Page 10 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Daniil.”

He appears at my elbow, his sunglasses sharply catching the glare of all the surrounding headlights.

“Put her in the car. And call the family doctor. I want her treated immediately.”

Daniil nods and pries Naomi’s claws from my coat, but as he starts to escort her away, his entire body stiffens and she slips from his grasp.

“Sir.” He nods toward the body on the ground and his lips press into a tight, angry line. “That’s Zasha Chernykh.”

I turn tightly and take in the unconscious man for the first time. Indeed, his trademark long white-blond hair, although muddied with dirt and grime, is as recognizable as his angular face that’s clearly seen one too many impacts with something solid.

Naomi’s car, perhaps?

“The fuck is he doing way out here?”

I am not friends with the Chernykh family. Ever since the death of their Pakhan, Oleg, Zasha has been growing too bold for his own good and has encroached more than once into my territory. Like a yapping dog, he continues to remind me of how much of a threat he is.

The icy fingers of the late February storm touch the back of my neck, urging me to hurry up and take Naomi back home and let the snow wash away this insanity.

“Could just leave him here,” Daniil remarks bitterly, sharing the same distaste for the man I have. “No one would miss him and it would serve his family right for daring to let him come here.”

He makes a good point and I immediately lean in favor of that. Letting the cold kill him would be one less thorn to deal with. Having a rival leader crop up right on my doorstep is too good an opportunity to pass up. Stepping back, something solid crunches under my heel.

Naomi’s phone.

Scooping it up, the screen reacts to the special fabric along the fingertips of my gloves and displays the lack of signal in the area. That explains why our call died earlier. Naomi’s call history appears on screen in two taps, and something catches my eye.

She called 911, then hung up almost immediately before she called me.

Why did she change her mind?

“You’re going to help him, right?” Naomi shoves against Daniil, seemingly refusing all attempts from one of my guards to escort her to my jeep. “Why are you just standing around? You have to help him!” Her voice pitches and her eyes are so wide that the white bleeds out around her iris.

“Naomi, go to the jeep?—”

“Please.” She cuts me off and grips my arm tightly. “You have to get him help now, I can’t have killed someone. Please, I can’t be responsible for that. I’d die. I’d sooner die, please!”

Her gemstone eyes brim with sadness and fresh tears that don’t make it past her frozen lashes, and while a pulse of sympathy bleeds through my chest, killing Zasha is the smartest play here.

He’s waded too deep into my drug circuit, and there will never be a cleaner opportunity to wash my hands of a rival with minimal blame.

And yet, the words linger on the back of my tongue, unable to escape my lips. There’s nothing I can say to Naomi that would justify this and maintain the secrecy around who I am and what I do. I know that bubble will burst eventually but I didn’t expect it so soon.

I glance at Daniil. His expression is, as always, hidden behind his glasses though I’ve read his mouth often enough to know how he really feels. The slight twitch of the upper lip and shift in his stance show he shares the same debate I have in my heart.

“Please!” Naomi cries, shaking me hard despite her frozen state. “Do something! What the hell are we doing just standing here?!”

In that instant, staring into her distraught eyes, my decision is made.

“Bring him to the house.”

Naomi’s shoulders lift and a weary gasp escapes her.

I snap my fingers to the nearest guard, who nods instantly. “And warn the doctor we might need a hospital.”

4

NAOMI

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