Page 14 of The Bratva's Nanny

Even the man in front of us paused.

I sidestepped, still protecting Polly, with my small knife in a firm position. But I couldn’t stop the sudden rush of anxiety that clawed at my nerves when more than a dozen men in black filed out of the car in an instant.

No....

I know I’d said I was no coward, but I had to be realistic. How was I supposed to deal with more enemy maniacs? It was just me against them with a scared six-year-old and a freaking knife.

Blood rushed, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears, blocking out all other sounds.

The car stopped, and the men filed out.

They had a weird formation. More of them waited by the cars while three advanced.

I searched their faces, struggling to even read their guarded expressions. And when my eyes met the one in the middle, my heart hitched to an immediate halt.

He possessed everything that could make anyone drop to their knees before him.

An aura so dark and commanding that even I swallowed in fear.

Tall frame, dark hair, drawn brows, full, tempting, bow-shaped lips, and broad shoulders that were nothing like the scrawny man’s on the ground. This one was different. He filled out his dark suit nicely and had a posture that could land a great deal of any kick without stressing.

But it wasn’t his unreal attractiveness that reeled me in.

He was oddly familiar, and I squinted to peer closer.

Blue.

Those eyes—the cruelty, the soulless look, and the determination in them. That jaw. Those fingers clenched around a silver pistol.

I instantly knew where and why I recognized him.

Something weighty, like an anchor, dropped to my stomach. This man...he was more dangerous than Mr. Scrawny and Mr. Rod and all the other hosts of villains at the Academy put together.

But nothing shocked me more than feeling Polly voluntarily slip out of my grasp and hearing her call him, “Daddy!” as she rushed to him with open arms.

Daddy?

This man was Polly’s father?

“Lev, take her...” he started with a harshness I recognized, and the rest of his words, in that silvery baritone, got lost in a string of other foreign speech I couldn’t understand.

I watched the taller man beside him grab Polly and swiftly drive away with her.

“Please...” someone whimpered, and I turned around.

Mr. Rod no longer had his rod. Now, his hands were held up at the back of his head, surrendering. I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could blink, the empty road echoed with the crack of gunfire. The echoes lingered. I heard my breath cease.

And again, for the second time today, I watched a man go down to the ground with a stream of red spilling from his body, no life left in him.

I froze on the spot, stunned that, in seconds, the man I’d confronted was no longer breathing.

When I dragged my gaze back to the murderer, a wave of nausea washed over me. That same soulless look was there as he tucked his gun back between his belt—no remorse, no emotion, and no care that I was appalled by his actions.

He looked at me and didn’t say a word.

My flesh rose to goose pimples on my skin, and if I could, I would have sworn that my life began to flash before my eyes. Because…how the hell did I end up here?

Stuck in the middle of a real-life murder with a monster?

---