Page 59 of Use Me, Daddy

“What the hell was all of that?”

“First,” I said, stepping closer, my fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “you need to know that you’re safe now.”

Her eyes flashed with frustration. “Safe from what, exactly?”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “The men you saw tonight work for a rival family,” I said, carefully choosing my words. “They’re trying to move in on my territory. What happened tonight was their way of sending a message.”

Her brows furrowed, confusion mingling with fear. “Territory? What… what do you mean?”

I stepped closer, my hands resting on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles. “The short version is this: I control a lot more than just art in this city. And right now, that means you’re a target too.”

Her eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Are you saying… you’re part of the… mafia?”

I didn’t confirm or deny it, just held her gaze with a steady, unflinching stare.

“What matters is that you’re under my protection now,” I said quietly. “And that means you do as I say.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, to push back, but I could see the fear and exhaustion in her eyes. The events of the night had taken their toll, and she was on the brink of breaking.

“Go take a shower,” I said, my tone softer now, almost coaxing. “I’ll have something warm waiting for you when you get out.”

She hesitated, then nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. As she turned to head toward the bathroom, I watched her go, a strange mix of protectiveness and desire twisting in my chest.

Tonight had been a close call, but it had only solidified one thing in my mind:

Amy was mine.

And no one, not even Mikhail Orlov, was going to take her away from me.

Not without a fight.

I kept my hands busy in the kitchen while she went to take a shower, chopping vegetables and simmering a rich broth on the stove. The scent of onions, garlic, and herbs filled the air, a familiar comfort that took the edge off the adrenaline still thrumming through my veins.

A short while later, the sound of soft footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to see her standing at the edge of the kitchen, her dark hair still damp and curling slightly around her shoulders. She was dressed in one of my shirts, the hem falling just past her thighs. The sight of her like that—vulnerable, yet defiant—did something to me.

“Smells good,” she said quietly, her voice a little shaky.

“It’s just a simple stew,” I replied, ladling the broth into two bowls. “It’ll warm you up though.”

She nodded, her eyes darting around the kitchen, clearly trying to avoid looking at me directly. I brought the bowls to the table, pulling out a chair for her.

“Sit, baby girl,” I said softly. “Eat.”

For a moment, I thought she might argue, but she sank into the chair, her fingers wrapping around the warm bowl. I watched as she took a cautious taste, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I… I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

I sat across from her, watching her eat, waiting for her to say something. Finally, she set the spoon down, her eyes meeting mine with a newfound determination.

“I need you to be honest with me, Aleksei.”

I nodded, setting my own spoon down. “I promised I would.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the bowl, her brow furrowed.

“You’re not just an art dealer, are you?” she asked.

I shook my head slowly, holding her gaze. “No, Amy. I’m not.”

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