Page 14 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

“Good girl,” I say, flashing a rare smile. She’s flushed, her cheeks painted a soft, rosy hue, and I can’t help but find it fucking adorable. But it’s more than that. Despite the danger, despite everything, she’s standing here, willing to play the game. Willing to help us. And that’s more than intriguing; it’s a fucking revelation.

Without another word, I walk out, leaving her in a room that suddenly feels too small to contain the energy between us.

God knows I what I wanted to do to her. To teach her true obedience. I’d teach her what it meant, alright, and I’d relish every damn second of it.

But I need to focus on the task at hand. The breach in security needs to be handled immediately. We can’t afford to let anything slip through the cracks. As I enter the control room, I’m greeted by the usual chaos of beeping screens and frantic techs trying to fix everything at once.

“Report,” I bark at Travis, who’s hunched over a monitor.

“We’ve traced the breach to a computer belonging to one of our agents,” he says, his eyes never leaving the screen.

I feel a knot form in my stomach. We trusted these people with our lives, and now it seems that trust was misplaced.

“Who is it?” My voice is low and gravely.

“Grace,” Travis says after a moment.

“Grace,” I repeat, disbelief in my voice. “How could she do this?”

“She was in charge of maintaining communication with one of our contacts,” Travis explains. “We believe she was leaking intel to them.”

Grace. Isn’t she the one who found Emma for us? A cold knot forms in my stomach. If Grace is compromised, what does that mean for the new nanny? For Alina? Everything could be at risk.

Chapter 6: Ambushed

Emma

“Okay, Alina, let’s try pouring this juice together,” I suggest, handing her a small plastic pitcher filled with apple juice.

We are in the vast kitchen, a room with polished countertops and stainless-steel appliances which gleam like they’ve never seen a single day of use.

It’s almost noon, and the kitchen staff have shuffled off to their break, leaving me and Alina alone—a rare slice of freedom.

Her tiny hands wrap around the juice. I guide her hands, tilting the pitcher towards the open cup. But it’s a big pour for such small hands, and before we know it, the juice is cascading over the rim, spilling onto the marble floor below.

Alina’s eyes shoot up to mine, wide with fear. She draws back, her arms shielding her head, bracing for a blow.

My heart clenches at the sight. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” I say softly, reaching out to gently pat her head. “It’s just juice, no harm done.”

I grab some paper towels and kneel down, showing her how to clean it up. “See? Easy fix.”

Alina peeks out from behind her arms and, seeing the smile on my face, she relaxes. Tentatively, she joins me on the floor, grabbing a paper towel and mimicking my movements.

“There you go! Good as new,” I cheer, as we finish mopping up the spill.

She beams, the ghost of her earlier fear replaced by a sense of accomplishment. “Clean!” she exclaims, her pronunciation a bit wobbly.

“Exactly, clean! You’re such a quick learner, Alina. I’m proud of you.”

Then suddenly, Alina’s small arms wrap tightly around my neck, her hug fierce and clinging. There’s a desperation in it that tugs at my heartstrings. “Okay, okay,” I say with a soft laugh, but my smile fades as I hug her back, her need for affection striking a chord deep inside me.

She’s been through so much, and the fear in her eyes from just spilling juice? It makes me wonder. Did those three men ever lay a hand on her? The very thought sends a shiver of anger through me.

Holding her close, I whisper, “You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”

As I slowly peel Alina’s arms from around my neck, the kitchen door swings open. Dmitri steps in, his posture relaxed, but the look on his face says he’s been standing there, watching us.

He leans against the door frame. “Seems like you’re handling things pretty well,” he comments, a trace of a smile on his lips.

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