Page 1 of The Bratva's Nanny

Chapter One – Roman

The rest of the world moved on in a rush, but not mine.

Every day, for five days each week, it remained the same.

I eyed the Phoenix Martial Arts Academy signpost hanging by the exit door as patiently as I could and waited, staying perfectly still as the brakes screeched on the curb. As the seconds ticked by with still no sign of her, my jaw flexed. The need to protect her occupied my thoughts, consuming me.

This was the routine.

I should have been used to it by now: the wait, the angst, almost every day on the same curb at the same hour. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t get used to the cold feeling, wondering would she come out? Or would she not?

It was one of the worries that came with being a father.

A father with violence served daily like a fucking three-course meal and a target on his back twenty-four-seven. This was the life I’d been called to live, and I’d lived it for thirty-nine years already. Even if I tried, I couldn’t change fate.

From a distance, bright sun rays hit the skyscrapers in Manhattan, illuminated the vibrant colors on billboards and taxi cabs, and cast long shadows. The view juggled memories of times in Chicago.

Chicago was a cakewalk, a playground for men like me. But New York? The city was a whole different beast, like trying to tame a lion. The streets were meaner, the competition fiercer, and the stakes higher.

There was something about the city that got under my skin. The energy was like nothing else, like a constant buzz in the air. And the people? They were a whole different breed. In Chicago, they had heart, but New Yorkers had attitude. And I loved it.

I made my move, settled in, got ready to take on the Big Apple, and swore on the life of my most precious that I was going to do everything I possibly could until I’d conquered every inch. But conquering the inches of the city had to wait. Seeing her walk through that door was more important.

More seconds ticked by, and I felt the pressure weigh on me without remorse.

Would she come out? Or would she not?

My jaw tightened.

Then, the door moved and finally opened. At the sight of her, the tension rolled off my shoulders, like caged birds finally gaining freedom, and I welcomed the sudden calm. Not even the sun’s brightness could compare to the glow of her smile when she stepped out, her fingers interlaced with Irina’s.

Blonde hair bounced on her shoulders, and baby blue eyes sparkled as she walked toward the car with a happy skip and a bounce in her step. Behind them, Kian and Evgeni, two of my men, strode solemnly, standing guard and keeping a close watch on everything that moved.

In the driver’s seat, the driver cleared his throat and glanced outside the window on the passenger’s side. “I’ll never understand why you enjoy this level of torture.”

From the backseat, I glared at the rearview mirror and stared at the side of his slicked-back blond hair. Feeling the heat of my gaze, he peeled his eyes off a happy Polly chatting with her nanny and met my eyes.

Unmasked concern swam in his green irises, and I raised a brow. “What torture?”

“This,” he said, his voice quiet. A curt nod toward the chatty duo and a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders told me all I needed to know. “Sending her to a martial arts school. She’s only six. Is she not too young?”

I rolled my eyes.

There was only one reason I even considered continuing the conversation: Lev Novikov had served me for fifteen years, grown up with me, and instead of just being one of my most loyal men, he’d practically become a part of the brotherhood. He stuck close, was completely reliable, and sure as hell had a big mouth, not holding back his opinions.

“Too young?” Fuck, no. I dragged my eyes away from his and refocused on Polly through my window. “Another six-year-old might be too young. But not my Polly. She’s no ordinary kid, Lev. You know that better than anyone else; being born into this—the Bratva—is both a blessing and a curse. She gets power and more fucking influence than some people can only dream of having. But alongside that comes the enemies lurking behind the shadows. She needs this: the training, the extra push, the exposure.”

“Yeah,” was all he said with a dull tap on the wheel. “But in the end, Polly’s still a kid. Her life doesn’t have to be as batshit crazy as yours.”

The corner of my lips went up.

“Doesn’t have to be, but it already is. From the second she was born, this path was created for her. Danger is destined for her, and her life will only become worse if I turn a blind eye to that. I can’t limit her to a life of cereal, crayons, and the rest of that petty shit. She needs to know how to use a fucking gun, to protect herself, and now is the best time to do it. She needs to be strong.”

Lev shifted on his seat, and the heat of his stare brushed the side of my face. But I didn’t look at him.

“Say you’re being reasonable about all of this,” Lev started. “I have a question: You can afford to get her a dozen private instructors. The enemies-lurking-behind-the-shadows part should be enough motivation to do that. So, why don’t you?”

From the periphery, I saw her making a demonstration to Irina with her arms spread and a huge smile on her face. She looked like a big bird, flapping her wings and giggling like nothing else could be funnier.

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