“Ah!”

  I chuckled, always amused by this sweet girl. From the moment Sloane and Maxim welcomed her into the world as the first daughter of the next generation, I was smitten. Little Isa was the first one to make me an uncle, and I wouldn’t ever slack in being her favorite.

  “I’ll take her,” I offered, like I always did when I came home to visit. Holding my hands up and my arms out, I waited for her to notice me and give me that precious smile.

  And there it was.

  She babbled, pivoting to extend her chubby little arms out to me and kick her legs. Every time she showed such instant excitement to see me filled my heart with so much joy. I loved being the uncle she favored. I enjoyed her enthusiasm to be near me because the feeling was mutual.

  I’d never spent much time being philosophical about the concept of love. I loved my family. I loved being a leader within the Ivanov Syndicate.

  But my niece?

  She’d shown me that there was an even deeper love to experience.

  Something that melted more of my heart to the point I was wondering when and how I’d ever have this myself.

  No. Not again. Not now.

  Keeping an easy smile on my face as Maxim handed her over, I shut down the curiosity about what it would be like to have my own version of this.

  To be a father.

  To have a daughter of my own.

  To know that I wasn’t alone anymore.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Maxim grumped as I cuddled Isa against my chest, encouraging her to play with my tie by gently baiting her to grab it as I swatted it against her knee.

  “What can I say?” I joked. “I’m her favorite uncle.”

  Nik grunted from behind us, where he stood leaning against the wall. Damon looked half asleep on the other side of the room, slouched in another chair.

  “You’re the only one who has the energy to act like a doting uncle,” Nik complained as he reached for his coffee cup that he’d set on the side table nearest to him. As soon as he picked it up and rattled the empty container, he scowled, if not at the fact that he was out of caffeine, then at the fact that he’d forgotten he’d already drained it.

  “Nah. She just knows I’m the most fun,” I replied, making a funny face at her.

  She giggled, loud enough that it startled Damon.

  He jolted upright, tensing and looking around before sighing and running his hand over his face. “Fuck.”

  Maxim chuckled. Even though he was the boss, the interim Pakhan while Father recovered and returned to more of his old self, he could lighten up enough to find it funny that Damon had fallen asleep.

  Again.

  “Bad night?” he guessed.

  Damon only glowered at him, then when Nik yawned loudly, he smirked at him.

  Nik huffed and crossed his arms. “Hey, at least I’m standing.”

  “You’re both useless,” Father grumbled. He wasn’t judging or being rough. I saw the slight smile on his lips. But it didn’t last long. He continued pacing and resumed frowning. His moods had been variable for months now. All the specialists on his care team assured us that it wasn’t anything to worry about for now. After the coma he was in with the stroke-like symptoms he’d suffered, his personality had been altered. For a long time, the four of us brothers worried that he’d never resemble the strong, brave father we once followed and respected. Father was a shell of the man he once was, but he no longer gave us as many reasons to fear his swinging too far. He wasn’t as bad as before, like when he’d hit Damon and threatened his wife. That happened when he was most vulnerable in his recovery.

  The reason he didn’t smile for long at Nik and Damon teasing each other now was simple.

  Too many enemies remained. Too many challenges lingered against us, and that would never be a good thing.

  That was what we were supposed to be talking about in this office, all the things that I’d been reporting from news that my men on the street were sharing.

  Over the fall and winter months, things had settled down. In the aftermath of taking out the Kozlov family and ending the rule of Anton Kozlov, we focused more on watching what happened in their void. We’d focused on our growing family, with Katerina and Nik expecting their daughter, Aurora, who was born just a week ago. Then Lucy and Damon had a belated reception and party to celebrate their rushed marriage. She’d given birth to twins—a last-minute surprise to us all that she was having not one baby but two. That added Roarke and Olivia to the family.

  We’d all been busy, preparing for my nieces and nephew after all the headaches we’d suffered over the year. But while good times were overdue and here, we’d never forgotten the possibility that Anton Kozlov had not crusaded to bring an end to our family on his own. And now, since the proverbial dust had settled and Dominic Romano was getting braver to attack us again, I was reminded of how my role had truly changed.

  I hadn’t only become an uncle to these babies.

  I had become the last man standing.

  The only one not married and taken.

  The single guy who wasn’t sleep-deprived with a newborn or distracted by wanting a wife.

  I had volunteered to head up the investigation and counter-attacks on the Romano family, but as I looked around this room, I hated how much I envied my tired brothers. No one could have prepared me for how much I’d want to settle down myself. Seeing them calmer and more well-rounded gave me hope that I could also be like that, not tied down and obligated to be in a relationship—something I’d never wanted before—but that I could be one half of a pair of soulmates and therefore a better person myself.

  Nik and Damon entered a contest of who was more tired. Maxim added that he was the clear winner of fatigue since Isabella wasn’t a newborn but older and able to move more and was therefore more work. They were all beat and exhausted as far as I was concerned, and it proved that I’d made a good choice when I said I’d be the go-to for addressing the collective threat of the Romano family.

  They’re all whiny wimps, huh? I smiled at Isa getting heavier and still in my arms. Her lids couldn’t stay open for so long between her lazy blinks, and I knew she was two seconds from another nap.

