"I'm his son," He spoke the words through gritted teeth, the woman nodding and gave him the room number as he went up in the elevator.

He was surprised to see that there were other people staying on the floor and that there were no guards stationed out the door or around the hallway for that matter. Romanov's security precaution being close to nonexistent. Knocking on the door, he stood waiting a minute, telling himself that if the door isn't answered in the next thirty seconds, he would walk away, silently counting under his breath.

"Fuck," He hissed to himself when the door unlocked at twenty-eight, a disheveled Nikolai squinted up at him through the brightness of the lobby. Seeing the man's sleep ridden state, it occurred to Marco that the man might still be jetlagged.

"Aleksander," Nikolai blinked and opened the door in haste, Marco was taken aback by the speed of the pull, "Zakhodite. Zakhodite." He stumbled over his words as the Italian assumed he was being invited inside.

"I don't speak Russian," Marco informed and stepped into the darkened room, his fingers grazing the handle of the Glock in his coat pocket when the lights turned on behind him, illuminating the room.

It was nothing special, Marco realized, a simple hotel room with the standard king-sized bed on one side and a long table on the other with a flat-screen T.V mounted on the wall and a chair tucked under the table. A door leading to the en-suite and wardrobes opposite the French windows leading out to the balcony.

"Are you hungry?" Nikolai asked behind Marco eagerly, who went and pulled out the seat and straddled it, facing the ruffled condition of the bed, watching the Russian from the corner of his eyes, seeing that he was dressed in a plain old grey t-shirt and white shorts. "What can I help you with?"

"You can probably do nothing for me," Marco shrugged as he watched the man settle down on the edge of the bed. "You don't appear to have the resources."

"Then what?"

"I just have a couple of questions for you,"

"Okay, I can answer,"

Marco fell quiet, trying to formulate his thoughts together as he could only see Sofia's face before him, knowing that coming to Nikolai without security detail was a stupid decision. The man might just kill him, father or no, Marco did not trust him. A part of him even felt like he was going against his brother, even though Salvatore didn't say anything about meeting with the Russian, he was still very much aware of the Mafia Boss's disapproval.

"This meeting is to be kept silent," Marco told him finally. "I won't stay for long since my absence will be noted,"

"That's okay,"

"There is this...woman's voice I hear sometimes in my dreams," Marco tried to explain, realizing how strange it sounds once said out loud. "She's singing something to me, and I assume it's Russian,"

"What does she sing?"

"I don't...I can't clearly remember the words, but it's something like 'tilli tilli bom'?"

Nikolai's eyes widened as he recited the poem to him, Marco straightening to realize that this man knew what he was talking about.

"Yes, that, what is it?"

"It's your lullaby," He explained, the Italian looking at him with raised eyebrows at the words. "Your mother used to sing it to you when she put you to sleep."

"What does it mean?"

Nikolai translated it for him, Marco blinking at him as he let it sink in.

"That does not sound like something suitable for a little child,"

"You wouldn't listen to anything else," Nikolai laughed with a soft smile. "So your mother sang it to you every night before bed."

"My...mother?" Marco echoed after him, Rosalie's smile appearing to his memory as he shook it away. "Who was she? What was she like?"

"Your mother's name was Tanya," Nikolai informed. "She was the daughter of a nobleman and we had met at a social gathering when we both had been young. I believe she was twenty-one when we first met while I was...twenty-six,"

"I still remember how she came to me," The Russian chuckled and shook his head. "This beautiful, glowing person with such wide and inquisitive eyes tapped me on the shoulder while I had been talking to another person. Imagine my surprise when I turned around to be met by the sight of her. Then the very first question she asked me 'ty v mafli', 'are you in the mafia'. It amused me to see this young lady – who had lived her whole life in a bubble and was blissfully unaware of the reality of life – ask me if I was in an illegal cartel. I told her I was, and I expected her to get frightened and maybe run away, but instead, she just smiled and asked my post. Then she looped her arm through mine and led me away from the crowd and asked me all the questions about the Bratva,"

"Did you answer them?" Marco asked with a raised eyebrow, having grown up keeping as many matters of the Mafia as quiet as possible.

"To the best of my abilities," Nikolai nodded. "Next thing I knew, I was spending a lot more time with her than I had imagined, she would seek me out, or I would take her out, and then she told me that she wanted me to meet her father to ask him for her hand in marriage. The thought had terrified me because I knew that he would not agree to his princess marrying a Pakhan. She teased me then, saying I gambled with death for a living, but asking an old man for the hand of his daughter scared the daylight out of me,"

The words, no matter how hard he tried, had Marco's lips twitch in a smile.

"Tanya must have threatened him because the moment I entered his sitting room, he was throwing himself at my feet and begging me to marry his daughter. And I did. I married her, and not long after our wedding she told me she was expecting you and we adored you to death. Our first child, a boy," He looked up at Marco from beneath his lashes, his eyes holding a pleading look of recognition in them that fell at the sight of his passivity. "Anyways, we lived very happily for three years, when she told me she was expecting again, I hoped it would be a girl," Nikolai chuckled at the memory.

