Page 50 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. Even the tips of my ears ignite. “But your son does wonderful things. He is a good and caring man and you should have more respect for him while being under his roof. His decisions are his own.”

Vladimir’s wiry brow lifts, anger flashing in those clear eyes.

“And you should be ashamed of yourself.” I finish as strong as I started despite my bones turning to jelly.

“Me?” Vladimir’s laugh is like the crack of a whip. “Why?”

“You should know better than to talk in such a foul manner in front of a child, never mind talking down about a father in front of his daughter.”

I want to pass out. I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole so I can escape this situation, but my mouth has a mind of its own and it just runs. The words pour, digging me a deeper and deeper grave with this dangerous man but every word is the truth.

And whether Fyodor fucks me or not should have no bearing on him as a leader.

“You should be more careful, my dear.” Vladimir smiles wider, revealing a few gaps in his yellowing teeth. “The walls here have ears, so you better watch yourself. My son may be blinded but I see it as clear as day.”

I can’t look away. I’m trapped in his gaze and the longer we stare at one another, the more air seems to get sucked out of the room. My heart pounds. The only thing keeping me steadfast is Dariya clinging to my leg.

“I can take care of myself.” And Vladimir certainly doesn’t see as much as he claims to considering Zasha.

“Perhaps,” he sneers, lifting one frail hand to point at me. “But mark my words, no common whore is going to trap my son or threaten my fortune. I’ll make sure of it!”

19

NAOMI

“For a man so frail, you wouldn’t expect him to be so demanding.”

Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtain, painting streaks of warmth across my bare skin as I lounge in Zasha’s bed, mid-rant. It’s risky being here, but Daniil is keeping the peace while I came to check on Zasha. One thing very quickly led to another when he saw how frustrated I was.

“He’s a man used to being in charge.” Zasha’s fingertips lightly trail over my bare hip and trace slowly up to my ribs. “Without Fyodor here, I’m sure it’s like the old days.”

“That doesn’t excuse it. He talks with such disdain about his own son. Sure, some parents are like that, but he does it openly in front of Dariya, and her face crumples each time. I don’t care what he says about me or what he thinks, but seeing her face fall is killing me.”

Rolling slightly into Zasha’s warm chest behind me, a groan rumbles around in my chest and I tilt my head against his broad shoulder.

“He acts all high and mighty. Apparently, he thinks nanny means servant, too. I don’t mind helping, not at all, but he’s got me running back and forth with barely a moment's peace. When I told him Dariya was my responsibility, not him, he looked ready to rise out of that chair and slap me.”

Zasha’s lips land delicately on my cheek. “I would not let him.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

“I would.”

Zasha’s sentiment was warm, but we both knew that there was nothing he could do. He was trapped, hidden away in the conservatory, and laying low until Vladimir took his leave, which, given how quickly he settled in last night after he arrived, might not be for a while.

“I’m tired,” I murmur, closing my eyes and focusing on Zasha’s fingers wandering over my bare skin. “Tired of parents acting like their kids have to carry out their life’s work instead of forging their own path.”

“It is alien to you,” Zasha replies in a whisper. “Because this world is not yours. For us, carrying on your parents’ legacy is important. In Fyodor’s case, I admire his determination to forge a better legacy, but I do see how Vladimir would view that as a betrayal.”

My eyes snap open and I hold his gaze. “Are you saying it’s okay how he’s acting?”

“Not at all. Understanding the enemy doesn’t mean you excuse their actions.” Zasha breaks away and presses a light kiss to my forehead, then he slumps back flat on his back. “Understanding is important when it comes to navigation.”

Pushing myself upward, I turn to face him and place my hand on his warm chest. His pale chest hair, barely noticeable except in direct sunlight, tickles my fingertips as I stroke over his chest.

“That makes sense.” Thoughts of my mother swirl into my mind, igniting a tightness in my chest. I understand her reasons; I do. It certainly doesn’t excuse them. “I just…I can’t stand him. Never have I been turned off by someone so quickly.”

Zasha lifts one hand and runs his fingers through the loose strands of my hair. “I have never seen you so protective and heated.”

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