  Watching her doze gave me a sense of peace I appreciated because I couldn’t claim to feel this relaxed in any other way. Ever since Father was poisoned, a stubborn tension filled me. I was better at hiding my stress and anxiety than my brothers, but this feeling lingered for too long.

  Before any of my brothers sought wives and started having kids, I’d only get this easygoing peace when I was with a woman. But that wasn’t happening anymore. Something had changed. A shift had come with the experience of seeing how happy and contented my brothers were to settle with their wives.

  And it just didn’t make sense.

  For so many years, the four of us would mock Grandmother for wanting us to get married and have heirs. All our teenage and young adult years were spent dismissing the motivation to stop sleeping around and get hitched.

  Our mother was the most to blame for that. She’d cheated on Father and her affairs nearly ended with Maxim, Nik, and Damon being killed. Because of her, we’d all grown up jaded and without any desire to trust a woman.

  It was why I never cared about being so loose and carefree, sleeping my way through New York and never bothering to think about having a wife or a child.

  But now I am.

  Stroking Isabella’s fine hair back from her brow as she slept, I felt that pang in my heart that I’d lost so much time already. I could’ve married and had my own children by now. I could’ve experienced this one-of-a-kind joy at holding my daughter all this time.

  No. Not yet.

  As Maxim returned the conversation back to what I’d reported about the latest activity from the Romanos, I knew that I had to focus on my duties for a little longer yet. Listening in to their remarks about the latest findings, I stood and paced with my sleeping niece in my arms until we concluded this meeting.

  Too soon, it was time to go. My apartment upstairs had been empty since I moved into a penthouse uptown. It seemed like distance would help me put my head back on my shoulders squarely. Seeing Sloane and Maxim with Isabella had started to drive too much jealousy into my heart and I assumed a change of scenery would help me stay clear-headed. Then Lucy and Damon had their twins. And Nik and Sloane had their daughter. Too many babies were taking up the focus here, and I thought that moving out would keep me concentrating on my job.

  But I couldn’t ever shut off how I loved being an uncle. How often I wanted to dote on them. And I did. I visited daily, and each time I got ready to leave the growing families, I suffered this antsy indecision over what to do now.

  I had no interest in finding a woman. Flings ceased to excite me.

  I lacked the motivation to consider dating a woman. How could I invest that time into getting to know a stranger when I had to be the main man on the case of ending the Romanos?

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I sighed and continued down the hallway, hating this frustration I couldn’t escape.

  “There you go again,” Grandmother teased before passing me by. “Sighing and moping.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not moping.” Holding my arms out and grinning, I said, “What could I possibly be moping about?”

  I had it made.

  Or I should’ve felt like it. Money would never be an issue. I had multiple properties to call home. The Ivanov Syndicate was as strong and powerful as ever.

  “You’re moping because you’re lonely.”

  My shoulders sagged as I lowered my arms. There it was. She was too damn good at reading me, and after holding Isabella as she napped, I bet my restlessness showed too clearly on my face.

  “Saul, I still have all those folders and files. When I looked into finding a Mafia princess for Maxim⁠—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

  “But it wouldn’t do you any harm to look. To try to find a woman of your own so you won’t feel so left out like this.”

  I approached her to hug her and press a quick kiss to her cool cheek. “Not now, Grandmother.” The longing for a family of my own was a force that would fester within me, eating at me from the inside out. Impatient and irritated to want something I never thought I’d have on my radar, I stayed true to my course and shook my head again. “Not yet.”

  Because while my brothers got to go first at experiencing the joy of starting their families, someone had to stay focused on the biggest threats to us all. One of us had to be on the job and investigate what the Romanos were trying to achieve.

  As I left, hanging my head and dreading going home to a too-quiet and empty apartment, I wondered when I’d be able to find that one woman who’d make my heart full.

  Or if I ever could.

  It’d be just my rotten luck if I were destined to always be only an uncle, never a father. If I were cursed to only find meaningless women to fuck and dismiss, never be a husband to a wife.

  3

  WILLOW

  It didn’t matter how much of a lull or a boon I could work through at Tiny’s diner. I was doomed to never get ahead in life when the hits just kept on coming. It was bad enough that I had to be a single mother and live paycheck-to-paycheck.

  Now I had to manage repairing our home.

  Monday morning dawned before it was light out when the apartment above us flooded.

  The second I heard Oscar knocking on my door and running into my room, I jolted upright and gasped in a deep breath. From slumber to shock, I was wide awake and fearing the worst. Clutching my chest, I sought him out in the shadows. “Oscar?”

  “Mom! Mom! It’s all wet!”

  I didn’t wait to swing my legs over the side of the bed, hurrying toward him. Maybe he’d had another bad dream and couldn’t get to the bathroom. He hadn’t wet his bed since he was a toddler, but I wasn’t going to dismiss his claims.

  He didn’t crawl into my open arms that I held out for him. Standing back, he pinched the front of his pajama shirt and winced. “It’s all wet everywhere. The walls, the bed, the floor. Me!”

