Page 55 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Hush,” Fyodor says in a soft, low voice. “Don’t you dare apologize. This is not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for, do you hear me?”

I grip handfuls of his shirt and hang on as sobs tear out of me. Fyodor slowly rocks me back and forth.

“This is not on you. Not for a second. I am so sorry you had to face him. I heard you defended me to him and that you stood up for Dariya. I cannot thank you enough. But this? This is not on you.”

His soft, soothing words do nothing to stem the flow of grief that pours out of me. I had been so scared, and yet I’d just stayed on the floor with no idea what to do. It’s an aspect of this world, this life, that I’m utterly hopeless in.

What if Vladimir had threatened Dariya? Would I have been as useless?

No answer to that exists in my mind.

I cry. I cry until my face burns and my chest aches. I cry for the fear, for Daniil and his wound, for the two dead men that flash in my mind each time I close my eyes.

Fyodor doesn’t let me go. He holds me through it, rocking me back and forth with a stream of soothing noises rumbling in his chest. He holds me until the tears dry up and my sobs fade to nothing more than the occasional impulsive gasp of air.

Only then does he lean back and cup my damp face with his large hand.

“I want to be clear.” His hazel eyes dart over my face, then lock onto my eyes. “I am not ashamed of you. I do not mind you having fun with Daniil. I am sorry you had to experience that, and I am sorry you had to see those men die.”

That empty face flashes back into my mind like the rapid click of a torch.

“I am here for you. Whatever you need.”

Warm tears build once more in my eyes, and I whimper, unable to say how I’m feeling. He’s being so gentle with me and it’s a stark contrast to the hard, angry leader that stood in that room facing down Vladimir.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper, my voice rough from tears.

Fyodor nods. “Then you won’t be.”

He presses a firm, lingering kiss to my forehead then steps away toward the en suite. He ensures the door remains open. Somehow, his attention remains fixed on me even as he starts running a bath.

Amidst the swirling sensations in my chest and the sharp, bitter taste when I swallow, there’s a small bubble of guilt. Guilt, I hadn’t trusted Fyodor in those few seconds when I was unsure if he would follow his father’s command.

Now, the leader of the Bratva is in my bathroom, running me a bath to help care for me. Once again he breaks the mold, going against what everyone expects from a man like him.

I like it.

I like…him. Deeper than some physical crush.

“Ready?” Fyodor approaches and holds out his hand. “Let me take care of you. I can’t erase what happened or what you saw, but I can make you feel better.”

I nod.

Fyodor is slow and tender when helping me remove my clothes. There’s nothing sexual about his touches, either. He moves to hold and support me as I undress and slip into the bath, then he strips and slides in right next to me. Taking me in his arms, he cuddles close and after a few long minutes soaking up the warmth of the water, he starts washing me.

And I let him. His touch is so completely grounding, and the flashes of that dead face flicker less when he’s in contact with me. I soak it up, washing away the tears and letting him have complete control. Soap suds slide down my skin as his skilled fingers massage into my hair and the knots in my gut finally untangle.

“I keep seeing his face,” I murmur finally as Fyodor helps me out of the bath an hour later.

“Whose face?”

“That man. That dead man.”

Fyodor bundles me in a towel and then fixes me with a steady stare. “It is an impossible thing to forget,” he says softly. “But it will get easier. Time is the only cure here.”

I nod. It makes sense. It warms me how understanding Fyodor is, considering death like that is surely a daily occurrence within the Bratva—or at least it was under Vladimir’s control.

Fyodor stays by my side as he tucks me into bed, and then he lays down next to me with one arm across my body and his chest pressed against my back.

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