Daddy's girls, Book 2

Daddy’s Girls, book 2

In the world beneath the surface, power doesn’t always come from force.

Sometimes, it comes from the ones you never see.

The ones who listen. Who watch. Who understand how everything connects before anyone else realizes something is wrong.

Erika Guntur has always been one of them.

At twenty-six, she lives behind systems, codes, and networks that most people don’t even know exist. She doesn’t need to step into a room to control it. She’s already inside it long before anyone notices.

It’s cleaner that way.

Safer.

Because the moment she steps out from behind the screen, the rules change.

And this time, she doesn’t have a choice.

The Smertov twins don’t build empires people can simply walk into and out of. Their world is quiet, controlled, and dangerously precise, ruled by men who don’t waste movement, words, or attention.

Dimitri and Dominik don’t chase chaos.

They contain it.

And now, Erika has stepped directly into their line of sight.

What begins as infiltration quickly becomes something harder to control, something that doesn’t follow logic, doesn’t stay predictable, and doesn’t leave her untouched.

Because in a world built on control, someone always has to give it up.

The only question is who.

Chapter 1

Erika

Buzz… buzz… buzz…

I groaned, squinting against the blinding brightness of my phone screen like a vampire hit by direct sunlight. Seriously, who in their right mind thinks it’s okay to call me at this ungodly hour? Everyone with a brain cell knows I’m a certified night owl, a creature of the dark who only sleeps when the sun starts clocking in for the day.

And waking me up at lunch? That’s a sin punishable by death.

The buzzing persisted like a fly that just wouldn’t die. I cracked one eye open, squinting at the clock on my nightstand. 1 p.m.? Are you fucking kidding me right now? No one—and I mean NO ONE—dares to bother me before 3 p.m. unless the world’s imploding or Daddy’s calling. And let’s face it, Daddy wouldn’t care if the apocalypse hit. He owns my ass, and that’s a 24/7 gig.

Another buzz. This time, I swiped blindly at the screen, dragging the phone to my ear while still half-buried under my blanket.

“Finally!” Kate’s voice blasted through the speaker, high-pitched and dripping with exasperation. “You made me call, like, a thousand times before you picked up! What the hell, Erika?”

Ah, Kate. Daddy’s loyal sidekick and my unofficial handler. She had caffeine in her veins instead of blood and a knack for micromanaging my life.

Guess this qualifies as an emergency. Still, Kate knows better than to interrupt my beauty sleep. She’s technically my mentor—emphasis on technically—but let’s be real, I’ve been leagues ahead of her for years. The only reason she still tries to keep me in line is probably some loyalty clause buried deep in her contract with Daddy.

Usually, she gives me a pass for my insomnia, muttering something about “creative geniuses being night owls.” But apparently, that deal just went up in smoke this morning. I mean, why respect someone’s sleep schedule when you can terrorize them with calls at 1 p.m.?

Classic Kate.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I croaked, my voice gravelly from sleep deprivation.

“Morning? It’s practically midday, vampire. I swear, one of these days your sleep schedule going to kill you.”

I rolled onto my back, barely processing her words. “What do you want, Kate? Can this not wait until I’ve rejoined the land of the living?”

Cue Kate’s lecture on my “unhealthy” all-nighters and my “vampiric” sleep habits. Honestly, I tuned her out after the first ten seconds. I mean, come on — I’d barely slept three hours. If that isn’t a solid reason to ignore a lecture, I don’t know what is.

She kept going, words blending into the background like elevator music you desperately try to block out. Something about my circadian rhythm being wrecked and how humans weren’t nocturnal creatures. Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.

“You should be taking your pills, Erika,” Kate snapped, her tone sharp with suspicion. “Wait, are you even listening?”

“Mmhm,” I mumbled, offering something vaguely resembling agreement. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; I was aware she was talking, even if I had no intention of doing anything about it. Those sleep meds? No thanks. They made me feel like a zombie with a side of brain fog. I already have enough numbness in my life, thank you very much.

