Page 56 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“I will stay with you,” he murmurs as the lights fade and the exhaustion of the night’s events creeps up on me. Sleep feels impossible, but in Fyodor’s arms, I could be wrong.

This entire night has been surreal. Not once did Fyodor blame me, nor did he hesitate to protect me and Daniil. He brought me up here, bathed me, and chose to stay with me even though I’m certain he must have a hundred things to tend to right now.

Despite all of that, he chose to be here with me.

My heart swells at the thought and a tired, sad smile creeps onto my lips.

I’m falling for him.

Despite everything I know, despite everything my mother demands, I’m definitely falling for him.

And that’s going to make what I have to do nearly impossible.

21

ZASHA

“How is she?”

Being trapped in the conservatory and hearing gunshots coming from the main house had been more terrifying than I will ever admit out loud. Initially, I feared that whoever held me had finally tracked me down. Given the memories coming back to haunt me, I’d rather die than go back.

Learning the truth though, that Naomi and Daniil had been threatened, was somehow worse.

Fyodor stands near the window of the study, scotch in hand. He tips the liquid back and forth and sighs, strained.

“Nightmares kept waking her up, so I gave her some pills. Nothing strong, just enough to ease her into a restful sleep. I stayed with her until she fell asleep and I aim to be back before she wakes up.”

An understandable reaction, given what happened. I still remember the first dead body I ever saw. While it no longer haunts me, it still remains clear in my mind.

“I am sorry,” I say cautiously, unwilling to offer too much to Fyodor himself. “I would have liked to be of more use.”

Fyodor finally turns away from the window and fixes me with a steady stare. “If my father had seen you, you would have been no help because you would be dead.”

I roll my eyes, irritated. He speaks the truth; I just don’t like hearing it.

“I don’t know,” says Daniil as he strides through the door. “If there’d been a juicer target, I might have stood a chance against one of those assholes.”

His right shoulder is wrapped in crisp, white bandages and his arm hangs loose from a sling not unlike the one they’ve tried to make me wear. I refuse. A cast is more than enough.

Leaning forward in my seat, I rest my elbows loosely on my knee. “How are you doing?”

“Well,” Daniil groans dramatically and flops into the chair opposite me. “That will go down in history as possibly the worst oral sex I have ever given. Naomi will be too traumatized to let me anywhere near her ever again.” He grimaces, then shrugs his good shoulder. “Other than that, just peachy.”

The flames from the nearby fireplace dance across his glasses, creating angular shadows across his cheekbones. His blasé attitude might have worked if not for the clear downturn of his mouth.

“I’m sorry.” Fyodor approaches, glass in hand. “My father wasn’t due to make any kind of appearance until August, around his birthday, but here he is in the middle of April, trying to fuck things up.”

“Honestly, for a long time I thought he was dead.”

Fyodor shoots me a glance. “What?”

“You were suddenly in charge and people talked. Vladimir would never give up the throne, they said. And then suddenly, he did. Word out there was that you killed him.”

“If only.” Fyodor drinks deeply.

“He’s like a roach,” Daniil scoffs. “Unkillable. Wouldn’t mind a stab at it though.”

“No.” Fyodor lowers his glass and stares sharply at the both of us. “If anyone gets to kill him, it’s me.”

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