Page 56 of Ruthless Daddies

She doesn’t laugh. “You don’t exactly hide it, Nikolai,” she says. “The security, the secrecy, the way people look at you and your brothers…it’s not hard to figure out.”

I glance at her, weighing my words carefully. “And you’re not running for the hills?”

She shrugs, her expression steady. “I’ve thought about it. But then I think about Luka and Mila. And…” She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. “And the rest of you.”

My chest tightens at her words, and I don’t know if it’s pride or fear that surges through me. Maybe both.

“We’re not good people, Alice,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “What we do…it’s not something you want to get caught up in.”

She tilts her head, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t scare easily, Nikolai.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “You should. You really should.”

But as I watch her, sitting there so calm, so steady, I can’t bring myself to push her away. She’s in too far already, and a selfish part of me doesn’t want her to leave.

“We’ve been Morozovs for generations,” I say after a moment, my voice steady but guarded. “And being a Morozov means…certain responsibilities. Certain dangers.”

“Mafia,” she says simply, and it’s not a question.

I nod, my jaw tightening. “Yeah.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable. But when she speaks, her voice is steady. “I’ve already figured that much out. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Her honesty, her bravery—it stirs something deep inside me, something I can’t name but can’t ignore. I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering longer than they should.

“You’re too good for this world,” I say quietly. “Too good for me.”

She shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe you’re wrong,” she says softly. “Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

I watch her step out of the car, her hand lingering on the doorframe as she glances back at me.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says, her voice soft.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I ask, even though I know she’ll refuse.

She shakes her head. “I won’t be long. I just…need a moment.”

I nod, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as she closes the door and walks toward the café. Her figure disappears through the door, and I exhale, leaning back against the headrest.

Let her go,I tell myself. She’s here for a reason, and I should trust her to handle it. But something doesn’t sit right.

The streets are busy, cars honking and people bustling past on the sidewalk. Normally, I’d leave, respecting her need for space. But this time, I can’t. The idea of her being alone, unprotected, gnaws at me.

I pull out of the spot, scanning the streets for a place to park. The city isn’t forgiving when it comes to parking, especially in this part of town, but I drive a little farther and find a tight space on the corner.

Stepping out of the car, I glance back toward the café. It’s small, quaint, and packed with customers.

The café’s warm light illuminates Alice’s silhouette through the window. She’s alone, sitting at a small table near the back. Her hands wrap around a steaming cup, and her head tilts slightly as she stares down at it, lost in thought. She doesn’t look uneasy or afraid—just…quiet.

The minutes drag on, and my gaze never leaves her. People come and go, the door swinging open and shut, but she remains where she is. I lean back against the wall of the florist shop next to the café, keeping an eye on the entrance, my fingers twitching in my pockets.

And then I look again, and she’s gone.

Panic surges through me like a shot of adrenaline. My eyes dart around the café, searching for her familiar figure, but she’s nowhere to be seen. The table she was sitting at is empty, her cup still there, steam curling lazily upward.

No. Where is she?

I push off the wall, my heart pounding as I stride toward the café. The little bell above the door jingles as I step inside, the warm smell of coffee and pastries washing over me. No one pays me any attention, their heads buried in their laptops or quiet conversations.

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