I approach the open door and lean against the doorjamb, poking my head into the room.
Aleksandra is kneeling on the floor beside Sophia. Her voice is soft, and while I can’t hear what she’s saying to our daughter, it seems to be helping soothe the little tiger.
Am I really cut out to be a father? Or am I making things worse by keeping them here under my roof?
“He yelled at me,” Sophia says, her cheeks rosy and the biggest pout on her face.
“And your daddy is incredibly sorry for yelling at you,” Aleksandra says, glancing at me over her shoulder.
My mouth goes dry at the sound of daddy on her lips.
I stand there in awe at the realization that I have two children. They’re my flesh and blood. Sure, I’ve known for some time now that I’ve had kids, that the twins were mine, but it hasn’t settled in, the fact that they’re going to look up to me, that I can shape and influence their future.
It’s a fucking lot to take in and accept.
“I’m not sorry,” I grit between clenched teeth.
Sophia’s eyes glisten with tears.
Fuck. I’m about to make the kid cry again.
Aleksandra stands and spins around on her feet. “I’m going to have a word with your father,” she says. She moves at lightning speed toward me, grabs my arm, and knocks me back into her bedroom.
She closes the door with her foot, making sure the conversation is between us.
Good. That’s fine with me.
“Am I supposed to be scared of you?” I ask. There’s practically steam emanating from her, and the passion in her eyes makes me want to pin her against the wall and show her who the fuck is in charge.
She groans. I have the uncanny ability to frustrate her or maybe fluster her. Probably a bit of both.
“The kids aren’t used to your brashness. You need to tone it down, or they’ll never connect with you.”
I try to be gentle, but I’m not the kindest and most considerate person. Running the mafia doesn’t let me be sweet and warm. “You don’t think I realize that?” I ask, my voice louder than I intend.
She’s backed up against the door, and I lean forward, shoving my hand against the wooden material, trapping her.
“I’m doing the best I can,” I say.
“Well, do better,” Aleksandra quips. Her eyes are locked on mine. “Now that they know you’re their father, you’re going to have to man up and act like a dad to those two kids in there.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing since the day you moved in?” I ask. I had my men secure the twins toys, clothes, anything that they wanted was brought to the complex.
“The day I moved in?” She laughs under her breath and realizes that I’m not smiling. “You have a funny way of thinking, Antonio.”
I lean closer, my breath mingling with hers. But I don’t kiss her. “I just want what’s best for my children,” I say.
“Our children,” she corrects me and shoves her hand forcefully against my chest, pushing me back several feet. “You need to learn to tone down your anger, aggression, whatever the hell it is that keeps you in charge of the mafia. The twins don’t need to be part of that hostility.”
I take a step back, out of her reach.
“You’re right.”
It burns me how right she is, and the anger rips me apart inside. I’d kill to protect my children and Aleksandra. The mere fact that I brought Sophia to tears makes my heart race and my stomach somersault.
I head for the main door out of the bedroom to the hallway.
“Antonio,” Aleksandra says, calling after me.