Page 80 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Please, let me tell you the truth!”

“I wouldn’t believe the truth if you stripped naked and had it tattooed on your body,” Fyodor spits. He’s so close that the hatred visible in his eyes seeps into my mind like a fog. Gone is the warmth, the affection, and the love I’m so used to seeing there.

There’s only death.

“Was it you that told Zasha’s men he was here?”

“What?” My heart rattles desperately in my chest. “No! I never?—”

“Did you tell anyone that he was here?!”

“No! I—” The lie chokes me, and the truth bleeds onto my face. I’m exhausted. I can’t keep up with this and I’m losing. “Please,” I gasp wetly, tears finally falling. “Let me explain.”

“You’re dead to me.” He’s an inch away from me and his words cut deep like blades. He’s going to kill me. I see it in his eyes and I understand it.

It’s what I always feared he would do if he found out the truth. In dreams, I tell him the truth and he holds me close and understands. Understands that I had no choice and was raised on my mother’s truth. Understands that I learned things on my own and changed my outlook, and that I would never hurt him.

Reality is different. Colder. Dariya is in the hospital and all he sees is a traitor.

Behind him, Vladimir’s sharp yet smug look is sickening. He knew this would happen. I don’t know how deep his involvement goes, but I know he’s my reaper.

Suddenly, Daniil is between me and Fyodor, his back to me.

“Fyodor, let me take care of her,” Daniil says, his voice flat. “Let me do it.”

Fyodor doesn’t break eye contact with me, pouring his hate into my soul with as much venom as he can muster.

I take it all. I deserve it.

“No,” Fyodor growls.

“You need me to do this,” Daniil says. He places one hand on Fyodor’s chest and finally, Fyodor looks away from me to his bodyguard. “Let me take care of her, once and for all.”

Daniil or Fyodor, it doesn’t matter who kills me.

I just pray that it’s quick.

31

NAOMI

“Please, no wait! I can explain; please let me explain!”

“There is nothing more you can say that I ever want to hear.” Fyodor casts one last dark look in my direction, then turns and strides slowly back to his father. I surge forward, desperate for the chance to speak my own truth, but none of them want to listen.

I can’t blame them, but it pains me more than I ever imagined.

One of the men guarding Zasha rushes forward with me and catches the back of my flailing arm when I run. The grip pulls me backward, and my feet slip on the smooth tiles surrounding the pool. Down I go, landing with a hard slap on the ground. Pain radiates numbly through my left shoulder.

Tears pour down my cheeks when I blink. From here, Zasha’s face comes into view once again, and I search his eyes for comfort. There’s nothing there but pain and it dawns on me that we’re both about to meet the same fate.

I am, perhaps, more deserving than he; but to those with the guns, it won’t matter.

We’re both going to die.

His eyes lock onto mine. Unfortunately, I can’t decipher whatever it is he’s trying to tell me. The message is lost in the pain in his eyes and the tears in my own.

“Please,” I beg when a large hand wraps around my right bicep and hauls me to my feet like I weigh nothing. My head whips around and I’m face-to-face with Daniil. His face is clouded with anger, and I don’t need to remove his sunglasses to feel the hatred pouring off him.

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