Page 54 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

As he stands there, rising footsteps fill the air, and several of Fyodor’s guards file into the room behind him. The moment they see the weapon in Fyodor's hand, all of them pull their guns and aim them at Vladimir’s guards.

I still don’t breathe. I can’t. My chest constricts like I’m locked in a vise and when I blink, hot tears roll slowly down my cheeks.

There’s blood on the floor near me.

Daniil’s blood.

“Get. Out.” Fyodor’s voice is laced with rage so deep that it almost doesn’t sound like his.

Vladimir scoffs. “I knew it. This is what leads the Bratva? How did I spawn someone so weak?—”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Fyodor’s shoulders rise with a deep breath that seems to inflate his entire body. “You are no longer welcome here. Not in any aspect. I don’t want to hear anything from you other than your death notice, do you understand me?”

In a flash, Fyodor lifts the gun and fires two clean shots into the heads of Vladimir’s guards. They both crumple without a sound and hit the floor with solid, wet thumps.

My world goes silent as the open, unseeing eyes of one of the guards lock onto me from where he lands.

His pupils are wide, and blood trickles down from the perfect red circle in the middle of his forehead. His mouth hangs open, jaw slack. I can’t look away.

He’s dead.

I’ve never seen a dead body before and now there’s one staring right at me.

“My men will escort you back to your villa,” Fyodor snarls, tossing the weapon to one of his men. “Where I expect you to rot for the rest of your days, understand?”

His voice is distant. I can’t look away from those empty, dead eyes. Tears flood my eyes and spill down my face in a continuous stream. Fyodor killed that man. He killed both of them.

To save us.

It’s a good thing, and yet a strange, sick sensation begins to build just beneath my ribs. A pressure that grows, inflating with each passing second. The iron taste in my mouth becomes overpowering.

“You’re weak,” Vladimir spits, slamming his cane on the floor once more. “If you weren’t such a coward you would kill me with your own two hands! I won’t let you drag the family name into the dirt.”

“Because of you,” Fyodor snarls. “I have to drag the family name out of the fucking sewer. Take him away.”

Footsteps shuffle around distantly and Daniil’s grip on my hand becomes a distant thought while the pressure within me reaches an agonizing level.

Then, Fyodor’s handsome face appears before me, blocking the view of the dead body.

“Naomi,” he says, his voice fading despite him being right in front of me. “Breathe.”

On command, I finally suck in a deep lungful of air and the painful pressure in my chest eases almost instantly. A sorrowful whimper rises as I breathe out, and then I’m being scooped up from the floor and into Fyodor’s large, safe arms.

His voice buzzes around me but I don’t hear the words. I focus instead on the buzz of his voice as it bounces around his chest. Then, as we move, Daniil’s voice rises from far away.

“Just a flesh wound,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Is he fine?

I blink. Suddenly, the oak walls of the bar are gone, and I’m faced with the soft colors of my own bedroom. How did we get here? I don’t remember being carried all the way up here yet I’m still in Fyodor’s arms.

“Naomi?” Fyodor sets me down on the bed and his face swims in and out of focus. Then, two warm hands cup my cheeks and tilt my head upward.

Fyodor immediately sharpens before my eyes, and I blink hastily.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp out, and the tears pour faster. Sobs bubble out of my chest, and I can barely snatch a breath in between the painful shudders that ripple through my chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I t-talked back to him. I shouldn’t have. I know that, I know that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. And now those people are d-dead and I-I?—”

Fyodor surges forward and wraps his arms tightly around me, crushing me to his chest. The sense of security within his hold makes me cry harder.

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