Page 166 of Merciless Daddy

“I know.”

I held Gianni-the-wolf against my chest.

Then I said it.

“I would like Daddy now.”

Sal looked at me for one long second.

“Then come inside, little one.”

He helped me change into soft pajamas. Not because I could not do it myself. Because I wanted him there. He turned away when I changed my underwear and top, then faced me when I asked.

He brought hot chocolate to the sitting room.

Gianni-the-wolf sat beside Olimpo on the rug.

Olimpo sniffed him once, gave a low judgmental sound, then put one giant paw over the wolf’s lopsided body.

“Protection,” Sal said.

“Or a hostage situation.”

“Yeah, either works.”

I sat on the floor between Sal’s feet with my coloring book. This time, I made the Firebird red and gold. Not every feather. I left one wing black.

Sal read from the storybook in his terrible Russian accents. His tsar still sounded like a tired Chicago cop. His wolf sounded suspiciously like Tonio. I corrected him twice and then gave up because I liked hearing him try.

My body settled without falling apart.

Halfway through the story, I leaned back against his shin.

“Sal?”

“Yes, little one?”

“That was my first real date.”

The book went quiet.

His hand came down over my hair. Warm. Heavy. Certain.

“Then I owe you more. And considerably better ones,” he said.

I looked up at him.

“You think you can do better than an arcade and grilled cheese?”

“I know I can.”

I smiled and returned to my firebird.

Behind me, Sal kept reading.

Outside, the war waited.

But inside, the wolf guarded Olimpo, the firebird grew bright beneath my pencil, and I let myself believe there would be another date after this one.