Kate’s voice took on that dangerous mom-voice laced with authority. “Erika Guntur…”

Ah, crap. The full name treatment. Never a good sign. Can I ignore her? Sure. Should I? Probably not. Damn it.

“Okay, fine,” I groaned, finally admitting defeat as I forced myself into a semi-conscious state. “I’m up, happy now?”

“That’s debatable,” she shot back, clearly unimpressed. “But at least you’re talking, which is more progress than I expected.”

“Glad to exceed expectations,” I muttered, dragging myself upright and glaring at the morning light slicing through my blinds like it was personally responsible for my misery.

“Nope, no expectations, especially when it comes to your sleeping habits,” she shot back, “Daddy wants a meeting with you in thirty minutes.”

That snapped me upright faster than a caffeine hit. “What?”

“You heard me. Thirty minutes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?” she deadpanned.

My groan was long and dramatic enough to rival a Shakespearean tragedy. “What does he want now? World domination? Human sacrifice? Oh, wait—let me guess, it’s another power play.”

“Probably all of the above,” Kate said dryly. “Now move it. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get your ass out of bed and to the meeting room, or I’m coming to drag you there myself.”

Then she hung up. Just like that. No courtesy goodbye.

“Nice talking to you too,” I muttered at the empty room.

Dragging myself out of bed felt like scaling Mount Everest. Ugh, Daddy. I hate him. But honestly, the feeling’s mutual; his favorite is Lizy, not me. Sure, Lizy is my bestie, but Daddy? Not a fan.

My muscles protested every movement, thanks to the three hours of sleep I’d managed to snag after last night’s scouring the web. Not that I was complaining. Handling Daddy’s business in the chaotic, lawless playground known as the Central was my specialty.

I’m the one running the show behind the scenes, making sure Daddy’s ‘string-pulling’ operation stays on point and smooth as silk. Think cyber ninja meets organizational genius. I’m online daily, scouring the web like it’s my personal playground, monitoring every little blip, whisper, and digital breadcrumb that might affect Daddy’s empire.

Kate’s my partner-in-crime—or, well, more like my manager with serious mafia mom vibes. She runs the field ops like a queen with an iron fist, always ten steps ahead, balancing danger and diplomacy like it’s just another Tuesday. Oh, and she’s currently mentoring this other girl, Daddy’s grooming to fill in for me someday if I’m ever, God forbid, unavailable. Like, say, if I ever went on an actual vacation. Not that that’s ever happening, but hey, Daddy’s gotta have contingency plans, right?

Let’s be real: I’ve been sent away for jobs once or twice, but a legit break? Like, sipping coconut water on a sunny beach while ignoring Slack notifications? Yeah, no. That’s basically a myth in Daddy’s world. Burnout? Never heard of her. You don’t just punch out of this life and expect everything to keep running smoothly.

Daddy knows better, though. I’m not the boots-on-the-ground type. No sir. My genius thrives behind screens, where I can build empires with a few keystrokes and break them down just as fast. Guns, knives, high-speed chases? Leave that nonsense to Lizy and Chloe. Me? I’ll take lines of code over chaos every day of the week.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m no delicate flower. Every Daddy’s girl gets trained for combat, me included. And while I’m not out here trying to be the next action hero like say, Lizy or Chloe, again. But I can hold my own, kinda.

Like, if you need someone taken down with a perfectly calculated arm lock or a swift kick to the kneecap? Sure, I got you. But if you expect me to chase someone through dark alleys and high-stakes shootouts? Yeah, nah. That’s a “find someone else” situation.

I’d much rather disable a security system from halfway across the world or wipe a digital trail clean while sipping my third cup of coffee. Because let’s face it, brute force is overrated when you can outsmart the entire room with a single keystroke.

Now, it’s not like I’ve never been out, out. I’m not some vampire permanently glued to my screens either. But the only time I ever step foot outside Daddy’s training center for personal reasons is with Lizy or Chloe—sometimes both. We’ve been tight since forever, back when life was all bunk beds and cafeteria mystery meat at the orphanage. That’s where Daddy found us and molded us into what he needed.

