Page 97 of Mile High Daddy

To her.

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath as she turns back to the stove. “This is ridiculous.”

I lean against the counter, watching her closely. “So, tell me, how was life in Camden Hill?”

Her stirring falters for half a second before she recovers. “Quiet,” she says without looking at me.

I wait.

She exhales through her nose, flipping the onions with the wooden spoon. “I worked at a café. Lived in this small apartment. Made friends. Kept my head down.”

That last part is a lie. She didn’t keep her head down, not really. If she had, she wouldn’t have called her mother. She wouldn’t have gotten comfortable enough to slip up.

I roll my shoulders, keeping my voice neutral. “That all?”

Her lips press together. “What else do you want me to say, Mikhail? I worked, I slept, I existed. That was my life.”

I tilt my head slightly, considering her. “Did you ever plan to come back?”

She tenses, but her answer is immediate. “No.”

I expected that.

It still pisses me off.

I reach across the counter and take the spoon from her hand. She jerks in surprise, turning toward me, but I don’t back off. I lift the spoon, giving the onions a slow stir before lowering the heat.

“You got comfortable in that quiet little life,” I murmur. “You thought you could erase me. Erase this.”

Lila swallows, her throat bobbing. “I didn’t erase anything,” she says, her voice softer now. “I just…needed to breathe.”

I study her, watching the way she grips the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I can understand that,” I admit. “But breathing time’s over,zolotse.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, and I know she’s searching for something.

Regret.

Remorse.

Anything that tells her I wish I’d let her stay hidden.

She won’t find it.

Because I don’t regret a damn thing.

The glowof my phone screen casts a faint light over the darkened living room as I type out a message to Torres:

Any movement?

His reply comes in seconds:

Nothing yet. Keeping eyes on the location.

I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The situation in New York is still unstable. Alexei is not the threat anymore. Just this past week, a few of our warehouses were attacked, and a few of our men were killed. Nothing about who put out the hit yet, but Alexei’s men are still quiet. I’m not sure if it’s all his plan, if he indeed has returned to New York. If that’s the case, I need to take care of it sooner rather than later. He’s not going to be a threat to my children.

I’m about to respond when I catch movement in my peripheral vision.

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