Page 7 of The Bratva's Nanny

I sucked in a deep breath and held it for as long as I could.

The memory of happy children, martial arts, and broken hand dryers became nothing but a backdrop. Now, it was just me...Maria Simmons in the real world.

The twenty-one-year-old working two jobs and struggling to pay off her father’s debt.

I had fighting skills and had grown a tougher skin over the years, but what good was that when I had absolutely no one to lean on?

I exhaled, and out with it came a teardrop.

I wiped it off with the back of my hand.

Over the years, I’d considered lots of options, one of which was the most popular: going to the authorities.

But...laying a complaint against Finn Jameson in the station was similar to shooting myself in the foot.

When he was alive, my father was no saint. He was an alcoholic and a gambler. He’d stuck his hands in a bunch of other illegal things I was glad I didn’t know about. But in this case, ignorance wasn’t bliss. If I took Finn to the police, he would most assuredly find a way to keep me roped into my father’s dirty dealings. I’d been tasked with the responsibility to pay for all his sins.

And if I didn’t get Finn’s money in one month, I could count everything I’d ever worked hard to build goodbye. And that included me. If there was one thing I had come to learn, it was that Finn Jameson didn’t bluff. He was going to come for me in the most terrible ways.

I pushed myself off the floor.

Sulking wasn’t going to get me the money.

I had to go out there and look for what would.

Chapter Three – Roman

The Luxor Casino was in full swing when I arrived.

Lights flashed, music pulsed, and the dice were spinning. A couple of men at a nearby poker table spotted us, and they quietened down, murmurs breaking out between them. But my sights were set on only one person.

He was the reason I’d bothered to come here, with more men than I would normally deem necessary, all armed and ready to blow up the fucking place if they had to.

“Where is he?” Lev asked someone behind us.

“Top floor, high-roller room.”

We moved through the crowd, the sea of people parting like a velvet curtain as we made our way up. The murmurings resonated as we passed, and finally, my target at the back of the high-roller room met my gaze through the swarm of people.

He froze in his seat, ignored his ongoing game of poker, and tried so fucking hard not to break eye contact.

We both knew anything could happen if he did.

Fear danced in his eyes, as bright as flickers of tiny fireflies in the dark. If I got close enough, I was sure I’d smell it oozing out of his fucking pores.

Each step closer set him on edge.

He swished the drink in his glass, took a swig, and nodded to one of his acquaintances. I saw his lips move as he muttered, “Clear the room. I’ve got an important friend,” and I didn’t have to be up close to pick the sarcasm in his tone, the quiver in his voice, and the regret that followed after he recognized my presence in the room.

Important friend? Yeah, sure. If the Grim Reaper was a friend. His fucking death sentence would’ve been more like it.

The others evacuated the room, leaving with grumbles and more murmurs on their way out. I dragged the chair closest to his and sat, crossing one leg over the other. I could almost hear his miserable heart stop beating.

“Martin fucking Claude.”

Lev and Kian rotated and assumed positions behind his chair.

Martin twisted uncomfortably, swallowed down the last of his drink, and sat up with a pretentious smile. Shimmering beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

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