Page 31 of Masked Seduction
Tatiana laughs softly, sliding a plate of perfectly arranged fruit toward her twin girls. She glances at me warmly, eyes sparkling with gentle mischief. “For someone who claims to hate people, you’re unnaturally good with children, Abram.”
I shrug off the compliment, feeling an unexpected pang hitting inside. My mind drifts to Jenna before I can stop it. For a split second, I don’t want to sit here pretending I’m untouchable. Pretending softness, family, and warmth hold no appeal. Jenna’s face, smiling sleepily beside me, haunts the edges of my thoughts.
I push it down fast, forcing my trademark smirk back onto my lips.
“Well,” I say, tipping my champagne flute toward Denis, “if you’re really interested, maybe I should tell you about what happened at my new club last night?”
Tatiana throws a dish towel at me without even looking up from the eggs she’s plating, her aim surprisingly accurate. “Absolutely not. Not in front of my pancakes.”
Denis snorts, leans back, and shakes his head. “Come on, Abram, have some respect for the sanctity of breakfast.”
Anya’s husband Mikail, pouring coffee beside Denis, joins in with an easy grin. “Again with the club? At this point, you must be angling for a loyalty card.”
Charles bursts into giggles, his syrup-coated fingers pointing at me gleefully. He may not understand the joke, but his laughter is infectious. Even Tatiana can’t help but chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully.
“Uncle Abram, you’re silly,” Charles announces, slipping from his chair and scrambling into my lap without hesitation.
I catch him easily, steadying him as he nestles comfortably against my chest, tiny fingers gripping my shirt. Sofia leans forward from her highchair, holding out a sticky hand coveredin mashed strawberries. I reach over, wiping it clean with the napkin Mikail passes my way. Lilia watches intently, her small, round face fascinated by the action.
“No need for loyalty cards,” I say. “In a few weeks, I’ll be the official owner.”
Tatiana arches an elegant brow, exchanging a glance with Denis. “Seeing you with these kids? Maybe you should open a day care instead, and not a… whatever sort of business this club happens to be.”
“I have my moments,” I concede, gently bouncing Charles in my lap until he squeals with delight.
The door swings open and Anya sweeps into the kitchen, a stylish hurricane balancing a designer diaper bag and a large bakery box filled with pastries.
She pauses beside me, dropping a quick, affectionate kiss onto my cheek. “There’s our mysterious bachelor prince,” she teases, eyes twinkling. “Good morning, Abram.”
“Morning, Anya.”
The kitchen settles into a comfortable hum filled with familiar chaos: Tatiana plating food, Anya managing the kids with practiced ease, Denis and Mikail exchanging amused glances, the children’s laughter filling every corner of the space.
Eventually, as plates are cleared and coffee refilled, Tatiana and Anya rise together, murmuring something about diaper changes and baths. They drift out of the kitchen, leaving the men alone.
The atmosphere shifts instantly, warmth replaced by an ominous tension. Denis sets his coffee cup down carefully andmeets my gaze. “We have a problem. The Agostis were at Sorella last night, asking questions about protection fees. Bold, public.”
The rule against talking shop at breakfast never lasts for long.
Mikail leans forward, his expression darkening. “Word on the street is that Nico is making his move. Trying to flex muscle while his father’s too sick to object. He thinks it’s his time.”
My posture shifts. I’m no longer Uncle Abram, no longer playing nice over champagne and syrup-covered toddlers. My voice drops, hard-edged with authority.
“They think we’ve gone soft. We’ll show them we haven’t. Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp, my office. We’ll discuss this further then.”
Denis and Mikail nod. The understanding between us is immediate, unspoken. Family time may be sacred, but come Monday, we’ll remind the Agostis precisely who runs Vegas.
Moments later, the tension breaks as Anya and Tatiana return, arms filled with freshly washed children, their laughter softening the edges of my mood. I stand up, gently lifting Charles and placing him back in his chair. Turning, I drop tender kisses onto each of my nieces’ heads, inhaling their clean, powdery scent.
Charles wraps his small arms around my waist, holding on tight. “Bye, Uncle Abram. Come back soon, okay?”
“I will, buddy.” I glance around at my sisters, their husbands, these children who’ve somehow managed to become the best part of my week. A flicker of something bittersweet curls in my chest.
This is supposed to be what I want. Family. Stability.
Again, Jenna’s face flashes in my mind—soft and vulnerable beside me, a curl of fiery hair tracing her cheek.
I shut it down quickly, pulling on the familiar mask of cool detachment. “Next time, I’ll bring more champagne.”
