Page 78 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Everyone is hurting and there’s nothing I can do.

“Tell me how,” Zasha asks, snatching up a towel from the nearest pool recliner and covering his modesty by wrapping it around his hips. “Tell me how you know all this.”

Fyodor stiffens, wiping at his eyes and he looks ready to attack again until Daniil stands in his way. “We traced the car back to its origin. Turns out, we already had that place under surveillance because it was men loyal to you. Men that were trying to save you.”

“And how did they know,” Fyodor ground out. There was so much tension in his words that his jaw would surely snap if he kept his up much longer. “How would anyone know that you are here, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Zasha insists. “You have cameras here, right? You can track my every movement from the second I arrived here, but you will see that I have not betrayed you. Fyodor, you saved my life. I owe you, I would not do anything to harm you or your child!”

“Then why!” Fyodor yells, his voice bellowing through the night air. “Why is my daughter lying in hospital with two bullets in her chest? Why does it always come back to you?!”

A rusty squeak follows Fyodor’s words and the sound is so alien that we look to each other, seeking the source. No one has any metal on them that we can see.

Then, out from behind Fyodor, wheels his father, Vladimir. My heart plummets down to my ass while my stomach ties itself into painful knots.

What the hell is he doing here?

He approaches, flanked by several armed guards whose faces aren’t familiar to me. They must be Vladimir’s own men, and a coldness seeps across my shoulders as his beady eyes takes in each of us.

“The fuck?” Daniil mutters under his breath.

“My son, you want to know why your daughter is in the hospital?” Vladimir says, his words trembling as badly as his hand.

“Dad?” Confusion licks at Fyodor’s words and he reminds me of a distraught child finding their parent after being lost.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Vladimir lifts his trembling, claw-like hand and points directly at me. “Naomi Knight, the girl with all the answers.”

All three of my men slowly turn to face me, confusion etched on each of their faces. I mirror their confusion, and I tighten my arms around my body.

“Or,” Vladimir croaks. “Should I say, Naomi Yenin. That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

30

NAOMI

“Yenin?” Fyodor repeats the name softly, and a pained flash of recognition crosses his face.

My heart becomes a rock, sitting down in my gut, pumping heavily. How the hell does Vladimir know my real name?

“Look at you, harboring the enemy too? Fio, my boy.” There is no affection in Vladimir’s voice, only anger. With a wave of his frail hand, two of the armed men surge forward. They shove Daniil out of the way and grab Zasha before he has a chance to react. One uses the butt of their rifle and slams it into the back of Zasha’s right knee, forcing him down onto his knees with a snarl of pain. The weapons remain trained on him.

Daniil moves close to Fyodor who looks like he’s coming apart at the seams. Darkness moves like a shadow over Daniil’s face as he looks at Vladimir.

“What the fuck are you talking about? How dare you come here when Fyodor already made it pretty fucking clear that you’re not welcome?—”

“Daniil.” Fyodor’s voice was different. He sounds like himself and yet as if a piece of him had broken off in the few short minutes between the fight and his father’s arrival.

My heart starts to pound. This is bad. This is more than bad. Already I am wracking my brain for an excuse, a way to deny whatever bullshit is about to come from Vladimir until I can tell Fyodor the truth. But words clog my throat and I can’t speak.

I can’t do anything. If my heart pounds any faster, I’m certain I will shake apart into tiny pieces and there will be nothing left.

“Yenin,” Fyodor repeats and he looks at Daniil with such pain in his eyes that my heart shatters. “You know that name, Daniil.”

Daniil’s lips part repeatedly and he looks around before settling his focus on me. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t—” I try to say, gasping out the words but Vladimir cuts me off.

“You,” he sneers. “Your little whore is a spy and she has been, this entire time. You, Fio, were too fucking enamored with her cunt to notice.”

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