  “What…?” I shook my head, confused and waking up to the roar of my heart pounding so fast. I stood and reached out to him to inventory the situation. He couldn’t have had an accident that would reach the walls.

  “The ceiling’s got a big hole in it, Mom. Come see!”

  I went. And I saw. He was right. We were starting off this morning with a gaping hole in the ceiling to his small bedroom. The carpet was soaked through. His bed was soggy. Splashes had reached the walls, just like my sweet seven-year-old had claimed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmured to myself.

  “No. No joke, Mom. Look at it!” He beckoned for me to follow him further into his room. At the first sounds of his bare feet sluicing in the ply of the carpet, I panicked and held him back.

  “No. Don’t. Stay here.” No sooner than I’d warned him, a kitchen chair dropped from the hole. Water still poured over the edge of the opening, clearly the source of the flood.

  I heaved a heavy sigh, willing my mind to stop racing and my heart to slow down. It was just a flood. Water damage.

  Oscar is safe.

  He’s here.

  Wet, but he was right here with me and unharmed. That was all that mattered. One more look at him in those dripping-wet pajamas gave me the proof that whatever else was wrong, it couldn’t be that bad. It was survivable.

  Scared that the electricity could be a safety hazard with all this water, I tugged Oscar out into the hall with me. I’d snagged my purse and exited our apartment to get a hold of the landlord, but it seemed I would be spared having to go to him. The neighboring apartment seemed to be affected as well. The older woman was in the hallway with her husband, both of them looking wet and pissed.

  “You too?” the woman asked, shaking her head.

  “The ceiling just crashed down,” the husband exclaimed while keeping his arm around his wife.

  The tenant across the hall stepped out at the commotion, tugging his robe on. “I thought I heard a big thud.”

  “I already called the landlord’s after-hours,” my neighbor said as we all commiserated over our problem and waited outside. Throughout our wait in the hallway, we heard more thuds of the ceilings dropping in from both apartments as more water moved from the floor above us.

  Within ten minutes, the landlord arrived to stare slack-jawed at the mess. Then he cursed up a storm, livid at the damage. Throughout those early hours of the morning, we learned that the tenant above us had forgotten to shut off their water. The poor old man had been suffering from dementia for so long and it seemed that he’d flooded his floor one too many times and it gave way.

  I wasn’t shocked. This building couldn’t have been up to code to begin with and the landlord did the bare minimum to make it livable.

  That was why instead of getting Oscar up for school and doing laundry before going in to waitress at Tiny’s, I spent the day trying to clear out the soggy mess and manage the cleanup efforts. So many things were ruined, items like the TV and my internet router that had gotten wet and fried. When the emergency cleanup team came, they found more issues that the landlord had neglected to handle.

  While we weren’t kicked out of our apartment for good, it would be a horrid mess to manage living there while cleanups and repairs would resume. For the first week of repairs, we’d need to cooperate with the contractors who’d make it right again.

  After calling the school to explain why Oscar was absent—and then getting crap from the secretary who scolded me for letting my son be absent within the first two weeks of school starting—I headed to Tiny’s to tell the manager that I’d need the day off. Maybe two or three.

  My life had been shaken upside down with that flooding incident, and it felt like salt rubbed in the wound. I couldn’t afford to take days off. Nor could I make arrangements for childcare while I’d inevitably need to work overtime to pay for what the landlord refused to cover. Insurance would clear the costs of the apartment walls and floors, but I could already tell that he wasn’t going to budge and pay for any of my personal belongings that were ruined. And he knew he could get away with it. I didn’t have the money to hire a lawyer to sue him, and he was aware of my financial situation too.

  On the third night after the flood, I sat at the kitchen table and tried not to grimace at scooping canned spaghetti into a bowl.

  This wasn’t a hearty meal to ensure Oscar could grow properly.

  This wasn’t an appetizing dinner to make me want to eat with this nonexistent appetite, gone because of the stress.

  I’m so sick of living paycheck to paycheck.

  A deep sigh escaped me as I stood at the counter and reached over to slide the spaghetti into the microwave. But then I recalled that it wasn’t there. We’d had to throw it away because more water hit it with the kitchen being adjacent to Oscar’s room.

  Fine. Cold it is, then.

  I spun to rest my butt against the edge of the counter and shoveled the over-processed junk into my mouth just to have some sustenance to keep going.

  This never-ending pressure to eke out a life on the little I had gnawed at me, ripping shreds of my soul until I felt so utterly empty and hopeless.

  “Mom?” Oscar said as he came into the kitchen to throw away his juice box. He’d taken up camp in my room, which was the only room that hadn’t been flooded as badly.

  “Hmm?” I smiled at him, determined to make sure his memories of me would always be positive ones, never the depressed and sullen looks that I would’ve surrendered to if he weren’t here.

  “Why can’t we sign up for that thing like the neighbor lady said?” he asked.

  Dammit.

  I hadn’t realized he’d been listening when the neighbor mentioned a disaster relief program. It was tempting to ask for help like that, but I knew the risks that came with it. If I sought help from an agency, I’d need to give my name. And the second I provided my name, it would be out there as a traceable clue.

  I could handle our apartment being flooded.

 

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