Page 71 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

A small laugh bubbles out of me and I tap my heels rapidly against the floor. This is amazing!

“Naomi?” Daniil is back at the door. “I have the painkillers.”

I quickly shove the test into my pocket and smooth down my clothes. Pulling open the door, I throw my arm around his shoulders, then pull him down for a kiss. He melts into it after a grunt of surprise and places one hand against the small of my back.

“Wow,” he grins. “All this for painkillers?”

“You’re amazing,” I grin happily, cupping his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I gotta remember to do this next month too,” he chuckles.

Taking his hand, I squeeze affectionately. “Do it every month, and I’ll love you forever.”

“Noted.” With a pleasant smile, he leads the way outside and we walk down the pavement toward the restaurant. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I can’t tell you.” I smile ear to ear. “Not yet.”

“Later?” Daniil lifts a brow.

“I promise.”

We reach the edge of the crosswalk, but just as I step out, the squeal of car brakes fills the air. A black sedan tears down the street, and Daniil jerks me backward with a curse.

“Motherfucker—”

Before I can respond, before I can even think to join in the swearing at the reckless driver, an explosion of gunfire erupts from the vehicle. Bullets tear like wildfire into the front of the restaurant.

Right where we left Fyodor and Dariya.

“No!”

27

NAOMI

“Get down!”

Daniil collides with me like a brick wall. Together, we tumble to the ground and all air is forced from my lungs upon impact. Daniil uses his own body to cover my own and his hands are like claws, gripping my shoulder and my head while he curls over me.

The entire world slows, time passing like the trickle of sand in an hourglass, and I can only watch through messy strands of hair and the gap at the crook of Daniil’s elbow. The car slows and bullets pour from the vehicle, cracking through the air like lightning strikes.

The windows of the restaurant crack and shatter into a thousand shards, wooden supports splinter, and the cloth of the canopy rips into a tattered mess. Wine glasses explode, plates shatter, and flowers are ripped of their petals. Blood sprays like a fountain from the bodies of those unfortunate to be in the path of the bullets, and they collapse with muted screams.

Through the gap, I spot Fyodor huddled on the ground with crimson soaking into the back of his shirt. My blood runs cold. I can’t breathe; not from the pressure of Daniil above me but because of the cold fear that grips my heart in a vise. The feet of several guards are visible as they sprint to protect Fyodor while firing back at the car, though their weapons pale in comparison to whatever exists inside that vehicle.

The entire carnage lasts about thirty seconds, then the car screeches back into life and tears off down the street. They round a corner and vanish, leaving a deathly silence that falls over the street.

I blink for the first time since I landed on the ground, gasping for air. Slowly, Daniil moves off me and his hand takes mine. He pulls me upward, even as my legs refuse to work and the shock turns me into jelly. Bodies litter the front of the restaurant, and the remaining wooden pole supporting the canopy creaks and then breaks. The fabric flutters to the ground.

Suddenly, the most bloodcurdling noise fills the air, and my veins turn to ice. The anguished howl cuts through the silence like a molten blade. All the surviving guards hurry about, moving to a plan that only they know. As they move, the cause of such an anguished sound comes into view—if Daniil had not already been supporting me, I surely would have collapsed.

Fyodor sits on his knees holding Dariya’s limp body in his arms. Blood pools across the front of her dress. He cradles her to his cheek and makes such a gut-wrenching sound of agony that tears immediately spring to my eyes.

She’s been shot.

The hospital is cold. Silent.

No one speaks. No one moves. We all sit in a numb silence, with the same thought held in our minds.

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