Cole was part of that little makeshift family too. Lizy’s so-called brother, though there’s no blood between them. Daddy’s weirdly territorial about the three of us, and Cole’s the only guy allowed anywhere near our orbit. He’s got this whole broody protector thing going on, which, sure, can be kind of hot, but mostly just annoying.

Still, with Lizy and Chloe by my side—and Cole lingering in the background like an overpaid bodyguard—I managed to survive the occasional ventures outside. Not that I liked it. Give me a screen, high-speed Wi-Fi, and zero people any day.

Now, the cold shower I forced myself into was soul-crushing but necessary. The ice-cold water jolted me into semi-consciousness, though I still questioned my life choices as I stumbled out, dripping and miserable.

I brewed the strongest coffee known to humanity and downed it like it was life support. My one-bedroom apartment in Daddy’s training center was minimal but functional—a glorified cage with inhuman fast Wi-Fi, if you asked me.

The phone buzzed again. Kate. Again.

I groaned, snatching it off the counter. “I’m up,” I answered, rolling my eyes so hard they practically got whiplash. “Jesus, Kate, chill.”

“Just making sure,” she said, sounding smug enough to make me want to throw my phone. “You’ve got ten minutes now. Chop chop.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Mom,” I muttered as I hopped on one leg, yanking on my second boot. Black combat boots? Check. Dark jeans? Check. Fitted leather jacket that said I bite harder than I bark? Double check.

Intimidation chic, baby. Perfect for Daddy’s little errand girl.

With the phone awkwardly cradled between my cheek and shoulder, I zipped the jacket and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I looked like someone who didn’t give a damn—and that’s exactly the vibe I needed.

As I headed toward the door, my thoughts drifted.

The Central was wild. No Lords. No Dons. No rigid hierarchy like the East or the West. Just pure, unfiltered chaos. And you know what thrives in chaos? Daddy.

He wasn’t your typical mob boss running drugs, guns, or casinos. Nah, that was basic villain starter pack material. Daddy was a puppet master—whispering secrets, pulling alliances out of thin air, and blackmailing anyone who thought they had a shred of power. He didn’t just run a game; he was the game.

And me?

I was his wildcard. The sharpest tool in his arsenal, the one he sent when things needed to be hacked, broken, or burned to the ground without a trace on the web.

Kate’s voice dragged me back to reality. “Erika, are you even listening?”

“I’m on my way,” I snapped as soon as I was ready, slipping out of my apartment and trudging toward the meeting room.

As I strutted down the pristine hallway of the apartment compound toward the training center, my heart was doing its best impression of a drumline at an Imagine Dragons concert. Except this wasn’t nerves over a prom date or some TikTok-worthy life update. Nah, this was just my totally normal reaction to being summoned by Daddy himself.

And yeah, before you ask—no, Daddy isn’t some cutesy nickname for a sugar daddy situation. It’s what everyone calls him, probably because “Megalomaniacal Crime Lord Extraordinaire” is a bit of a mouthful.

This life? It’s all I’ve ever known. Left on the doorstep of some orphanage right after my big debut into the world, I was basically a forgotten Amazon package no one bothered to claim. Cute, right? Things took a sharp turn when I hit six. Some government nerd-that was definitely hired by Daddy- shoved an IQ test in my face, and surprise, surprise—I aced that thing like my life depended on it. Because it did.

Turns out, being labeled a genius doesn’t get you a gold star and a pat on the back. Nope. It gets you hand-delivered to a crime boss. The orphanage, by the way, wasn’t just some sad charity operation. Oh no. Daddy funded it. Built the whole thing to scout his next generation of “girls.” You know, like the mafia version of talent recruitment. Forget internships—he was out here recruiting straight from kindergarten.

And me? I was his crown jewel. Oh, Daddy. This better be good.