Love Me, Don't Fix Me

The terrace garden was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the warm afternoon breeze. The air smelled of roses and old cigars—her father's signature scent lingered faintly in the space. Nova stepped out onto the tiled floor, her footsteps cautious, hesitant. She spotted Nikolai near the back, standing beneath the pergola shaded by creeping vines. He was on the phone, speaking in rapid Russian.

She lingered near the entrance, careful not to interrupt. Her Russian wasn't perfect, but she understood enough. He was talking about a weapons shipment—something about Viktor, his younger brother, being the one to finalize the consignment and ensure it made it safely to its destination. It was just another glimpse into the world that had cost her so much. The world that had stolen Andrew from her.

Still, she waited.

After a minute, Nikolai ended the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned. His sharp green eyes—usually so calm and unreadable—softened the instant they met hers.

Nova cleared her throat. "Can we talk?"

He gave a short nod. "Yes. Of course."

She walked over slowly, and they both sat on the old stone bench near the potted hydrangeas she had helped him plant last spring. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. Just... full.

Nova rubbed her palms together, twisting her fingers in her lap. "Uhm... first of all, Mom went to see Andrew."

Nikolai lifted a brow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course she did."

"She said she's not coming back until he hears her out," Nova added, a small, awkward smile tugging at her lips.

"Oh my God," he muttered, shaking his head lightly.

"And I'm here to talk to you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned toward her, patient but guarded, as if bracing himself for more anger.

Nova's throat tightened. She took a breath. "I'm still mad at you," she admitted, her gaze drifting to the sky above the garden. "And I hate what you did. I don't think I'll ever truly forgive it, Dad."

Nikolai didn't flinch. He just listened.

"But I also know..." Her voice faltered. She closed her eyes briefly, searching for the words. "I know you did what you thought was right. Maybe not morally right, or humanly right—but the bratva right. I may never agree with it, but I understand that you believed you were protecting something. Maybe even protecting me, in your own twisted way."

Nikolai's jaw clenched slightly, but he remained silent, letting her speak.

Nova looked down at her hands again. "The truth is, despite all the darkness, you've always been there for me. Not just physically—anyone can show up—but emotionally. You always made time for my dance recitals, my art shows. You always asked how my day was. You were the only parent in the room who would sneak me donuts before class. You taught me how to ride a bike, remember?"

He chuckled softly, the memory breaking through the tension like sunlight. "You crashed into the rose bush and accused the bike of having an attitude problem."

A faint smile touched her lips. "It did have an attitude."

They shared a quiet laugh.

"I love you, Dad," she said, eyes glistening. "And I hate that this whole thing has come between us. I want to put it behind us. I want things to go back to how they were. I want to be your little girl again. Your... your daddy's girl."

Nikolai's shoulders sank, as if someone had taken a heavy weight off them. His eyes, usually cold and calculating in his business world, were warm and full of emotion now. He reached for her hand.

"You have always been my baby," he said softly. "That has never changed and it never will. Even if you hate me—even if you grow to despise the things I've done—I will always love you. I would burn down the world for you, Nova. I already have."

Tears pricked her eyes.

"You are my first child. My first light. The moment you were born, I held you in my arms, and everything made sense. I didn't think I could feel love like that. You... you made me human."

Nova looked up at him. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't the Bratva Don. He wasn't the feared, ruthless Nikolai Volkov. He was just her father. A man who had made impossible choices. A man who carried guilt the way others carried pride. A man who loved fiercely—even if it hurt.

"I know," she said, nodding. "And I don't want to lose you too. Not while I've already lost so much."

"You'll never lose me," he whispered, and this time, it was he who reached out to hug her. His arms wrapped around her like a fortress. She leaned into him and let herself be held.

They stayed like that for a while, surrounded by blooming flowers and afternoon warmth. For once, the weight of the past sat quietly beside them, no longer shouting. There was still pain. There were still things to repair. But there was also love.

And sometimes, that was enough to begin again.

-----------

Elara stood in front of the worn apartment door, one hand resting on her lower back, the other holding a small leather clutch. Her heels were modest, but even they felt like knives after a morning of waddling through the city. The pregnancy had made walking harder, but not impossible—and certainly not enough to stop her when her daughter's heart was at stake.

She didn't knock immediately. Instead, she stared at the faded paint, at the tiny scratches on the door's surface, wondering what kind of life was lived behind it. After a moment of quiet, she lifted her hand and knocked—twice, then once more for good measure.

The door opened slowly.

Andrew stood there, looking as though sleep had forgotten him. His hair was tousled in every direction, and the shadows under his eyes were so dark they seemed painted on. His lips were dry, pressed into a tight line. He blinked in surprise when he saw her.

"Mrs. Volkov?"

"Can I come in?" she asked, her tone soft. "My feet are killing me, and this little one is getting heavier by the second."

Andrew hesitated. For a beat, he just stared, unsure of what to do. Then, wordlessly, he stepped aside and opened the door wider. She smiled in gratitude and stepped inside.

