Page 96 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Not if Daniil is the father,” I grind out, gripping the armrests with both hands.

Ivan increases the pressure of his cane and chuckles dryly. “It doesn’t matter who because each of them will believe and hope it is theirs. And I can use that.”

“Why?” I hiss softly. “I’ve heard the stories. You slaughter people at whim, torture them for pleasure. If you want the power so bad, why don’t you just go and take it?”

“Oh, you silly girl.” Ivan tsks and finally removes his cane.

I gasp softly, sliding a hand over my abdomen and sagging down in the chair.

“I have killed to stay on top, yes. People always seem to get in the way and there are those, like Zasha for example, that just do not break. I was surprised he had the gall to kill his own father, but when I killed his mother and placed the blame for her suicide on him, he still did not back down.”

My blood runs cold. Zasha killed his own father? Knowing Zasha, he must have had a good reason. But then to live with thinking his mother took her own life when really it was Ivan all along?

His cruelty is limitless.

“You’re wrong.” My voice trembles. “This baby doesn’t have the power you think it does.”

“Why?” Ivan lifts a brow, then picks up his gold-rimmed wine glass. The crimson liquid sloshes up the sides as he slurps. “They won’t come for you, but they will come for their child. I tested this with Fyodor by placing his child, Dariya, in danger. He saved her with no care for his own life. He will do the same to ensure his other child is not lost to me.”

Poor Dariya. Even unconscious, she’s a pawn in Ivan’s game. But the more I dwell on it, the more I’m certain Fyodor will not care about me.

“You don’t know Fyodor like I do. I broke his heart. He sees me as nothing but a snake. If he learns I’m pregnant, he won’t care. He’d rather see me dead.” The words are poison from my own lips, dripping in truth.

“How far along are you?” Ivan’s eyes drift south. “I will get a doctor to check. You see, even if Fyodor and Daniil and Zasha decide to leave you here to rot, that child will be mine. If that’s the case, then all I need to do is keep you alive and then cut the brat out of you when I’m ready.”

If I had the energy, I’d be shocked, but that’s the least terrifying thing he’s said so far. My fingertips press into my abdomen and I slide my tongue against my wounded cheek as a distraction.

“Then I’ll kill Fyodor and that other brat, then use DNA to make all those loyal to Fyodor fall in line.”

“You could never kill Fyodor,” I snap. “He’s too smart for you.”

“On the contrary, my dear.” Ivan leans forward and a droplet of red wine rolls slowly down from the corner of his mouth. “Vladimir wants him dead too. When Daniil is out of the way, Fyodor will be child’s play. Start burning down a few homes with families inside, and Fyodor will crawl here to maintain his bloodless reputation.”

I balk at the thought, and nothing stops the acid sweeping up my throat. Threatening his child and his carefully crafted reputation?

Maybe Ivan is right. Maybe Fyodor really will come here to save those two things.

But me? Either by Ivan’s hand or Fyodor’s, I’m dead in the water.

36

FYODOR

The gentle, rhythmic sound of my daughter’s heartbeat soothes my tired soul, even if it is given to me through the electronic cry of the machines surrounding her. She was touch and go for so long, and my father’s taunts about Ivan being here had brought me to the hospital with the fury of a hurricane.

The mess of bodies to be cleaned is going to haunt us later, I’m sure. There’s a lot the Bratva can get away with, but dead bodies in a hospital is a legal nightmare. I’ll take care of it, though. All of it. Once Dariya is awake.

Breathing comes much easier now that everything has come to light. The deep betrayal of my father sits heavy in the back of my mind. I knew he hated me, but to this degree? To take my life and threaten my child?

He’s crossed a line there is no coming back from.

I shove those thoughts away and focus on Dariya’s sleeping face, stroking the back of her knuckles with my thumb. I need her to wake up.

Please.

“Here.” Daniil appears and presses a hot cup of tar-like coffee into my hand. The taste is disgusting, but the heat and the caffeine boost make it worthwhile.

“How is she?” Daniil asks, slipping into the chair on the opposite side of the bed with his own cup in hand. Zasha follows, lingering at the foot of her bed as he waits for my answer.

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