Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss-Chapter 25: Therapy.

I really did it, didn't I?

James questioned himself, but Charlotte's crying and the way she clung to him so tightly gave him the answer.

I became a foster father out of nowhere... No, this was Lucian's plan. That bold headed...no, he's dead. Respect the dead, James. Respect the dead.

That motherfucker, Lucian... I'm going down to hell to kick your ass.

"James?" Charlotte looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" She asked, gripping him even tighter, whispering the words near his ear.

"Of course I am. But what about you? You just lost your father."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she hugged him even more tightly.

"I was always with my mother in a huge house. He only saw me three times, and that was enough to know he never wanted me..."

James felt something crack inside him. Before he even realized it, a tear slipped down his cheek.

He understood that feeling all too well, the pain of having a father who didn't want him.

Not the father he made up for stories, the one who supposedly died in the war.

No, his real father.

The one who left them when things got too hard, when they became too expensive to keep.

A small hand touched his face.

Gently wiped away his tears.

"James...?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." He quickly wiped his face, but Charlotte just stared at him. Then, to his surprise, she cupped his cheek—just like she did that morning.

"From now on, I'll call you Daddy."

Silence.

"No. There's no way you're calling me that." He pulled her away and set her back down in the chair.

"Why? You don't want me?" Her voice trembled as fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

"No, that's not it. But you can't call me that. Just call me James, and that's it."

"But you're technically my father now..."

"Charlotte, I was the one who shoot his..."

Shit. Chill, James. You can't say that to a kid.

"Shot what?" She tilted her head, confusion written all over her tear streaked face.

Why am I not panicking? Panic, James. You just took in a child you've only known since yesterday. You can't develop feelings in two days.

Lucian knew. He knew I wouldn't let his child be alone.

That bastard used me.

"If my father died, what's going to happen to the family?" Charlotte's voice shattered James thoughts.

How the hell was he supposed to answer that?

He exhaled. "You are the family."

Her eyes widened.

"For now, I'm not going to talk to you as a child but as the head of the Augustus family," James continued. "Everyone else is gone. Vallen, Marius, and Daniel—the pillars of the family—they're dead. And the men who once served your father? They've scattered."

But Charlotte's reaction wasn't what he expected.

She smiled.

"Daniel died...?" She asked.

"Yeah..."

James felt a chill run down his spine as her smile widened for a brief moment before dropping into something softer, relief.

This kid is creepy. Is she possessed by a demon?

Charlotte stared at her hands, knuckles turning white. "I think you've noticed the bruises on my body..."

James didn't say anything, just watched her.

"The woman who gave birth to me... she was the one who beat me." Her voice wavered, eyes welling up with tears. "And it was also—"

"You don't have to explain yourself." James cut in, his voice firm yet steady. "You don't have to justify why you feel the way you do. You don't owe them anything." He leaned forward slightly. "We're living in the present, and we'll go into the future together. As a family. You Augustus Charlotte. And me James Bellini."

Why the hell am I talking like this? Since when did I start sounding like a damn father?

Charlotte hesitated, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet his.

"...So, does that mean you'll let me call you Daddy?"

James groaned, running a hand down his face. "Charlotte."

Charlotte giggled at his reaction, the first genuine laugh he'd ever heard from her. It was light, small, almost foreign coming from someone who had lived through hell.

James sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe." She smiled again, but this time, there was something softer in it. "It's funny seeing you all serious."

James let out a breath, shaking his head. "You're a weird kid."

"I know."

A silence stretched between them, not heavy, not awkward. Just... there. The kind of silence where words weren't necessary.

Then Charlotte spoke again. "What happens now?"

James tapped his fingers against the table. "What do you mean?"

"I'm the last you said."

"When you grow up you will do what you want, what I meant by that is the family as a organized crime is over, the Augustus name no longer feared or has influence."

"But I'm still alive."

She was right. She was alive—which was a problem. A big one.

They would come for the money. There was no way Lucian hadn't written everything in her name. He might have been a bastard, but he wasn't stupid.

"I'll make one thing clear, Charlotte." His voice was firm. "If you stay with me, you're under my protection. You don't need to fear anyone."

Charlotte tilted her head, thinking.

"...So I really can't call you Daddy?"

James sighed again, dragging a hand down his face. He didn't answer, but deep down, he felt something strange. Something unfamiliar.

Family.

He had never wanted one. Never thought about it. But somehow, in the span of just a few days, this stubborn little girl had wormed her way into his life. And now?

Now, she was his responsibility.

Whether he liked it or not.

"Here's the medium-rare steak and potato salad." The waiter arrived.

