Page 84 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“I thought I was too late.” Daniil’s hand rubs down to his mouth and he massages his jaw, placing one tired hand on my bare chest. “You’re a stubborn fucker.”

“You…shot me,” I croak, bracing on my uninjured arm to pull myself up into a seated position. We’re just behind the pool house, hidden from prying eyes. The longer I’m awake, the more aware I grow of sensations beyond pain. I’m frozen to the bone and my temple still aches from the blow of the rifle. Confusion swirls like a fog in my chest and then my ribs constrict as I look up at Daniil.

“Naomi,” I croak, and anger surges. “You killed her?—”

“I didn’t!” Daniil hisses just as my hand closes around his shoulder. “I didn’t kill her. I shot near her and told her to get the fuck out.”

“She … she’s alive?”

“For now.” He nods and water cascades from his hair like the shaking of a dog. “But we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

I’d disagree but I’m still confused as to how I’m alive. Glancing at my shoulder reveals a heavily bleeding bullet wound.

“You shoot me, then you save me?”

“I need you alive. Only way to do that was to shoot you myself and even then, I didn’t think I’d get back to the pool in time to drag you out,” Daniil explains. He flops back onto his backside, panting. “I’ve been punching your chest for ten minutes trying to drag you back.”

“Explains why I feel like I have been hit by another car.”

“I realized something when I was walking up to you and Vladimir,” Daniil explains. “It clicked when I heard Vladimir call Fyodor, Fio. He says it all the time, but it didn’t snap in my mind until that moment.”

“So?”

“So,” Daniil continues croakily. “Only two people in the world call him Fio. Vladimir and Dariya, both because they can’t say Fyodor. And then you turn up here with Fio on your lips which means you heard it somewhere, from one of those two people and I can guarantee that it wasn’t from Dariya.”

Daniil looks me straight in the eye.

“You heard Fio when you were in captivity, didn’t you?”

Daniil’s words are a sharp trigger. Suddenly, the throb in my temple becomes a sharp burst of light, and I remember.

I remember everything.

Death lingers around me like a whisper, caressing my broken bones and shattered soul. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here, but it’s longer than anyone should be kept alive. Gone is the determination to remain silent. These men aren’t torturing me for information. It’s a game to them. They want to send a message and they’re enjoying writing the letter.

Water drips constantly down my back from the cracked pipe above me. My shoulders burn from having to hold my weight up half an inch from the ground while I dangle from my wrists. One arm is broken, but the pain has become a friend in this dark place. I’m going to die here. And no one will know.

Beyond the metal door of my cell, a single sliver of light makes it through the gap at the hinge. The beam flickers every so often as someone paces back and forth and the conversation comes to me in drivels. Someone is talking about Fyodor Dunayevsky. I know him. We’ve fought over territory a few times, but he always returns my men to me alive. It’s strange, given the Dunayevsky reputation.

“He has gotten away with too much,” comes another voice, along with a squeaking that rakes through me. “He needs to learn that love does not bring loyalty. Fear and blood do. Fio will learn this before the end.”

“Fio!” The last of my memories, clouded with pain, explode through my mind like a firework and I clutch at Daniil. “I remember!”

“Tell me,” Daniil demands.

“I saw him. Vladimir. I saw him and he was with—he was with Ivan!”

“What?!”

“I saw them together. It was just voices at first because I was so fucking out of it, but they were talking about killing Fyodor. Ivan was furious because he had a deal with Vladimir that fell through when Fyodor took control of the family, and then Fyodor’s attempts to change things were gaining too much traction. They wanted to kill him and place Vladimir back in charge long enough for Ivan to absorb the Dunayevskys without argument from anyone else.”

“Ivan, with the power of the Dunayevskys under his hand, would be unstoppable,” Daniil mutters, his gaze low and brow furrowed.

“I think I was certain I was going to die. I knew my family was crumbling, and if they succeeded, then all the men I cared about would die. I remember…thinking about how even when I went head-to-head with Fyodor, any men he captured were returned to me alive. It became my goal. To escape and warn Fyodor. He’s the only one that can stop the Bratva from entering a second bloody age where death becomes the only currency.”

Daniil stands and water drips from him like he’s his own little rain cloud.

“I’m fucking glad I didn’t kill you,” Daniil groans. “Fucking hell.”

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