Page 59 of Secret Heir

“For you, perhaps. For me, it’s two weeks without my enforcer handling problems that keep piling up.” He walks into the foyer, his sharp gray eyes—paler than mine and colder—taking in every detail. “The place has changed since I last was here.”

He’s taller than me by an inch and leaner, with an aristocratic build that makes him look like he belongs in boardrooms rather than the back rooms where Bratva business is actually conducted. His dark hair is going gray faster than mine, but it’s always impeccably groomed and slicked back from his high forehead. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit that was made specifically for him. I’m not sure how he’s wearing it in this heat, but I never bother to question my brother.

At forty-five, Nikolai Sokolov looks like exactly what he is—a man who inherited an empire and built it into something even more formidable. He has sharp, angular features with high Slavic cheekbones and a hawkish nose and thin lips that rarely smile.

He’s my brother, and I love him, but I’ve never been under any illusions about what he is. Nikolai is a snake. He’s elegant, deadly, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to protecting what’s his.

“Where is he?” Nikolai asks, his eyes scanning the hallway. “This nephew I’ve heard so much about.”

“In the sitting room with his mother. Come.”

We walk through the house, and I can see Nikolai checking out the signs of a child living here. Daniel left a toy truck on a side table and there’s small sneakers by the door.

All evidence of the life I have with my son.

When we enter the sitting room, Daniel is on the floor working on a puzzle. Aria is on the sofa reading, but she looks up when we enter. I see her face go blank when she sees Nikolai.

“Aria,” I say. “This is my brother, Nikolai. Nikolai, Aria Delano.”

She stands, and I can see the tension in her shoulders. “Mr. Sokolov. It’s nice to meet you.”

Nikolai’s eyes rake over her. “Miss Delano. I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. My brother was quite devoted to his search.”

There’s something in his tone that makes it sound like an accusation. Like her disappearance was a personal affront to the Sokolov family.

Aria stiffens and opens her mouth to say something, but Nikolai waves a hand.

“The past is past. What matters is the present.” He turns his attention to Daniel, who’s stopped working on his puzzle and is watching this stranger with wary eyes. “And this must be Daniel.”

My son stands slowly, and I see Nikolai go absolutely still.

The resemblance is undeniable. Daniel truly is a Sokolov through and through. It’s like Aria’s genes didn’t even really try.

“Daniel,” I say gently. “Come say hello to your uncle.”

Daniel walks over slowly, stopping a respectful distance away. “Hello, sir.”

Nikolai’s lips curve slightly into not quite a smile, but it’s close. “He has excellent manners. Your doing?”

“Mostly.” I put my hand on Daniel’s shoulder, ignoring Aria stiffening. “Daniel, this is my brother Nikolai. Your uncle.”

“Hello, Uncle Nikolai.” Daniel offers his hand the way I’ve taught him.

Nikolai takes it, but his eyebrows rise. “Uncle Nikolai? No.” He looks at me. “He calls you what? Papa?”

I try not to wince as the subject is still painful for me. “No, we aren’t there yet. He calls me Maks.”

“Then he will call me Dyadya Kolya. The Russian way.” He looks down at Daniel, and his voice softens slightly, as much as Nikolai’s voice ever softens. “You are a Sokolov, boy. You will learn to speak like one.”

Daniel looks uncertain, glancing at me for guidance. I nod. “It’s a sign of respect. In Russian families, you use the proper titles.”

“Dyadya Kolya,” Daniel repeats carefully, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables.

“Better.” Nikolai releases his hand. “You’ll learn. The boy needs Russian lessons, Maksim. He should speak his family’s language.”

“I’ve been learning some Russian already,” Daniel pipes up, his voice eager. “Maks has been teaching me. I can count to twenty and I know how to say good morning and⁠—”

Nikolai’s eyebrows rise sharply. The temperature in the room drops several degrees. He looks at me, his pale gray eyes cold and assessing. “You allow the boy to speak so freely?” he asks in Russian.