Page 15 of The Bratva's Nanny

I would have liked to imagine that if I were given a chance to be interviewed and asked to tell the world about my life’s story, a part of it would go this way:

“So, tell us, Maria Simmons, how did your life change?”

“Oh, that. That’s an easy one. I was chasing a girl who got kidnapped—a student of mine—and somehow managed to stumble into the wrong story. And that very story started eighteen months ago.”

Chapter Five – Roman

Always be prepared.

That had been my motto since the day I turned nineteen, twenty years ago. From that moment, I understood the life I’d been born into.

But today, some young, witty girl with an impressive display of confidence and skill managed to stun me for two reasons: One, she was just a girl.

I’d seen them, and they had come in different ages, shapes, and sizes. And not one left such an impression like this one did.

Two, she brought back memories. Memories from eighteen months ago that made me remember the one time I was careless—the one time I’d made a terrible mistake.

Turning off the lights in the room, I shut the door and went down the stairs.

There she was, waiting, with wandering eyes and crossed feet. The famous Miss Maria Simmons was seated on the couch, looking stiff as a stick. When I entered the living room, she froze, appearing even more rigid than she was only seconds ago.

Her eyes, an unusual, captivating shade of hazel, green, and gold, looked up at me, and I watched them widen in a silly slow-motion effect.

Gone were my bloodied suits and leather shoes.

Her gaze traveled, sweeping down from the top of my head, past my white tee shirt, down my gray sweatpants, and finally to my sandal-clad feet. When she was done observing, as if I were some outer space specimen, she dragged her eyes back to mine.

In them, I saw the same fear that I’d seen in that hotel eighteen months ago, but mingled with that fear was the same resilience and confidence she possessed even now.

One look at her was misleading.

Her features were delicate and innocent: slender with curves and dips in all the right places, with a small button nose and lips that might have posed a distraction to any rational man. But I saw her in action, wielding that knife like a sword.

I’d seen the fierceness laying underneath that guise of femininity, the strength in her grasp when she fought to keep Polly behind her.... I recognized individual uniqueness when I spotted it, and the girl seated there was no doubt intriguing.

But...she was just a girl. And like every other, she gaped without reservations.

Water dropped on my nose from my hair, and her eyes followed my hand as I wiped them away. It got irritating.

“Is that how you weaken your opponents?”

She blinked, shook her head, and licked her lips like she was parched before responding. When she spoke out loud, the silvery sound filled the quiet around us. “Sorry, what?”

I lifted a brow and sat down on the couch facing hers, crossing one leg over the other. “I asked if that’s how you weaken your opponents—staring them down until they lose focus.”

Briefly, she smiled.

And then, it disappeared.

She cleared her throat. “No.”

“Hm.”

I gave us a moment of silence as I assessed her, and I strangely enjoyed watching her squirm under my gaze. Dark-blonde hair fell forward, framing the curve of her rosy cheeks, and I watched quietly as she tucked the strands behind her ears.

“This is the second time, Miss Maria Simmons, or is it not?”

Now, she appeared a tad bit annoyed. The curtains ruffled, and she took a minute to stare at them before responding. And when she did, I had her full attention. She shifted to the edge of the couch.

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