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Straight for the knife block.
When he starts stepping toward the bassinet again, he stops mid-stride—because I’ve now got a gleaming knife pressed against his throat.
Conrad looks at me and holds his hands up. “Daphne. I’m not going to hurt her. She’s my daughter.”
The tip of the butcher’s knife is pressing into his skin; if he comes any closer, he’ll start bleeding.
I’m not a hero. I’m not a fighter. But I’d rather bathe in his blood than let him lay a finger on my daughter.
“Back. The fuck. Away.”
What I am is snarling. What I am is fucking rabid. My face hurts and my eye is already starting to swell, but it’s nothing compared to the pure, protective rage surging through every blood vessel in my body.
I will kill him if he tries me.
“Daphne, baby, please,” he tries to coo. “I’d never hurt her. We can be a family, our own little family, together?—”
“I’ve got my own fucking family, thanks. And it doesn’t involve you.”
He careens into another rant about brainwashing and babies, but I’m not listening now.
I’m too focused on tracking Lev’s slow, silent movements in the corner of my good eye. He must have snuck in when Conrad ran in here.
“You’re so beautiful, Daphne,” Conrad sobs. He’s reaching for me, even as I literally have a knife pressed to his throat. At this point, I don’t know if he’s suicidal or just that stupid. “I love you! And I miss you! I just want to make things right if you’ll just give me the chance?—”
He’s cut off by Lev, who tackles him to the ground and smashes his head against the kitchen island along the way. When Conrad groans and tries to get back up, Lev pins him down and punches him in the face.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind. Fingers firmly but gently ease the knife from my white-knuckled grip.
I know those fingers.
I know these arms.
“Pasha.”
He sets the knife down on the counter and spins me around to check me for injuries. When he sees my swelling eye, he shifts from worried to pissed and gingerly touches the edge of the bruise.
“He did this to you?” His fury only grows as I nod. “Did he touch you anywhere else? Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head and instantly regret it. He sees me wince and pulls me into a tight embrace, cupping my head to his chest.
I hear him bark orders. More men enter the kitchen and join Lev; I hear lots of grunting and muffled shouts from Conrad.
But my face is buried in Pasha’s chest. I don’t want to look or hear or feel right now.
“Daphne? Daphne!”
Asya rushes in behind the men, beelining straight to me. She smooths my hair back and examines my face, her body blessedly blocking my sight of the struggles happening behind her. “Oh, malyshka. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you cooled down and good as new.”
She checks on Tatyanna, plucking her out of the bassinet and bringing her over to me. I do my best not to crush my baby against my own chest, but oh my God thank you.
I don’t… I can’t think about what I would have done if he’d harmed her. If he’d actually touched her.
Another familiar voice cuts through the fog of my emotions. Sofi touches my arm, reassuring me that she’s here. Our family’s here, and they’ve got everything under control.
But she’s also deadly serious when she says something to Pasha in Russian.
“What is it?” I know better than to ask. Doesn’t stop me from doing it, though. “What’s wrong?”
