Page 73 of Possessive Vows

“Shut up, I don’t care. Get your hand off herright now,” I snarl.

“Is only spanking,” she tuts.

“Is only stab wound,” I mock, shifting closer, daring her to defy me again.

Shetsksin disgust and releases Zoya as though she touched something dirty.

“You do nothing. Too weak,” she goads.

I refrain from jabbing my blade into her hefty midsection only for Zoya’s sake. My daughter is too young for me to expose her to such violence.

“You’re fired. Get out of my house. Now. If you want safe travel back to Russia, you’ll leave without another word, otherwise I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in the slums of New York City,” I demand.

The first hint of fear flashes over her features. A red splotch darkens on her cheek. My hand throbs. She opens her mouth but thinks better of it, closing it without uttering a sound. When she shifts her gaze down to Zoya, I step in front of my daughter, shielding her with my body, and imagine every horrible way I could make the old bitch see the error of her ways.

She leaves. The moment her heel crosses the threshold, I spin around and drop to my knees, uncaring about the agony shooting through my joints. I scoop the stuffed animal off the floor and tuck it under her arm with the thumb in her mouth. My voice sounds frantic even to me.

“Mio Dio. I’m sorry, Zoya. Are you hurt? Let me see your arm, please, baby.”

She ducks, buries her face against my chest, and grabs the side of my shirt as though her life depends on it. Her tiny body shakes. Tears, spit, and snot wet my shirt.

I wrap one arm around her and hold her tight as I use the lip of the bathtub for balance. Agony jabs through my joints from kneeling on the hard floor, but I’d rather die than cut comforting Zoya short. I murmur words of comfort, praising her for being brave and thanking her for trusting me, but all the while a spike drives deeper into my heart.

It hurts seeing her in pain. I’d rather walk through miles of burning coals barefoot than have her experience an ounce of hardship.

A shadow fills the doorway. My hackles rise, but I meet Dimitri’s eyes and force my protective instincts to the back burner.

“Did the nanny leave?” I ask.

Dimitri nods. His icy expression sends terror down my spine, cooling my rage and clearing a path for logical thought.

I swallow as I replay the last few moments in my head.

“What is wrong?” he asks.

“That bi—” I glance down at Zoya and choose child-appropriate words. “I caught the nanny spanking her.”

The tundra holds more warmth than my husband’s eyes. A chill races down my spine.

“I know I probably overstepped, but—”

“You did not,so´lnyshka.”

I take a shuddering breath and tighten my hug as Zoya tries to burrow under my skin.

“She was your wife’s nanny,” I argue.

“And now I know why Anastasia never hired her for our children.” His blunt response reveals his barely concealed fury. Not at me. At Nanny Olga.

He steps forward, squats beside me, and brushes his fingertips over my temple.

“You protected Zoya. I am proud,so´lnyshka.”

A dam breaks inside me, all the more vicious for my lack of realizing it existed. I drop my cheek to the top of Zoya’s head and sob.

My mother’s cruelty systematically chipped away at my self-worth. Even when at the top of the modeling industry, I always strived to be more perfect.

I can’t let Zoya suffer the same fate. I may not know what a happy, loving mother looks like, but I know how to stop abuse.

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