39- Leave New York

"It's not fashionable to love me."

- Lana Del Rey

. . .

ASHTON CREED

"I'll take care of her," I said, my voice low with Olivia snuggled to my side. "Go."

Xerxes nodded, dropping a kiss to Olivia's forehead.

He walked out of her room. He had to go to a meeting. I hated meeting so I decided to stay back. Zavier was out looking for Alexi.

"Daddy?"

I looked down at her. "Yes, little one."

She didn't say anything, just snuggled into me more. I chuckled, pulling her over my chest. She fisted my shirt in her hands. "Daddy."

"Yes?"

She frowned. "Nothing."

I rolled my eyes. She was a brat even in her subspace.

I got off the bed with her in my arms. "Let's go put you in the jacuzzi."

She nodded into my chest. I walked inside the bathroom and sat her down on the counter. I took off the shirt she was wearing, exposing her body. Her nipples were red and swollen and her eyes were half-opened. I picked her up and sat her down in the empty jacuzzi. I started it and the lukewarm water filled it in mere seconds, she watched this with wide eyes.

I sat down on the edge of it and grabbed her shoulders, gently massaging them. She melted into me, sighing happily.

I washed her hair thoroughly while she stared at the bubbles, poking some of them.

When I was done, I picked her up in a towel and set her down on the counter. I dried her hair as much as I could without messing them up while she swayed her legs back and forth.

I picked her up and walked out of the bathroom. I sat her down on the bed.

"Let me grab you a shirt." I kissed her forehead and to the closet to grab one of my t-shirts. I grabbed a causal black one and walked out of the closet.

Her hand was on a drawer handle. My guns were inside, with her file. "Olivia!"

She flinched, looking at me with wide eyes.

I walked towards her and pushed her away from the drawer. I checked the drawer. It was locked.

I looked at her.

Her eyes were filled with tears, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked at me fearfully.

Fuck.

"Little one." She sobbed, shaking her head. Fuck.

"Baby." I tried to grab her. She whimpered and shifted away. "No!"

"Listen to me-"

The door opened and Zavier entered.

He looked at Olivia and then raised his eyebrows at me. I sighed. "The drawer," I muttered.

Zavier walked inside. "Kitten." She wrapped her arms around him, pressing his face into his chest as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking. Fuck.

He picked her up and sat down on the bed, pulling her closer to him. "Kitten." She was continued sobbing, gasping for breath as she shook.

He ran his hand through her hair and then put the t-shirt on her. "Little one."

She shook her head, sobbing harder. "Baby, I'm sorry." She shook her head shaking again.

Zavier looked at me. "I should take her."

I didn't want her to be scared of me. I nodded. "Yeah. I'll take over the search."

He walked out of the room.

. . .

I looked at the bookshelf.

'Ashton's' was engraved on the side. I had taken this bookshelf from the old mansion as soon as we had acquired control of New York. Our mafia once ruled on about half of America, but then father happened and people broke off alliances, choosing death rather than bowing down to the mad capo. The mafia was in pieces. Mafia men walking around like fucking dogs.

Trying to get the mafia back together was like trying to glue a mirror together. Fucking impossible. It had taken us years, various fights, and multiple gunshots to get the mafia together in a steel grip. Zavier and I had been twenty-one then and Xerxes had been twenty-three, still crippled by nightmares and the horrors we had blown up in smoke.

Life had been dark, pretty fucking dark till she came.

. . .

ZAVIER CREED

I was not used to a woman sleeping beside me. My subs and one-night stands knew what to expect from me. Rough fucking, red ass, and then a car and driver to get home. They preferred it that way. No matter how wet I made them they were scared shitless of me. I was good with my sports cars

and boring meetings and having fun in the basement. I never thought I'd need more. I never wanted more.

But then I saw her. And I craved more.

I could not lie, it was her innocence that made me look at her but her everything else which made me continue looking. It was the way she looked at the world. The way she dressed. The way her eyes lit up while she drew. We had maintained our distance for so long - for about a year when she came to New York, an eighteen-year-old with stars in her eyes and charcoal under her fingernails.

I knew good when I saw it. And I saw it in her. A lot of it. It was addicting. It was inviting. It was home.

She was home.

She had been for quite a while.

I looked at her. She was tucked to my side, her red mouth opened a little as she slept peacefully. No one was ever at peace with me in the room but my kitten slept beside me as she owned me with her leg on my stomach, one arm wrapped around my torso, and cheek squashed on my bicep.

"I'll take care of you, kitten," I said to her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

My phone buzzed. I sighed. I picked up the phone.

Xadiot - Attack at a safehouse. Fifteen dead. There's a note. There was a picture attached to it.

It was in Russian so I could read it.

Leave New York.

I gritted my teeth.

We had to send her away.

. . .