Page 82 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Sinking forward onto the grass, I lay myself at Daniil’s feet. I have no idea how else to show him how sorry I am.

A strained sigh drifts down from above and when I slowly lean back up, Daniil is massaging his temple.

“Did you ever give your mother any information?”

“No,” I sob repeatedly like a prayer. “I never saw anything. I never did anything. You all kept it hidden for so long that by the time you revealed the truth to me, I already knew I could never tell her a thing. Please.”

“So that night, when you acted all shocked and horrified and we were worried for you…that was a lie? You were just pretending?”

Unable to speak, I nod quickly. When it’s all laid out like this, I look guilty as sin, and I know the trust is gone. There is absolutely nothing I can say or do that will save me.

Briefly, I consider the pregnancy. If I tell him, will that change anything? Or will it make the pain so much worse, given Dariya’s condition? Nothing in my head makes sense and before I can unravel what to do, Daniil speaks.

“Fyodor is too distraught to make any decisions so I’m going to do it.” Daniil straightens his shoulders and stands a little taller, then he juts out his chin. “Leave.”

My breath catches in my throat, burning the back of my tongue, and my pounding heart skips a painful beat. “Wha—leave? What—What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daniil growls. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He’s…letting me live? The heartbroken fragments of my heart lift with the slightest ray of hope that crushes a second later as Daniil continues.

“I will shoot at you and you will go down. I’ll kick your body away and once I’ve left, you will get the fuck out of here. I don’t care how, and if you get caught by anyone else then I will not save you. This isn’t a mercy.”

It feels like a mercy, though. My fingers twist together so tightly that my knuckles ache.

“This isn’t forgiveness; this isn’t anything other than me knowing Fyodor wouldn’t be able to live with another death of someone he loves on his conscience, and he’s already suffering enough. I don’t need you to hurt him more than you already have.”

The broken shards of my heart slice away inside me with every breath, turning my emotional distress into physical agony.

“Whatever the fuck your goal was here, whatever you wanted to do, I don’t care. It’s over, do you understand? Get the fuck out of here.”

“Why?” I gasp wetly, unable to process what he’s saying quickly enough. “Why not just kill me like you said you would?”

Deep down, part of me aches for that. The easy way out away from all this guilt and pain.

“I can’t,” Daniil says, his voice strained as he lifts the gun an inch higher. “I can’t kill someone I love.”

Then he pulls the trigger.

32

ZASHA

The cold from the pool tiles sears into my knees, igniting a throbbing ache within my joints.

So much went down in under two minutes that it’s impossible to process everything. My heart aches, and the urge to follow after Naomi and stop Daniil from making what I’m sure is a terrible mistake rises. I can’t though. My own fate lies in the hands of Vladimir Dunayevsky, who sits before me with narrow eyes and a twisted smirk across his weathered face.

My judge.

“You,” Vladimir spits, “are a problem.”

He’s a legend for all the wrong reasons, and I’m not stupid. The chances of me getting out of this unscathed are extremely low. That doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight, though.

“Are you sure? You did not know I existed until ten minutes ago.”

Vladimir snorts, then leans back in his chair. “I don’t know what spell you and that whore wove over my son, but it’s over now, do you understand me? It’s over.”

“Spell?” I scoff. “Fyodor’s kindness is of his own doing and it has nothing to do with us. He knows a real threat when he sees one, and it is not me. Or Naomi.”

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