Page 40 of Sexting the Silverfox

I am a father first. And while my heart is bleeding, I can’t go back.

Chapter 17

Audrey

Iwas so ashamed when Anton told Jason the truth, but I was also relieved. The cat was finally out of the bag, and there was nowhere left to hide. Jason had the truth—most of it, anyway—and he made his decision.

I am Audrey Fedorova, the daughter of a powerful Russian mobster. There’s a price on my head, and no one around me will ever be safe unless I’m out of the picture. That’s a hard pill to swallow, even now. It’s what I didn’t want Jason to know: how nuclear I am. How nuclear I’ve always been, even though it was never my choice.

My brother is right. There are some things we can leave behind, some things we can say no to. But there are also things we cannot escape, no matter how far we run. Things we just have to learn to live with.

Given that a baby is growing in my womb who will likely never meet their father, I have to figure things out fast. I have to pull myself together and find a way to live with my last name and the dangers that come with it. The last thing I want is for my child to grow up in fear.

“You’re not going to tell Jason about the pregnancy, are you?” Anton concedes as he escorts me back to my hotel room. He’s been so patient, so kind, and comforting while I’ve been crying my heart out and miserable.

I shake my head slowly. “If I tell him, he will have to choose between this child and his daughter. I don’t know what that would do to him.”

“You’re so grown-up,” my brother states.

Anton looks both ways, content to see two big fellas in black suits walking toward us from the fire escape door on the east end of the hallway. “Ah, here they are. Yuri and Andrei will be looking out for you while you’re living here. You have my number on speed dial, as well.”

“Thank you, Anton.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know how any of this is going to work out, but I’m hoping to sit down soon with the eldest Abramovic to see if I can get him and his goons off your back somehow. Once all of this is cleared up, Papa will want you to come back home. You know that, right?”

“I do, but I won’t go back, Anton. I can’t.”

Anton gives me a dry smile. “I know. Worst-case scenario, you get the hell out of Dodge and let someone else handle the sale of your apartment. I’ll wire you some cash to keep you covered in the meantime.”

“You’ve already done enough,” I sigh deeply, unable to shake off the ache that has taken such a firm hold of my heart.

“We’re family, Audrey. Whether you like it or not.”

I roll my eyes at him, well aware of how it irritates him. “It’s not you I have a problem with, Anton. It’s Papa.”

“And Vitaly, just a little bit. Admit it,” he laughs.

“This is all because of Papa,” I groan harshly. “If only he’d given me some space to figure things out for myself, to be myself, my own person, and not some possession that he’s looking to sell to the highest bidder. We’re in the twenty-first century, Anton.”

He pauses and gives me a sad look, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry to see you suffer like this. You and Jason had something good going on. Something that wiped that worried crease from between your brows. For a long time, I thought that was just your face,” he says, and I jokingly slap him on the shoulder. “Seriously, I am sorry. For a moment, I actually thought you would be happy out here on your own.”

“For a moment, I actually was happy,” I tell him. “I was an idiot to think it might work out.”

“It could’ve,” Anton says. “Maybe another time, another place. Until then, however, let’s see if there’s anything I can do to help you stay in Chicago. Perhaps once the clouds clear, Jason will see things differently and give it another go.”

“Thank you, Anton.”

He pauses to shake Yuri and Andrei’s brick-sized hands. “Fellas, you know the drill. Nobody comes anywhere near this door. Not even the service staff unless Audrey tells you beforehand that she’s expecting someone.”

“Da, Boss. We’ve got her,” Yuri replies with a thick Russian accent.

He and Andrei seem pretty young, most likely Moscow imports. The Fedorovs continue to support Russian immigrants coming to New York, often giving them jobs within our circles to help them get on their feet.

Occasionally, my brothers pick out the biggest and the strongest among them, training them so they can serve as a private security detail. If I’m to leave my personal issues aside, I have to admit that my family has given out more jobs across New York than the mayor himself.

“I’ll be in touch,” Anton says, then plants a kiss on my temple and leaves.

“I’ll be going to bed early,” I tell Yuri and Andrei. “I’m not expecting any company.”

---