Page 21 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“The snowstorm that hit a few days ago when I was supposed to meet you? I took my eye off the road for a second and then I…I crashed.”

My mother’s eyes linger on my hairline where the stitches and impressive bruising tell the story better than I can.

“I’m alright though. Just a few bumps.”

“How can you be so stupid?” she snaps, picking up her coffee. “Do you know how long we’ve been working toward this? How hard I’ve worked to get you where you are, and you almost throw it all away by driving recklessly?”

Her uncanny ability to make the crash about her should be award-winning. Still, guilt buds in my gut because despite her outer coldness, I know my mother’s anger and bitterness come from a place of great pain—pain caused by Fyodor’s family.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. Well, do you have anything to report? Have you managed to do anything since you started there?”

My shoulders slump and I shake my head. “It’s like I told you before, they keep up the facade really well. I haven’t seen even a hint of Bratva activity. Sometimes I wonder if the cover is so good because they really are normal people.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Naomi.”

“Sorry.”

“You just have to try harder. You should know by now what’s riding on all of this, what rests on your shoulders alone, or does that mean nothing to you?”

Her flat tone tells me she’s already made up her mind regardless of my answer and suddenly, heat rushes across my breastbone. A defensive urge to prove that actually, I do know something.

“Well, it might interest you to know that Zasha Chernykh is currently at the estate, badly injured and Fyodor is caring for him.”

It slips out before I can stop it, and then I glance around for Daniil. Luckily, he’s far enough away that there’s no way he heard me over the surrounding noise, but sweat still prickles down my spine.

“Are you serious?”

Turning back to my mother, her eyes are so wide that the mascara clumping her lashes pulls apart.

“I’ve seen him.”

Her gaze falls to the table. Poking around the food I have no stomach for, my heart pounds hard against my ribs as if about to burst free. It’s good information. I know it is. My mother is the one I am loyal to.

So why do I feel so guilty?

“This is good.” My mother nods repeatedly. “This is almost too good. Those people, every single one of them are monsters and now we have two under the one roof? We could take them out one by one. Have them tear themselves apart from the inside like the feral dogs they are.”

I wince. “But?—”

“Have you managed to get into the accounts yet? Found anything incriminating on Fyodor at all?”

“No,” I sigh gently. “Fyodor is very private and like I said, they’re hiding everything from me. As far as they know, I don’t even know they’re Bratva.”

“They’re snakes,” she hisses in response. “Imagine how that empire would crumble if Fyodor died while Zasha was under his roof.” Her eyes glint with something cold and calculated and a different tightness clamps down on my gut.

“Mom, are you sure?—”

“Naomi!” She snaps so loud that the couple at the next table send us some irritated glances and I reflexively flash them a smile in apology.

“Those dogs killed our family, or did you forget?” she hisses sharply, her words dripping in poison. “My parents. My brothers and sisters. My grandparents. All slaughtered just for existing.”

“But that…” Still, the urge to defend them rises as I dig a deeper hole. “That wasn’t Fyodor. His father was in charge back then. It wasn’t Zasha either.”

“Enough.” Her teeth clack together firmly. “I don’t care. Crimes in this world are generational. Get your act together, Naomi, and remember why you are even there. Get into those files, get those accounts. Once we have that, the empire will crumble under my heel.”

“But—”

---