Page 49 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Dariya beams at me and nods so hard that her pigtails bounce. “Yes! What do we get if we win?”

“A surprise,” I tease with a wide smile. Dariya rocks up onto her toes and laughs.

“Okay!”

Straightening up, I turn to Daniil. “Does Fyodor know?”

“I called him, but he’s too far away to do anything to help us. We just have to host him and keep his nose out of anything.” Daniil leads the way out of the study. “He has a terrible habit of trying to overthrow his son every chance he gets as if he’s in any condition to lead.”

I bite back a snort of dry amusement. The bad luck keeps coming it seems.

“Oh, one more thing.” Daniil pauses outside the study and faces me. “Try not to take what he says personally.”

Before I can ask for clarification, the door is suddenly jerked open and a tall man with a pockmarked face and twisted mouth glares at us both.

I flash him an awkward smile and tighten my hand slightly on Dariya’s fist as we step inside.

Vladimir sits by the fire, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. His thinning gray hair is slicked backward and his weathered face twists slightly against the glare of the flames. Hearing our steps, he turns toward us and lifts one shaking hand to his chin to wipe away some drool. His lower lip trembles while thick, wire brows pull low over his surprisingly sharp eyes.

“I didn’t ask for the dogs,” he remarks in a haggard, wispy voice when those sharp eyes land on Daniil.

He doesn’t respond.

“I’m surprised there are any mongrels left, given how soft Fyodor runs things.” Another jab sets a sour note in the air as Vladimir’s few personal guards chuckle dryly around the room.

Again, Daniil doesn’t react. He remains by the door, ever the stoic guard.

Dariya, oblivious to cloaked insults, slips free of my grasp and runs up to her grandfather with a bright smile spread across her face.

“Grandpa! How are you? I’m so excited to see you! Daddy said you wouldn’t be visiting for ages, but I knew you’d be back. Are you going to stay awhile? Can we play together?”

Despite Fyodor’s rules, her childish excitement gets the better of her, and she sends so many questions his way that she’s a little breathless afterward. Given her enthusiasm, I expect him to react in kind, but my heart drops despite the nerves relaxing in my stomach.

Vladimir barely even looks at her. He waves one hand in her face, irritated, and a sharp noise of disgust whistles through his nose.

“Do you not teach the brat any manners? What sort of upbringing is Fio giving her, hmm? Get away.”

Dariya’s face crumples, looking utterly crestfallen and my heart breaks for her.

“I hope you’re feeling well and comfortable,” Dariya recites, her large eyes flooding with tears as her voice trembles.

One of Vladimir’s guards steps forward as if to reach for Dariya, so I dart forward first and gently usher her away. None of them are touching her while I’m here. She clutches at my thigh and hides her face, and I make a mental note to reward her for how well she’s keeping herself together.

“You.” Vladimir’s eyes land on me. “Who are you?”

His words are forceful, giving the power of a shout without the raised voice, and warmth prickles down my spine.

“My name is Naomi. Naomi Knight. I’m the nanny.”

“Oh,” he scoffs and his teeth shakily clack together. “Right. The nanny and the whore. Do they pay you extra? I’ve always wondered if that’s extra or do they just include it in your pay?”

My mouth falls open and my cheeks flare hot as if I’ve just been slapped. Despite my shock, I slide one hand over Dariya’s ear to try and prevent her from hearing such foulness.

“Excuse me?” I gasp, managing to claw my way through the shock.

“I’d heard about my son fucking the help, in the kitchen no less, but I honestly expect so little from him now that it’s hardly a surprise.” Vladimir’s cold gaze is unwavering. “But I didn’t expect him to have such poor taste. It’s one thing being eager to get your dick wet, but I would have thought he would have some standards that keep his dick in his pants.”

My whole body is on fire, burning up with shame and humiliation. So, Vladimir has someone here giving him information, does he? Not only that but he knows intimate information and any hope I have of making a good impression—or a forgetful one—melts away in the shame burning across my skin.

---