Man of the House(62)

I never slowed down, either. When you worked for the mob, you didn’t have time to wonder what if. I was too busy with my gun, running my crew, working my way up through the ranks to try to find this nameless girl.

There were plenty of other club sluts out there in the world, and I had my taste of all of them.

Blood, money, and pussy. That was all I knew and all that I needed in my life. I was aiming to take over the city one day, and nothing could stop me or get in my way.

And months later when she showed up at my door again, a crying bundle in her arms, I still couldn’t forget that night.





1





Kaley





“He’s so cute!”

I smiled at Sophie. “Yeah, I know.” I took another picture of little Alexei, nestled in his crib, and sighed. “But Dad is still pissed.”

“I was going to ask you about that.” Sophie sat down in a chair, crossed her legs. She was about my height, and we’d known each other for ages. Her dad worked for my dad, so we’d been raised more or less like sisters.

“Is he still pushing?” she asked.

I nodded. “More every day.”

“I can’t believe him.”

“He thinks it’s a stain on our family’s honor.” I sat down on the ground at Sophie’s feet, leaning back on my hands.

“Still, that can’t be enough to make you give him up.”

“I’m not going to give him up, Soph,” I said. “That just won’t ever happen.”

“You know how our family can be,” she said softly.

“They’re not going to take him away,” I said fiercely. “I don’t care what my father says.”

She leaned forward and put her hand on my head. “I know that, Kaley. But listen to me. I heard my dad talking last night.”

I felt coldness enter my stomach. Sophie’s father was the enforcer for my father’s crew within the Russian mob. He was a hard man, violent and dangerous, and although he was like a second father to me, I knew he was deadly. People spoke of him with respect, fear, and awe.

“And?”

“He was talking about you.”

I stared at her. “Tell me, Soph.”

“I only heard my father’s side of the conversation.” She leaned back in her chair, concern clear on her face. “I think they’re coming for Alexei soon. I think they’re coming tomorrow.”

“What?” I asked, standing up. “No.”

“It’s just what he said,” Soph replied. “He said he could take care of the brat tomorrow.”

“Are you sure he meant my baby?”

“No,” Soph admitted, “I’m not sure. But what other brat is there?”

I bit my lip, looking down at little Alex.

My father was the captain of a prominent crew in Chicago’s Russian mob. I’d grown up in the mob, knew it like the back of my hand. I feared nothing and nobody, except for my father’s wrath.

Anatoli Kozlov was a difficult man to grow up with. He’d always been hard on me, pushing me to succeed in school, to become a better person. Some girls were little mob princesses, treated like royalty and spoiled, but not me. Anatoli, my father, was distant and brutal in his methods. Everyone feared him, including my mother and me. He never hit us or anything, but he had a temper, and it could be terrifying.

“You know who the father is, right?” Soph asked in a whisper.

I glanced around the room. Nobody was supposed to know the true identity of Alex’s father; I had lied to everyone and told them that I didn’t know. It made me seem like a whore, and only made my father hate Alex even more, but I had no other choice.

If they knew the truth, my life would have been much, much worse.

“I know,” I said, nodding.

“Go to him,” Soph said. “Go to him tonight.”

“I can’t,” I said softly. “You don’t understand.”

Sophie stood up and came to me. “Please, Kaley. Take Alex and run. Your father is never going to let you keep him.”

Pain wracked my body. I felt like I was being torn in half. On the one side there was my family, the people I felt a fierce loyalty toward. And on the other was Alex and his real father, two people who could never mix with my family.

Because the truth was, Alex’s father was in the Italian mob.

I wasn’t supposed to know that. And as far as he knew, I didn't. But the night I’d met him at the club, I knew exactly who he was.

I’d been a little tipsy and very, very rebellious. My father had just given me more grief for doing poorly on an exam at school. I was a senior at the University of Chicago back then, a prestigious and difficult school to get into, and so my father held me up to impossible standards.