Page 42 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Again, I nod.

“Good.” She lifts a hand and strokes some of my hair behind my ear, her fingertips cold. Then she cups my face. “This is for the best. You were born into glory, glory we will reclaim from them. They will regret ever messing with us.”

A weak argument rises in my mind—it wasn’t Fyodor and we were never a great family; my grandparents were. The argument doesn’t make it past my lips.

“I understand. But you have to give me time. If I move too fast, they’ll get suspicious.”

“You have until our next lunch.” She smiles and pats my stinging cheek. “Remember, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Those hollow words follow me all the way up the garden path after my mother departs. She’s desperate—she has to be if she’s turning up here. I don’t even know where to start in terms of finding out if anyone saw her. Explaining it away might be easy since she is my mother.

My mother is intent on tearing down this family because she’s in pain and blames them. At one point, I shared that goal but my time here is thawing my heart. Warmth and understanding overrule my misplaced desire for revenge.

I don’t want to carry the blame for my mother's actions and Fyodor shouldn’t shoulder the blame for his father’s.

But I have no idea how to get my mother to see that.

Slipping back inside, I close the kitchen door and slump back against it. My heart hammers, my gut twists, and my cheek throbs.

Fuck.

What a night.

I see no way out. Obeying my mother will hurt people I care about. Ignoring her will hurt her, and she will take the secret I blurted out to her and run with it, again hurting the people I care about.

And the most innocent person in all of this, Dariya, will suffer the most.

It’s hard to believe that when I started working here, I was excited to bring Fyodor to his knees and burn this place down. Now? Now I want to be the one on my knees.

After a few deep, calming breaths, I push away from the door and head into the hall. Before I make it a few steps, however, the air around me changes and a strong presence brings me to a stop. Just in front of me stands Zasha, whose brow tightens and his nose scrunches up slightly.

“Naomi?” Concern bleeds from his lips. “Why are you so flushed? What were you doing running around outside at this hour?”

My heart punches up into my throat. I’d been so concerned about people seeing my mother that I hadn’t considered that people would see me. Locked under his gaze, my mind runs for an excuse but I can’t think of anything. My thoughts are stuck on Zasha and how handsome he is in the low light of the hallway. How strong his arms look and how a hug from him would soothe me within moments.

Or I would break down crying.

“I was looking for you,” I say eventually, stumbling slightly over my words. “I know you enjoy nightly walks in the fresh air to practice with your hip and everything, so I went looking for you.”

His face remains concerned like he doesn’t believe me.

I need something else. Excuses fail me, and the surging hurt from my mother’s slap mixes with an aching desire to be comforted.

Fuck it.

Desperation surges and with little thought or consideration, I throw myself forward and kiss him.

16

NAOMI

There’s a single, cold second where I fear rejection.

Zasha’s lips part against mine and he angles away from me, hands raised. Closing my eyes, I press into him and pour every ounce of frustration built up inside me into that kiss like it’s the last thing I’ll ever get to do.

Then he relents and kisses me back. Thick, plush lips seal over mine. One hand wraps around my waist and slides up to clasp the opposite side of my ribs, then Zasha’s cast brushes lightly over my cheek. It’s the permission and agreement that I need.

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