Page 92 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Got her,” I read out. “Got who?”

Vladimir winces and coughs, and as a pink sunrise stretches across the sky behind him, he looks deathly pale.

“I knew you wouldn’t kill her,” he gasps haggardly.

Oh no.

“Naomi?” Fyodor’s head snaps up and his voice is strong. “She’s still…?”

“I couldn’t,” I reply, glancing at him.

“I knew you couldn’t,” Vladimir hisses. “You claim you love her. And I know you, Fio. Your rat daughter might now be yours but you love her all the same. Just like you love that whore. Now, Ivan has both.”

My blood runs cold. Crimson leaks steadily from the corner of Vladimir’s mouth as he leans back in his chair.

“This, my boy, is where you lose. There’s always a backup plan because I know you. Your weaknesses are always on display.”

Fyodor lashes out hard and fast, slamming his fist into the side of his father’s face. Vladimir sags to the side, draping over his wheelchair as he falls unconscious.

“I…I don’t give a fuck about Naomi right now,” Fyodor seethes. “But I am not letting them get their hands on my daughter.” He surges to life and strides around the desk, I catch his elbow and lower my gun.

“Fyodor.”

“What?” he snaps, his face an inch from mine. “What could possibly be more important?!”

With a gentle touch, I press the pregnancy test into Fyodor’s hand.

His face falls.

“No … no way.”

35

NAOMI

Is this how Fyodor felt? Daniil and Zasha?

A deep-rooted sense of betrayal?

They spoke about Ivan. I heard about him through whispers and tales of pain from the men I grew to love. A terrible, cold man capable of terrible, cold things. He was a ghost story that turned up in my mother’s kitchen and claimed to be a friend.

A friend to her, certainly. To me, he was nothing but a horror.

With one glance between the two of them, I realized I was nothing more than the final payment of some hidden transaction. I hadn’t had the energy to fight when Ivan’s men came for me, not the heart to even look at my mother.

I can’t decide what hurts worse. Knowing that my mother took my new backbone as a sign of betrayal and turned on me, or that revenge was more important to her than anything else and she handed me over to Ivan without any hesitation.

The pain warps together in my chest and sits heavy like the press of a corset. Smothering and tight. Inescapable.

I awoke in an empty room with pale walls and only one small window that looked out to a bright blue sky. I wasn’t tall enough to see over the ledge, so all I could do was count clouds as they drifted past. Other than the mattress I awoke on, the room was completely empty and the stone floor chilled my bare feet. Someone had dressed me in leggings and a blouse, and I dared not think about who.

Or what they saw under my robe.

Ivan locked me in, and I’ve been here for at least a day before he comes to see me.

The heavy wooden door swings inwards and Ivan strides in with a smothering air of superiority around him. His steps are fine yet he walks with a long silver cane topped with an amber jewel. The color matches that of his tie and the cloth in the upper breast pocket of his suit. Gold buttons wink at me as he moves around the room, though I’m unsure what he’s even looking at since there is nothing here but a mattress and a bed.

“I have yet to decide what I want to do with you,” Ivan says. His voice is low, with a tinge of the Russian accent, although it’s not as deep as Zasha’s. “Your mother tells me you’re pregnant.”

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