Page 73 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Uh oh. I recognize that sweet voice.

Violet.

Damn it. I’ve lingered here too long.

She knows I’m her mother, but she’s five. Maybe her brain hasn’t connected that it’s me. I’m in different clothes. My hair is up.

Heart pounding, I turn around, but she’s gone.

Hearing a soft giggle, I peek around the corner back toward the kitchen.

Go upstairs. Listen to Kirill. He knows his child.

Only, a pull I can’t ignore has me following the sound of giggling.

“Are you hiding?” I ask softly, like we’re sharing a secret.

She giggles again, then jumps across the hallway to hide around the other corner.

A warm feeling comes over me, and I want to play her game. Despite fearing Kirill’s wrath, I take a step down that corridor, my heart beating a little faster now. She and I will have that special moment soon.

“Do you want me to find you?” I continue, letting a playful note slip into my voice, surprising even myself.

Another tiny giggle betrays her. I follow the sound, my footsteps light. I glance around the next corner, taking note of my surroundings. The lower floor of this house is a maze.

“Hmm,” I murmur, tapping my finger against my chin. “I wonder where you could be?”

More giggling floats from the distant corner.

I turn quickly, and she darts from behind a chair. Her laughter is high-pitched and unrestrained, as she tries to run past me. Instincts rear up through my soul. I reach out and catch her gently around the waist.

“I got you. I found you.” I lift her before she can escape.

Violet studies me, her head tilting slightly at the sound of my voice. Her silence alarms me slightly, though. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me and thinks I’m some strange woman wandering around her house. Who’s now touching her.

For a minute, I hope this can be chalked up to a mistaken identity. Kirill won’t be angry.

“You’re my mommy,” she says, her voice certain.

Oh crap.

“I am,” I reply, my throat tightening.

Violet reaches out to press her small palm against my cheek. The touch feels like she’s confirming I’m real.

She narrows her eyes just a fraction before she speaks. “Why didn’t you say hi to me yesterday?”

I bend to help her back to her feet.

I told her you were sick…

“I’ve been sick, sweetie,” I use Kirill’s lie. “There’s a lot I don’t remember.”

She wrinkles her nose, the gesture so quick and expressive, shifting from playful to thoughtful. “You forgot about me?”

“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain.” A breath catches in my chest. “I was sick. Like Daddy said. But I’m here now. I’m better.”

“When I was really sick, I took a nap after school and forgot to take off my school clothes. Daddy didn’t mind, but I also kept my shoes on.” Her little story loosens every taut muscle in my body.