her. Nothing could make me happier.

“Are you ready?” Vasily asks, handing me my cufflinks. He’s my best man, and Scarlett is Sybil’s maid of honor. Their wedding will be much grander than ours, with a ceremony at the Russian Orthodox Church in Upper Manhattan and a reception at the Ritz Carlton. Now that Senator Rossi’s campaign has ended in defeat, they’re finished hiding their relationship and want to start this chapter of their lives with a huge celebration.

Sybil and I wanted something different.

If my baby girl wanted a big wedding, I would have thrown her a wedding that makes Vasily’s look like a garden party. But she didn’t. Sybil wanted something small and intimate, followed by an elegant dinner. We’ll be surrounded by the people we love most, break bread, drink wine, and then leave for a honeymoon on our own private island. It’s a surprise. I didn’t expect to close on the property for another month, but an extra million motivated the seller to vacate the premises ahead of schedule. A private helicopter is waiting on standby to take us directly after dinner.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I say, smiling from ear to ear as I think of watching Sybil walk down the aisle toward me. The only day that might eclipse this one is the day my beautiful girl makes me a father again.

“Take a look at this before I take it to her room,” Gaspar interrupts us, holding the wedding gift I bought my Sybil. It’s a diamond necklace I specially designed for her to wear today. Thank goodness it arrived on time.

I take the blue velvet box from Gaspar and snap it open. It’s a twenty-carat graduated cushion-cut necklace that matches her engagement ring. She’s not expecting anything this extravagant and will probably scold me for spending so much money, butmy baby girl deserves to be spoiled by her daddy. Pampering Sybil has quickly become my favorite pastime. She’s always so grateful.

“Why don’t you hand it to Scarlett and let her deliver it. I don’t want you to see the bride if I have to wait until the ceremony,” I say as I snap the box closed and place it in his hand.

He gives me a knowing smile and exits the room. I’m due downstairs in five minutes, and there’s no time to lose.

“Shall we?” Vasily points to the open door leading into the hall, then walks ahead.

Halfway down the steps, my daughter Vivienne and her husband Andre appear. She recently returned from New Orleans and surprised me by announcing she’d married my old friend and one-time hitman Andre Balakov—the man I hired to find her. It was a bit of a shock, but I would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I objected to their twenty-year age difference. I know better than anyone that age doesn’t matter. Two consenting adults can make those decisions on their own.

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