Page 59 of Watch Me, Daddy

“I love you, Irina Morozov,” I said boldly.

Her entire face lit up at my pronouncement, warmth, astonishment, and sheer joy quickly replacing the crippling fear I had seen in her eyes. Her lips curved into a radiant smile, one that started from her heart and bloomed across her features, casting a warm, radiant glow that illuminated the room.

“I love you too, Aidan Murphy,” she replied, her voice carrying with it the weight of her vulnerable sincerity.

“Be a good girl and don’t stay up too late. I expect to find you in bed when I get back home,” I scolded lightly.

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, her cheeks blushing sweetly in response.

“I’ll be back soon, princess. Daddy has some business he needs to take care of tonight,” I continued.

She nodded quickly, wringing her hands in front of her body as a fresh flash of fear passed over her face. With a warm smile, she quickly covered it up, and I turned away and strode out of my office. I made my way down to the garage and slid into the seat of my Audi R8. I’d always loved the black exterior, its sleek lines, its powerful engine, and its impeccable handling. It had gotten me out of more than one scrape through the years. I traced my hand over the luxurious leather wheel before I turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

I pulled out of my garage and slipped onto the streets, making my way out of Southie and into Brighton. The drive only took me about twenty minutes, traffic light at this time of night. When I pulled into the parking lot of the Kremlin Pub, I slipped into a spot safely in the shadows.

The lot was quiet and mostly abandoned. It was still early for the Kozlovs and the regulars that came to drink late into the night. Anton and his gang usually didn’t show up here for another hour, which would give me plenty of time to break into the back office and wait for him.

The old dive bar stood as a relic of forgotten times, its worn facade and flickering neon sign hinting at the stories it held within. My heart pounded with anticipation as I approached the back entrance.

My gloved hand deftly picked the lock, and the door swung open with a soft creak. The interior was cloaked in shadows, the distant hum of a broken jukebox adding an eerie melody to the air. I moved with purpose, navigating through the maze of tables and chairs until I reached the back office. This place had once belonged to a Russian named Igor Manov, but Anton had taken over it some months ago.

The moonlight filtered through the cracked window, casting an ethereal glow on the worn furniture. I eased myself into the worn chair behind the aging desk, the sensation of cool wood against my palms a stark contrast to the heat surging through my veins. The dim light overhead cast elongated shadows, draping the room in a cloak of secrecy.

The weight of anticipation settled upon me as I leaned back, my fingers instinctively tracing the grain of the desk’s surface. The silence was tangible, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond. My senses were heightened, every creak and rustle sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins, and acutely attuned to the imminent arrival of the man whose presence would decide the fate of this encounter.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Soon, the door to the office swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Anton Kozlov.

My heart raced as I watched him step inside, his movements deliberate and controlled. He seemed to carry an air of authority and danger, but I wasn’t afraid of him. I remained hidden; my breath caught in my throat as I observed his every move.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

A silent storm raged within me as I watched him, the anticipation of our inevitable confrontation electrifying the air around me. Irina’s face flashed before my eyes, her strength and vulnerability fueling my resolve. I was ready to face the darkness head-on, fueled not only by the need for vengeance but by the love that had grown between us.

“Anton Kozlov,” I said quietly, my voice a low, dangerous rumble heavy with a mixture of stark warning and open challenge.

His gaze locked onto me, and a cold smile curved his lips. A flash of recognition glimmered across his features as he cocked his head, his arrogance written all over his face. He held a rocks glass in his hand full of clear liquid. I knew that it wasn’t water. It was top-shelf vodka.

“Well, well. The man himself graces us with his presence. What can I do for you, Murphy?”

“I think you know why I’m here,” I answered, leaning back against the chair, my eyes never leaving his face.

“Your sister, Ada. Is that what this is about?” Anton chuckled, the sound dripping with derision.

“No. This isn’t about her. She can take care of herself. From what I heard, she did just fine,” I said, pointedly glancing down at his mangled right hand.

“Why are you here?” he pressed, his annoyance clear.

“Irina Morozov,” I answered, looking coldly back into his harsh gaze.

His only answer was a ruthless sneer. He lifted his chin, his brow furrowing with irritation.

“You hurt her. You crossed a line, Kozlov,” I growled. I clenched my jaw, and my fists tightened against the desk. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving mine.

“The bitch deserved it. What are you going to do about it? I’m not afraid of you.”

“I challenge you, Anton. A fight. You and me. We tell our men to stand down, and we handle this man to man,” I demanded. A low growl rumbled in my chest, my patience wearing thin. Anton’s eyebrow quirked up, amusement dancing in his eyes.

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