God of Fury (Legacy of Gods #5) by Rina Kent

“We are, right?” Nikolai grins like a fucking idiot and nudges my son’s shoulder. “Hear that? Even your mom thinks we’re sweet.”

“Stop it,” he hisses under his breath, more out of embarrassment than annoyance.

I really wish it was fucking annoyance.

“So what do you like about my son?” I ask in my solemn tone, and that immediately puts a damper on the cheerful mood.

Nikolai is the only one who doesn’t get the jab or the tone, or if he does, he completely ignores it. “The right question would be what I don’t like about him. Which is maybe three things…actually, I take that back. I like those things sometimes as well, so they don’t count.”

“Is that your way of not giving me one single thing you like?”

“I’m happy to. How much time do you have, sir?”

“As much as you need.”

“Okay then.” He inhales deeply and speaks in one continuous breath. “I like that he’s responsible, punctual, takes all of his engagements seriously, steps up for justice, and helps in every way possible. I like his cooking, his rare smiles, and how dedicated he is to running and staying healthy. I like making him laugh and, eh, watching him sleep. I like how he’s fully concentrated when he’s in the art studio, but most of all, I like how he let me into his life and made a place for me there. I even like the boring Agatha Christie movie adaptations now, not because they’re any good, but because he’s truly obsessed with that shi—I mean, stuff. I even like his nagging and control-freak tendencies most of the time, so yeah, there’s nothing I don’t like…actually, there’s something. He has this habit of putting everyone else’s comfort before his own, or he pretends to be fine when he’s obviously not. I don’t only dislike that. I hate it.”

My wife has fallen into an irreparable puddle on her chair, but she’s not what’s making my blood run cold. It’s the look in Bran’s eyes as his entire body angles in Nikolai’s direction.

It’s awe and affection but also fear. A fear so deep, even I can see it. What is he afraid of?

He doesn’t look to be scared of Nikolai, more like he’s scared for him. But why and from what?

There’s also another disturbing emotion. I recognize that look. That’s how I looked when I first realized the depth of the emotions I felt for his mother.

He’s in love with him. It’s not a crush, mere admiration, or a fling. My son is fully, truly, and irrevocably in love with the gangster.

God rest my soul in fucking pieces.

“By the way.” Nikolai grins at Bran. “I’m totally going to tell my dad to ask you that exact same question when you meet him. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Bran smiles again and passes him a few jam-filled scones that he chomps on like a monster.

After breakfast, Astrid ushers them to the living room.

“Mum, shouldn’t you rest? You spent an all-nighter in the studio.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t miss the chance to meet Nikolai for the world. I had my English Breakfast tea. I’ll be fine.”

“Ma’am…” he trails off when she glares at him. “Astrid…I’m sorry I intruded on your resting time.”

“At least you’re aware of that,” I mutter, following close behind them.

My wife scolds me with those bright-green eyes that could make me do anything—absolutely anything—except for handing over my precious Bran to this wanker.

“I can leave if that’s better—” His words come to a halt when Bran clutches his wrist and shakes his head.

“Absolutely not,” my wife says. “You’re our guest.”

“Not one I approve of.”

“Levi, seriously. Shouldn’t you be going to work?” She hikes a hand on her hip and offers me her stern look.

“I’m calling in sick.”

I’m literally sick to my fucking stomach over the thought of yet another one of my children leaving the nest.

Yes, they’ve been going to university for a few years now, and I should be used to this feeling, but I most definitely am not. Besides, a part of me thought Bran would choose to move back home and stay with us for life.

Am I saying goodbye to my dream right now?

“Anyway, Nikolai,” my wife says after she shakes her head at me. “Do you want to see Bran’s baby photos?”

“Hell yeah,” he agrees readily like an eager child, then blurts, “I mean yes, please.”

“Mum.” Bran gives her an incredulous look.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”

Astrid leads Nikolai to her favorite sofa that faces the garden, then goes to the cupboard to fetch all the albums she treats like treasures.

Bran falls back so that he’s standing with me, a safe distance away from them.

We watch as his mother sits beside Nikolai and begins with pictures from the day she found out she was pregnant with the twins. We didn’t know they were twins at that time.

I remember that day so well. The joy that washed over us at the thought of having our own family was so palpable, I can still taste it on my tongue. It feels like yesterday, but it isn’t, because one of my first babies has his own life now and probably won’t call or text me when he needs a pick-me-up.