Page 95 of Mile High Daddy

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Cooking.”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

Lila sighs, clearly exasperated. “I’m not an invalid, Mikhail.”

I push off the couch, walking toward her. “I’ll do it.”

The look she gives me is pure disbelief. “You?”

I cross my arms. “Yes. Me.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she sets the pan on the stove. “Right. The big, bad Bratva boss knows how to cook.”

I step closer, resting my hands on the edge of the kitchen island. “You don’t believe me?”

She arches an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Not even a little.”

I smirk. “Then let me prove you wrong.”

Lila hands me a cutting board and a knife, then pulls out some vegetables from the fridge. I roll up my sleeves, grabbing an onion and getting to work.

For a while, we don’t talk. We just move together, the sound of chopping filling the space between us. It’s oddly…natural. Domestic. Something I never thought I’d associate with myself.

After a few minutes, she speaks. “So where is my mom?”

I don’t hesitate. “In Philadelphia.”

She stops mid-motion, knife hovering over the cutting board. Slowly, she looks up at me. “I didn’t expect you to answer.”

I meet her gaze, unreadable. “You asked.”

Her lips press together like she’s debating whether to ask more.

I brace myself.

Because I know Lila. And she’s not done.

Lila sets down the knife, her fingers drumming lightly against the counter. She’s studying me now, her sharp gaze assessing, waiting for something.

“What is she doing in Philadelphia?” she asks.

I keep my movements steady, slicing through the onion with precision. “She’s being taken care of.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not an answer.”

I lift a shoulder in a slight shrug. “It’s the only one I’m giving you.”

Lila exhales, clearly frustrated. “Is she safe?”

“Yes.”

She waits, like she’s expecting me to elaborate. I don’t.

The silence between us stretches, and for the first time since we started chopping, she isn’t moving. “I don’t understand you,” she finally says, shaking her head.

I glance up, meeting her gaze. “What’s there to understand?”

Her lips press together, frustration flickering in her eyes. “You could have lied to me. Or refused to answer altogether. But you didn’t.”

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