It was her first time seeing the place where her daughter's heart had lived for the past few months.

It was modest. Small. Clean, in a lived-in kind of way. A folded blanket on the couch. A stack of books on the counter. Faint coffee and laundry soap smells mixed in the air. It was the complete opposite of her mansion back home, where servants dusted chandeliers and gold accents lined the walls. And yet... this space was warm. Personal.

She spotted the hoodie Nova had forgotten, draped over the armrest. It made her chest ache.

"May I sit?" she asked, pointing at the worn-out couch. "My feet are staging a rebellion."

"Of course," Andrew said quickly, stepping around a pile of papers on the floor to clear the spot. "Sorry, it's... small."

"It's cozy," Elara said with a soft smile as she sat down slowly, sighing with relief. "I used to have a normal place. Before your average billionaire bratva heir decided to sweep me off my feet. Two bedrooms, nice and cozy living room and kitchen that smelled like me."

Andrew gave a small, polite nod, but his face remained guarded. "I manage."

"I can see that." She leaned back against the couch and looked around. "You've built a life here. Simple. Clean. Yours."

He crossed his arms. "How have you been?"

Elara turned to face him, one perfectly shaped brow arched. "Oh, now we're pretending this is a polite visit?"

Andrew's lips twitched, the smallest ghost of a smile, but he didn't answer.

"Do you have candy?" she asked suddenly, rubbing her stomach. "This baby's been kicking all morning. I need sugar."

Andrew blinked, caught off guard. "Uhm... yeah. I think I have some in the cabinet. What kind?"

"Anything but mint," she said, deadpan. "It tastes like regret."

He huffed a small breath—almost a laugh—and moved toward the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets and returned with a strawberry hard candy. She accepted it with a pleased hum.

"Thank you," she said. She unwrapped the candy slowly, letting the silence sit for a moment before finally speaking again. "You're right, by the way. I didn't come here for sweets. I came for Nova."

Andrew stiffened.

"I know you're angry," Elara said. "You have every right to be. What happened to your family was horrible. No one—no one—should have to go through that."

He said nothing, but his jaw clenched.

"When I met Nikolai, I didn't know who he was. I thought he was just some arrogant, rich man with a pretty face who insisted on walking me home. He came to church with me. He was... normal. Or he pretended to be. When I found out the truth, I was devastated. I begged him to choose between me and the bratva."

Andrew slowly lowered himself onto the armchair opposite her, hands clasped together tightly.

"He didn't choose," she continued. "He said the bratva raised him, made him who he was. That it wasn't just an organization—it was his bloodline. I thought he was crazy. But then I realized... people don't just abandon what raised them, even if it's dark. Especially if it's all they've ever known."

She sighed, placing a gentle hand on her bump. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm not here to defend my husband. God knows I don't always agree with him, and this is one of those times."

Andrew looked down, his expression unreadable.

"I'm here because of Nova," Elara said softly. "Because I've seen her cry for two nights straight. Because I've watched her break in front of me in ways I've never seen before. She loves you, Andrew. She really, really does."

"I can't do this," he murmured. "Every time I look at her, I see fire. I see my little brother running toward the pool. I see my mother screaming for help. I see my home in ashes. I see him."

Elara's heart cracked.

"I know," she said, reaching for a tissue from her purse and offering it. "And I know it hurts. But you're not hurting Nova to punish Nikolai—you're punishing yourself. You are angry with the man who destroyed your family, but you're pushing away the one person who has loved you purely. Unconditionally. And she didn't do any of this to you."

"She's his daughter," he said. "That blood... it's in her."

"And so what?" Elara countered. "You think blood defines who we are? You think I married into the bratva and lost my soul? Nova is a product of love. Not violence. And if she were anything like Nikolai, do you think you would have loved her?"

Andrew blinked.

"She's nothing like him," Elara said gently. "She's kind, stubborn, loyal to a fault. You were the first person she let into her world—truly let in. Not because you were rich or important. But because you were honest. You made her laugh. You made her feel safe."

Tears welled in Andrew's eyes, but he blinked them away.

"I'm not asking you to forgive Nikolai," she added. "Hell, I haven't. But I'm asking you not to let his sins rob you of the one thing in this world that made you smile again. You deserve happiness. And she deserves someone who doesn't see her as her father's shadow."

Andrew looked down at the floor. "I don't know if I can do it."

Elara leaned forward, her voice warm and steady. "Just think about it. Love doesn't erase pain, but it can soften it. You don't have to make a decision today. But don't close the door. Not yet."

He looked up at her. "You're really persistent."

"I'm a mother," she said with a soft smile. "I grew a human inside me. Twice. Trust me, persistence is my superpower."

He smiled—barely—but it was something.

Elara stood, smoothed her dress over her bump, and walked toward the door.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she said.

"Of course you will," he muttered.

"I'm Elara Volkov, darling. And I don't give up on the people my daughter loves."

And with that, she left him sitting there—heart heavy, thoughts swirling, and the strawberry candy wrapper still crumpled in his palm.