Page 72 of Single Mom's Daddies
I laugh, and it cracks something in my chest open. “Her blood sugar is wonky again, so don’t.”
“Understood. And because she’s not the only one I look out for, just remember those guys might be Bratva, but they’ve got a reputation.”
“For what?”
“Big tippers. Big tempers. Big on protecting people they care about. If Ivy’s their kid? She lucked out.”
I don’t say anything. Because I’m still not sure if it’s luck. Or something more dangerous.
Lolita must hear the hesitation. “You okay?”
“No,” I whisper. “But I will be.”
That’s when there’s a knock at the door, so I peek out the window next to the door. It’s them. All three of them. Odd. I open the door, and I’m hit by their energy. Each of them, simmering. Needing. Wanting.
“Lo, I’ve gotta go.”
“You better call me later.”
“Yeah.” I hang up and set the phone down gently.
They don’t say anything. They don’t have to. I step aside. They walk in, and I shut the door behind them.
There’s no talking. No questions. Just quiet movement. Controlled. Unshakable. Each of them crosses into the space like they already belong here—which, in some strange way, I guess they do. They’re the reason I’m living on this estate, the reason Ivy will eventually come home to a place with nurses and safety and every ounce of protection money can buy.
But they’re also Ivy’s fathers. That part’s still new.
They don’t sit down right away. Roman closes the door behind him without saying a word. Victor’s gaze tracks the room, absorbing it all. Nikolai keeps his eyes on me like I’m the only thing in here that matters.
The air shifts. My throat tightens. I should say something. But I don’t. I can’t.
It’s not fear—at least, not the kind I had when I first moved in. It’s not dread or nerves or danger. It’s…pressure. Heat. Like we’re all caught in the same invisible current pulling us toward something we don’t fully understand.
Roman’s the first to move. He steps closer and stops just a foot from me, searching my face. His expression is unreadable, except for the way his eyes drop briefly to my mouth and then flick back up again. “You okay?”
I nod, even though I’m not.
Nikolai’s still standing near the door. Victor moves behind the couch, resting one hand on the back cushion, like he’s anchoring himself.
“I thought you might want company,” Roman says.
I nod again, slower this time. “I do.”
He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. His fingers are warm. Steady.
That’s all it takes. I don’t know what it’s called when heat and relief flood you. But that’s what happens. All the worry, the fear, the weight of being strong for too long. It catches in my chest and breaks open, and I’m suddenly blinking too fast, my breath hitching in my throat. My eyes burn with unshed tears.
Roman pulls me into his arms, and I melt against him, hands clutching his shirt as I bury my face against his shoulder. He smells like clean linen and the kind of expensive soap I’ve never been able to justify buying.
Victor’s hands are on my back a second later, sliding around my waist from behind.
Nikolai is still across the room, but I feel him watching.
“You don’t have to hold it all alone,” Victor murmurs near my ear.
I can’t let the tears fall. If they fall, so do I. “I always have.”
“Not anymore.”
