Page 19 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Shaking my head, I slide both hands down my thighs. “No. I’m not glum.”

“You are. I can tell.”

I tilt my head, eyeing him carefully. Trees fly past the window, standing tall and green with very little evidence of the snowstorm clinging to their branches. Snow melts fast in just three days.

“How can you tell anything through those glasses?”

Daniil snorts softly. “I see everything. And they’re cool.”

“You think wearing sunglasses everywhere is cool?”

“What if I told you they were a strong prescription because I had scarring on my corneas, and I’m painfully sensitive to light?”

A pulse of alarm shoots down my arms. In all my light jesting of Daniil and his glasses, I haven’t given much thought to the real reason why. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

My heart sinks. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I just thought they were some little quirk that?—”

Daniil snorts, and the corner of his mouth pulls up sharply.

“You asshole!” Reaching across, I shove Daniil as hard as I dare and slump back in my seat.

“Hey, it was worth it to get to see you smile.”

Fighting the pull of amusement around my mouth is difficult when Daniil chuckles. It’s a rare sound. In fact, I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

“So, why do you look so down?”

My heart returns to its normal place and my gaze travels back out the window as the forest gives way to buildings and we reach the outskirts of New York City.

“It took me three days to persuade Fyodor that I was well enough to leave the estate.” Three days of my mother calling non-stop with enough threats to turn my blood to ice. “And I want to see my mother. It just feels…strange to leave while that man is still unconscious.” Wrestling with the churning turmoil in my chest, my shoulders slump. “What if he dies when I’m not there?”

“What difference would that make?” Daniil’s head tilts toward me.

“Huh?”

“If he’s going to die, there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“You don’t know that. If it happens while I’m there then I could?—”

“What?” Daniil cuts that train of thought off immediately. “You’re not a nurse. Not a doctor. It makes no difference if you’re there or not.” One of his hands drops away from the wheel to rest against his black jeans. “Besides, Fyodor won’t let that happen.”

I want to argue back. The responsibility I feel for him is smothering but Daniil is right. If the worst happens, there’s nothing I can do.

“Have you found any of his family?” It’s a loaded question, but it’s been playing on my mind since the crash. Knowing who he is doesn’t make that any easier.

“Not yet,” Daniil answers, and his voice is tight. “Given how Fyodor’s taken over his care, we decided to keep a lid on things until we know what he was doing all the way out in the forest.”

Makes sense, I guess.

It’s a lie; I know that much. Fyodor certainly won’t be reaching out to the authorities about the head of a rival family being half-dead under his roof. His mere presence spells danger for everyone involved, and keeping quiet is to protect Fyodor and the estate, not for Zasha’s best interests.

The car pulls to a stop, jerking me from my running thoughts and a red light glares through the window.

“How much further?” Daniil asks.

“Not far.” The cafe my mother uses as her regular meeting place is just around the corner, and being this close sends my heartbeat skittering off rhythm. She’s not going to be happy with me, and seeing her is almost as scary as seeing Zasha’s body on the road. Stifling a yawn, I press back into the chair as Daniil snorts.

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