Page 31 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Fyodor steps from my right and catches my arm firmly before I can get too close to Zasha. “Zasha refused all treatment and we respected his wishes.”

I slide to a stop, leaning into Fyodor. “What?”

“The blood is from the earlier fight and when he ripped out his wires leaving his room. Nothing else happened.”

Staring up at Fyodor, there’s no lie held in his eyes, so I relent and pull back from his grip.

“Okay.”

“I’m sure he appreciates your concern though,” Daniil snorts from where he leans against a cabinet on the other side of the room. His face is mostly unreadable thanks to his glasses but his lips twist slightly, and his entire body is angled toward Zasha.

“Right. Of course.” I nod once, then sit in the chair as directed by Fyodor’s head bob.

Fyodor turns to Zasha and crosses his arms across his broad chest. He has his back to me, but he stands to the side far enough that all three men are in my line of sight.

“Although, we can get to it now that she's here. I’m not a patient man,” Fyodor remarks. “You attack people in my home, and now I’m less inclined to let you live.”

An indignant grunt rises in me and when Fyodor glances at me, I narrow my eyes. That wasn’t the agreement.

“He did pull the trigger,” Fyodor reminds me, and my heart sinks. Of course. In all the commotion and then following excitement, I’d forgotten all about that.

“I’m sorry.”

All attention pulls to the far end of the room as Zasha finally speaks. He lifts his head and peers through a few straggly clumps of hair. His voice is smooth, silky almost, despite the sharper tones of his Russian accent. Hearing him speak now, in the calmness of this room, is so different from the stressed barks that escaped him in the kitchen.

“I was acting on instinct. I didn’t know where I was or who I was. It was all so confusing, and I felt trapped, caged. I didn’t know anything until Naomi said my name, and then it was like the fog started to come to life.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Daniil’s head tilts briefly toward me. “How did you know his name?”

I freeze and a sickly heat crawls up my spine. Did I slip up? Was his name not common knowledge? Steeling myself and fighting to keep my hands calm, I glance casually at Daniil.

“I heard it from a guard I’m pretty sure.”

Thankfully, that seems to appease him and Daniil turns back to Zasha.

Phew.

“You know where you are now,” Fyodor remarks. “I had my medical staff take care of you, and of course, you have my sympathies for the accident, but one thing was clear about your condition. Something happened to you before you came here. Your body is riddled with signs of torture.

My heart plummets to my gut. Torture? Now that it’s been mentioned, the more I study Zasha, the clearer it becomes. His arms and the top of his chest are riddled with marks, old and fresh. At a glance, I assumed they were from the crash or something else in his past but torture wasn’t on that list.

“I don’t remember,” Zasha replies, his striking eyes locked on Fyodor. “I get…flashes.” Both his hands curl into fists and his forearms ripple with tension. “Dark walls. Cold. So much cold. The pain and stink of electrocution. Mostly just pain. I know I was supposed to be somewhere…I think. Something to do with work.”

“With your family?” Daniil asks.

Zasha nods and glances at him. “I’m certain of it. But I was jumped and my men…my men were dying and I could do nothing to help them.” He straightens up suddenly and his shoulders stiffen. “Have you checked in with them? My family?”

“Yes.” Fyodor’s stance shifts and the tension rippling up his spine is visible. “Few remain.”

Zasha’s shoulders drop.

“Those who do are struggling, and from what I can tell they don’t seem keen to look for you, although given the pressure to keep territory safe, I can’t say for sure.”

Zasha’s head drops and his hair slips from his shoulders. “I understand. Things were thin before, but if they think I am dead, our name is dead in the water.” Silence falls and Zasha clasps his tight hands together. “All I remember clearly was seeing something. Something that sparked a new urge to escape from where I was and a way to get help but I can’t—I can’t remember what it was.”

His smooth voice cracks slightly and my heart clenches for him. I know he’s dangerous. Every man in this room is dangerous, but there’s something about his defeated posture that has me aching to comfort him.

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