Page 23 of Bought to Bear Bratva Heir

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t hate her, not really. She had given me the little boy in my arms, and Alexander was the best thing to ever happen to me. He had saved me when all I had wanted to do was die and take the whole world with me.

So no, I couldn’t hate Daisy. Even though I wanted to.

"I don’t need her. You make me happy." I ruffled his hair, forcing some playfulness into my voice. "It’s just me and you against the world."

Pulling away slightly, he stared at me. Nodding once, he hugged me tight again. "Can I stay in here tonight, Papa?" his little voice asked. "So you don’t get sad again."

Chapter Nine

Daisy

"Hello."

Confused, I tried to blink but couldn’t. Instead, my eyelids were peeled back.

"Are you awake?" the same little voice asked. A little face came into view. The same little face that I had recognized instantly as my child because he looked so much like Ilya.

"Yeah," I mumbled.

Almost instantly, he let my eyelids droop and scampered away. Sleep still clung to me, but that was short-lived as the mattress began to bounce.

What the hell was happening here?

It took me maybe a few seconds to realize before I scrambled for the sheets to cover my nudity.

My son was here. In this room. Clutching the sheet to my chest, I sat up, pressing my back against the headboard.

"Hello," I said softly. Was that even the right thing to say? What did one say to the child they were forced to give up?

He didn’t stop bouncing, his little feet getting higher and higher off the mattress with every jump.

I couldn’t help it; I smiled. His happiness was contagious.

"What are you doing in here?"

He turned his head, eyes flashing. "You were taking too long to wake up," he said, paused as if to study me, and then continued to jump. "So I thought—"

"Did your Papa ask you to wake me?"

Something that looked like a shadow flickered across his face. "Papa is busy." The excited jumping slowed and then stopped altogether. "He told me to stay inside and play and never touch the elevator doors. But—" a wicked smile crossed his face, "he never told me I wasn’t allowed in here."

I couldn’t help it; I grinned. "That’s sneaky. Alexander, isn’t it?"

Bouncing once, he landed cross-legged on the bed. "Alec."

I raised an eyebrow at him. That hadn’t been the name I had heard in the graveyard.

"Alec is what Papa calls me. You should call me Alec as well." He held out his little hand for me to shake.

"It’s nice to meet you, Alec." My heart gave a pang as I took his hand and squeezed. He was such a little gentleman. "Do you have any other names?"

It felt weird to ask him that when he was my child and I should have been the one to name him.

He puffed out his chest. "Alexander Dimitri Peter Popovitch," he said proudly.

My heart gave a pang. Ilya had given him my father's name. I hadn’t expected that. "It’s a beautiful name," I forced myself to say. "My name is Daisy."

"I know," he whispered, and the happiness evaporated from his face.