4
Aleksandra
“How the hell did you get to the Morettis’?” Mikhail asks as he ushers us outside into the cold, blustery air.
I carry Liam to Mikhail’s vehicle and open the back door. “I rode in the backseat,” I say.
The guards retreat as word spreads that we’ve recovered my son alive.
Climbing into the back with Liam, I ensure his seatbelt is secure. There’s no booster seat which worries me.
“The hell you did,” Mikhail huffs and slips into the front passenger seat. One of his men, Nikita, drives us back to the compound.
“Did you find it odd that there was no sign of Roberto Moretti?” Nikita asks.
“He was probably holed up, hiding in one of the upstairs rooms, like a coward,” Mikhail says with a chuckle. “The man fears his own shadow. Deserves to be hanged if you ask me, for what he did to my nephew.”
“Liam, your nephew’s name is Liam,” I shout at Mikhail. Neither of my children ever get any attention from their uncle, not on birthdays or Christmas, but the minute he can use them as an excuse to wage war, he’s family.
Mikhail glances over his shoulder at me. “Why are you getting your panties in a bunch? You found the kid. Who was that Italian with the sharp nose and scruff?”
Is he trying to get under my skin? Because it’s working well. “Do you mean Antonio?” Maybe I shouldn’t admit to knowing a Moretti.
“They share the same nose, facial structure,” Mikhail says, pinning me with his stare.
Fuck me.
“I didn’t notice,” I say.
“Yuri mentioned that Liam may have been taken because his father wanted to be with his son. I thought it was a far-fetched idea, but after seeing Antonio today, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something there, little sister.”
Yuri, his second in command, is a dick. There’s no way he knows that I slept with Antonio. If he did, he’d have gone to Mikhail the moment he had suspicions.
Silence fills the vehicle. I’m not having this conversation with Mikhail and certainly not with Liam seated beside me in the backseat.
* * *
When we arrive back at the compound, I lead Liam into the playroom with his sister.
Mikhail follows behind us. I can feel his presence without so much as turning around to look at him. “I’d like a word with you, Aleksandra,” he says. There’s disgust in his tone; the way he says my name drips with annoyance, like I’ve inconvenienced him today.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, giving Liam and Sophia a hug and kiss before following Mikhail out of the playroom and down to the study.
He slides the pocket door open, flips the light on, and gestures for me to step in first before shutting the door behind us.
“You told me the father of your children was overseas,” Mikhail says.
I bite down on my tongue and give an exasperated sigh. “I said he was at war.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Antonio is the children’s father,” Mikhail says. It’s not a question but an observation.
I don’t answer.
“I’ll take your silence as confirmation.” He emits a heavy sigh. “Does Antonio know he’s the father?” Mikhail steps farther into the study, approaching his decanter and grabbing an empty glass on the silver tray beside it.
He pours himself a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid before tasting.
“I haven’t told him,” I say. “There’s no father’s name on the birth certificate.” He can’t know. I didn’t tell anyone.