Chapter 41 Dakota Vs. Christov
Anushka's P.O.V.
I look from Christov and his men with guns to our men with guns. Please don't let there be a shootout. Jordan is standing next to me with his hand on my shoulder. When I hear someone running, I want to scream; I know it's Dakota. I don't want her in here right now.
"Mommy, Daddy." She stops when she sees all the men with guns. "Why are there bad guys here?"
"Who is this?" Christov asks, looking from Dakota to me. Jordan picks her up and comes back to my side.
"Our daughter," I reply.
"Are you going to hurt us like the other bad guy hurt my mommy? I don't like bad guys. I will call the police." She warns them. I glance down the hallway and see Courtney looking at us. She looks sick. I smile and tilt my head so she'll go back in the room. I know Dakota probably ran out before she could stop her.
"I'm not going to hurt you or your mommy. I'm taking you guys home to live with me," Christov says. Dakota shakes her head.
"Nope, we're staying here with Daddy. I have a new room, and I have friends. We don't want to live somewhere where people have guns all the time. So you can go home, and we'll stay here." She tells him. Christov smiles slightly.
"What's your name?" he asks her.
"You're a stranger, and I'm not allowed to tell strangers my name. Can you leave now? I don't like guns or bad guys. Why do you talk funny?" Everyone looks from Dakota to Christov. Our men are smirking while his men look confused. I'm sure they've never seen him get questioned by a four-year-old.
"I'm from Russia, so I have an accent. I'm not a stranger. I'm your grandfather," Christov says. I look at Dakota, and she tilts her head to the side, studying him.
"No, I don't think so. You never came to see us, and if you were my grandpa, you would have come to see us." The corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile.
"I like you," he says. Dakota shakes her head.
"I have enough friends. I don't need friends with guns." She raises her eyebrows at him, and for once, I'm proud she's giving that look to someone other than me. Christov looks at his men and nods. They all put their guns away. Our men do the same.
"Now, can you tell me your name?" He asks her.
"Daddy, should I tell him my name?" she asks Jordan. He looks at me, and I nod.
"You can if you want," he says, kissing her forehead.
"My name is Dakota. What's yours?" Christov holds his hand out to her.
"Christov." She shakes his hand and tries to say his name.
"Christo, Christo. I can't say that, so I'll call you Chrissy." I would laugh if only she weren't talking to a mob boss.
"I can say with certainty that you are the only one who will get away with calling me such a ridiculous name. How old are you, Dakota?" He questions her.
"Why do you need to know?" she asks, squinting her eyes in a way that I assume she thinks looks intimidating, but it just makes her look like she can't see.
"I'm just curious. I've never met a little girl like you." He answers.
"I'm not little; I'm almost five. I have a police badge and a nurse's hat. So, I already have two jobs." Christov throws his head back and starts laughing. Everyone is stunned, but the ones who look most surprised are his three men. I take it he doesn't laugh very often.
"Okay, well, I won't make the mistake of calling you little ever again." He turns to me, and his face still has a hint of a smile. "She reminds me a lot of your mother. Full of sass and won't take anyone's shit."
"That's a bad word. We don't say bad words." Dakota chastises him.
"I'm sorry. I will watch my mouth." I never thought I would see Dakota fight the Russian mob and win.
"Can we talk?" He asks me.
"As long as you want to talk and not demand, that's fine." I point to the couch, and he walks over to take a seat. Jordan pushes me next to a chair in the living room and sits with Dakota on his lap beside me.
"I'm sorry I came in here guns blazing, literally. When I realized I had a daughter and you had been shot, all I could think of was hiding you away. I always had a feeling your mom left me because she was pregnant. She didn't want this life, and I know she won't want it for you. How is she?" He looks so hopeful.
"Stewart, the man who I thought was my dad until about an hour ago, was a mean bastard who treated her like crap. She died when I was thirteen. He's the one responsible for me getting shot. He hired a man to kidnap me and told him he could do what he wanted with me. You're right. My mom wouldn't want this life for me. She was the kindest, purest person I ever knew, and every day, I hope I make her proud." I wipe my tears away and see Christov wipe one of his own away.
"I'm so sorry. What's Stewart's full name?" He asks, looking at his men.
"Stewart Wilkins. Why?" I glance at one of his men, who takes out a phone.
"He won't be a problem much longer." I know the right thing to do would be to argue and tell him to let the police deal with him, but Stewart did almost get me killed, and I'm sure he's not done. So, I'll play dumb and let the chips fall where they may.