Chapter 6

XANDER

She looked at me as if I am crazy..

"It's fine.. It's just a picture.. "

She mumbled but both me and Dad shook our head.

"No baby.. It's just not about a picture. It's about consent.. He took it while you were asleep and that's not right.. "

Dad explained to her and she nodded obediently..

"The one with black hair, he stood in the back.. "

She finally said and dad gave me a look and I got out.. As I walked back in, my eyes scanned for the person and I saw him as the corner..

"You.. Come here! "

I kept my voice cold as I stepped closer to the officer, the atmosphere turning sharp enough to slice air. There was no way anyone should have had her photo. Yet, an officer raised a trembling hand, his phone glowing dimly in his palm like it had something to confess.

I crossed the space in two strides, towering over him.

“Phone.”

He handed it over instantly, and I didn’t even glance at the screen before deleting the image and hurling the device to the ground. The screen cracked with a sound I found satisfying.

"You could take her consent before taking picture! how dare you take it without her consent! "

Then my hand gripped his collar and slammed him against the wall, his boots skidding on the tiled floor.

“She’s not some subject for your cheap curiosity. Consider yourself lucky I’m not sending you back in a body bag. When we return—disappear. Or pray we don’t find you.”

I let him fall to the floor with a thud, disgust curling in my gut. As I turned to leave, I caught sight of the boy again—him. Not shaking, not backing away. Watching me with a smirk that made my hands curl into fists.

“You. Stay away from my sister.”

I growled the words, ready to finish what I started.

He didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head.

“Why don’t you try keeping her away from me instead?”

I paused mid-step. Slowly turned.

“What?”

“Try keeping her away. Let’s see how that goes,” he said, his grin widening. “I already gave her back. Doesn’t mean she’ll stay away.”

The nerve. My jaw tightened, and my pulse pounded in my ears. A seven-year-old shouldn’t talk like that. A seven-year-old shouldn’t know how to talk like that.

“She doesn’t need you,” I spat.

“Maybe not. But you will. You’ll all come crawling back to me before the year ends.”

He gave me a slow, mocking bow.

“I’m your half-brother, right? Call this my welcome gift.”

I had to clench my fists to stop myself. Hitting a child—no matter how unnerving—was beneath me. But this kid? He was dangerous in a way I didn’t understand. Not physically. Mentally.

“We’ll see about that, freak,” I muttered.

He shrugged. “The name’s Peter..Peter De Vonn. Not ‘freak.’ Save that for the mirror.”

I gritted my teeth so hard it hurt and stormed out toward the car.

As soon as I slid into the front seat, I sensed something was off. She was sitting far from my father, staring out the window, her frame curled in like she was trying to disappear.

“Dad… what happened?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the streetlights outside, blinking too fast to be casual. His hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. I’d never seen him like this.

“Princess!” he finally said softly. “You want something to eat?”

“Thank you, Mr. Russo, but I’m fine.”

The words stung. I turned in my seat, eyes darting to her face. His expression fell apart for a moment before he turned away, blinking against the tears.

She’d called him dad until now. What the fuck just happened in few minutes that changed the atmosphere so much?

“Princess,” I tried gently, “don’t be mad. We couldn’t bring Peter with us. It would’ve been illegal. Do you want us to get arrested, baby?”

She stiffened at the nickname but finally turned her eyes to me.

“No—it’s not that, it’s just...”

She trailed off, and something about her voice—cracked, but holding back—told me how much she cared for that weird little kid. Dad shifted slightly, his hand twitching toward her but stopping short.

“Peter’s sick,” she whispered. “He has something rare. A neurodegenerative disease. They say he’s not got more than a few years left.”

That hit harder than I expected.

“He’s been with me since I was eight. He’s not just a brother. I raised him after my mom passed. She made me promise to never let him alone and take care of him always.”

She looked down again, knuckles white around the seatbelt.

I felt something in my chest twist—something I didn’t want to name.

She started sniffling quietly, and before I could react, Dad reached out and gently pulled her to him. She flinched. A small movement, but we both saw it.

That wasn’t nothing. That was trauma.

I exchanged a look with my father, and he nodded slightly—he noticed it too.

Her breathing slowed, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was uneven. Too shallow. Her skin was pale under the passing lights, and even through the soft shadows of the car, I could see how thin she’d gotten. As someone who trained as a medic, it sent alarm bells blaring in my head.

I’d check her the moment we were home.

Something wasn’t right.

ALEXANDER

From the second the door closed, she pulled herself to the farthest corner of the car, as if being close to me would set her on fire. My heart sank.

She hadn’t even looked at me since we left that place. I knew why. We’d left that kid behind—the boy she practically raised.

“Mira..” I murmured, “we’ll go back in a week. Okay?”

She nodded without looking.

My jaw clenched. I’d make sure that child got proper care. I’d call in every favor I had. He’d never end up in the system again. But I couldn’t let that boy stay near her. Not after the way he spoke. The things he knew.

Maybe I hated him because he was a part of her past I wasn’t in. Maybe I was angry at myself for not knowing she existed until a few days ago. Seventeen years… wasted.

Now, all I cared about was making things right.

“Princess?” I reached toward her slowly.

She flinched.

She flinched like I was going to hit her.

That tore through me worse than any wound.

“Yes… Mr. Russo.”

The title stabbed deep.

Not Dad.

Not even Alexander.

Just Mr. Russo.

The last time someone called me that with venom, it was her mother. Isabella. It was how she punished me when I disappointed her.

“No,” I said too harshly. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Her eyes widened, shoulders tensing as she tried to shrink further into the leather seat. I’d raised five kids and never seen such raw fear on any of them.

I cursed myself. My voice—my posture—everything must’ve reminded her of someone else. Someone worse.

The door opened, and Xander finally slid into the car.

I didn’t need to say a word. He read the room instantly. That’s always been his gift—reading what others miss.

Now, as Mira fell asleep against my side, her breathing uneven and her body trembling even in sleep, I realized something.

Something in her was broken in ways I didn’t know how to fix.

I looked at my son.

“What happened to her all these years?” I whispered.

He didn’t respond for a long time.

And then he said, almost too quietly to hear:

“She didn’t just survive… She endured. And I don’t know if that’s something we can undo.”

And that… terrified me.