"You were...three years old when you were taken from us, from me," Nikolai swallowed. "I was in...Moscow for business and you were back at the winter palace with your mama. I thought I left sufficient guards to protect you and your pregnant mother, but...I don't know, maybe the palace was too big or we were outnumbered or what, but...I lost all three of you,"

"From what understand..." He sighed. "Someone broke into our headquarters, and your mother knew, so she had you hide under the...under the...postel'?" He patted the mattress, looking at Marco to see if he understood.

"Bed?" Marco supplied.

"Bed, yes. Your mother hid you under the bed and was shot." Nikolai cleared his throat. "They killed your mother and blew up the headquarters with everyone in it...I thought you had died too. I did not know you were alive and well living with the Regnante's," The Russian gestured to him.

"The loss of my headquarters and the blow to my strength had me go underground to try and get back all that I lost, but I cannot bring back people from the dead," Nikolai told him in silence. "I understand you do not want to believe me, Aleksander, but I just want you to know that I gave you that bracelet on the last birthday we celebrated with you. It was a...set, you see," Nikolai spoke as he leaned forward and exposed his wrist, showing the exact same bracelet Marco had owned all his life.

"I was surprised to see it on that day, I did not think and I acted out of...desperation, is it? I know you do not want to believe me, but I would like you to believe me, Aleksander, because you are my son and I...for all these years, I had thought you were dead and I was the last Romanov and that my legacy would die with me,"

"Your legacy is not one worth carrying, Mr. Romanov," Marco leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out before him with his coat draped over his shoulders and arm held to his midriff. Watching with a sick sense of pleasure when he winced. "Now the Regnante legacy?" He scoffed.

"Now that is a legacy worth carrying,"

"Aleksander-"

"-You've come all this way from Russia," He stopped the Russian before he could continue. "Why?"

"I am dying, Aleksander," Nikolai's words didn't stir any sympathy in the Italian. "I have stomach cancer and am not expected to live long and you...you are my heir and I want you to take over after me..."

Marco wanted to tell him that he was the heir to the Regnante Mafia, that he was going to take over after Salvatore, but then the memory of the Mafia Boss disavowing him as his heir during his dying days, and the birth of Demetrio came flooding back to him. Even if Salvatore said Marco would take over, that would only be until Demetrio comes of age. The child's claim and his parentage are far stronger than that of Marco's to become the Boss of the Regnante Mafia.

"I would like to invite you to Russia, to see everything under the Romanov name and meet the people. You don't have to be alone, Mr. Regnante can come too, but I want you to see everything just one time," Nikolai said. "Take a survey of your birthright,"

"My birthright," The words tasted funny in his mouth, a sardonic smile coming to his lips as he quirked an eyebrow at the man before him. "My birthright was to have a childhood filled with parental love and maybe a sister. My birthright was supposed to be happiness and a little sense of protection. It was not supposed to be being sold and raised as a fucking slave to the filthiest men on the planet, and then being bought off and sold to an underground boxing ring only for me to be on the verge of death. Which, by the way, I managed to survive only because the Regnante boys had been in my vicinity and saved me," The fury bubbled hot in his chest, the words forcing him to sit on the edge of his chair and ground out every word, relishing in the way Nikolai's face turned ashen with every word.

"You're Pakhan, right? The Russian equivalent of Capo, right? The Capo's number one responsibility is the protection of those under his charge. So where were you when I was sold and bought and beaten and broken into submission, where were you when I was passed around and played with and turned into nothing but a-a-a puppet? Where you when I almost died, huh, dad?"

"Aleksander-" He choked out, trying to get some coherency.

"-You have failed as Pakhan, Nikolai," Marco growled and stood from his seat, silencing the man before him. "You have failed as Pakhan, as a father, and as a human, and I do not work with failures," He eyed his figure with disgust and turned to walk away, tearing his arm away when Nikolai jumped up from his seat and reached out to stop him.

"Aleksander-"

"-My name is Marco Raffaele Regnante," Marco cut him off, towering over him with his eyes burning. "And you will address me as such, Mr. Romanov,"

"I am not your friend, I am not your son, I am not interested in your meager 'birthright', I have more to my name without anyone's help than what you can possibly offer me. I am your enemy, Mr. Romanov, you'd do better to remember that the next time you have the audacity to try and step foot into our jurisdiction,"

With that said, Marco smirked at the gaping and trembling Russian, turning towards the door and stepping out. Leaving him to stand alone under the harsh brightness of the spotlight.

The sun had begun to rise across the horizon by the time Marco got home. Stuffing his hands in his coat pocket, he walked up the path to his homely cottage, instant relief flooding him to be back home, but he faltered in his step when he found two men standing beneath the shade of the pine trees.

From where Marco stood, he could recognize his brother's guards.