"Thank you." James muttered. He picked up his fork, hesitated for half a second, then started stress-eating.

Charlotte watched him, then picked up her own fork and poked at her food.

"This is our first meal as a family?" She asked, her voice light, almost teasing.

James paused mid-chew, glancing at her. "Yeah... so eat every bit of it."

Charlotte giggled but did as he said, taking small bites at first before slowly easing into it.

For the first time in a long time, she ate with warmth—because, for the first time in a long time, she felt like she truly belonged somewhere.

After finishing their meal, James reached into his pocket and tipped the waitress generously—not just for the service but for putting up with the little dramatic scene Charlotte had caused earlier.

The woman gave a grateful nod, and James waved it off before leading Charlotte out of the restaurant.

"Home or where?" He asked as they stepped outside.

"Shopping." Charlotte said immediately.

James raised an eyebrow. "Shopping? What do you want?"

"A ring."

"A ring?" He gave her a skeptical look as she blushed, hiding her hands behind her back.

"Yeah, but I'll explain it after we buy it!" She said, her voice firm like it was an order rather than a request.

James sighed. "Alright. Hop in."

As they got into the car, James leaned toward the driver.

"Just find a jewelry shop."

The driver nodded.

James expected a decent jewelry store, something mid-tier, respectable. But as the car rolled to a stop, he realized this wasn't just high-end, it was beyond high-end.

From the outside, the jewelry shop looked elegant.

Inside gold decor, polished white marble floors.

But James knew the signs. The real giveaways were the details, the staff wearing white gloves, the way they moved with precise.

Charlotte, however, didn't seem fazed at all. She walked right up to a glass display like she belonged there.

"What do you want, Charlotte?" James asked, already preparing himself for whatever nonsense she was about to say.

"Matching rings."

Matching rings?

She blushed again, avoiding his gaze.

Ahh, this girl...will bankrupt me...

One of the staff approached and gave James a bow so deep it made him feel like some kind of emperor, which also gave away that this is going to be expensive.

"Can you help us find matching rings?"

"Yes, of course. Please take a look at these."

With a practiced motion, they pulled out a velvet tray lined with elegant rings, each one gleaming under the bright lights.

"Alright you better start explaining."

Charlotte grinned. "I will... after we pick one."

Of course.

She carefully examined each ring, her small fingers delicately tracing over the different designs. She took her time, eyes sparkling with excitement as she scrutinized every tiny detail.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she picked one.

It was a matching set with small butterfly engravings, each wing inlaid with different-colored crystals.

Of course, it had to be something complicated.

"How much?" He asked, bracing himself.

"This pair symbolizes peace and freedom, represented by the butterfly motif. Crafted with the finest quality diamonds and—"

"Just the price...please" James interrupted, already feeling his wallet ache.

"This pair costs 134,000."

James stared.

Charlotte, on the other hand, looked up at him with glowing eyes, completely oblivious to the fact that they were standing in front of a six-figure purchase.

But before James handed over his card, he turned to Charlotte

"Alright, before I pay, tell me why do we need matching rings?"

"Because we're not related by blood..." She said softly "but from this point on, we are family, and this will always symbolize that."

James froze.

It wasn't some childish excuse. It wasn't just some whim.

She meant it.

"O-Okay, I'll only buy it if it fits-" He said.

And of course, it fit, almost like fate wanted it to.

As they left the jewelry shop, James let out a deep sigh, still feeling the sting of spending that much money on rings of all things.

Charlotte, on the other hand, looked completely satisfied, clutching the tiny box like it was the most precious thing in the world.

And not even five minutes later she was already out sleeping.

How the hell did this happen?

His dead friend's daughter.

A girl who had lost everything, yet she was smiling, happy that he took her in, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It's not realistic.

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People didn't just move on like this. A child shouldn't be this... accepting, this calm after everything.

A simulation. A trick. Some messed-up dream his brain had cooked up to torture him.

He let out a slow breath, staring down at her peaceful face.

If this is a dream, he thought bitterly, then why does it feel so damn real?

Maybe I should send her to some sort of therapy...

Would that even help?

Charlotte had lost her father who didn't care about her and on top of all that, she had been abused by the people who were supposed to care for her.

Yet here she was. Smiling. Acting like nothing was wrong.

That wasn't normal.

No one bounces back that fast.

James glanced down at her sleeping face. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Like she had just decided to move on.

It didn't sit right with him.

He knew that look, the kind of look someone wore when they buried things deep enough that they convinced themselves it didn't hurt. He'd done the same thing once.

And now?

He was still fucked up.

James exhaled sharply and looked back out the window.

Yeah. Therapy. I should go too...