Page 31 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

I yank open the fridge, the light flickering and buzzing like it’s struggling to stay alive. Inside, it’s as barren as a desert, save for a lone bottle of wine—nothing like the fancy vintages aboard the yacht.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” I mutter to the bottle, my company for the night.

I don’t bother with a glass. Who am I trying to impress in this empty place? I tip the bottle back, the wine not as smooth or as rich as what Nikolai served, but it does its job, washing down the lump in my throat, numbing the edges of my thoughts.

I chug it, the liquid courage I need, the companion to my spiraling mind. It’s not the warmth of Nikolai’s gaze or the thrillof his touch, but tonight, it’s all I’ve got. And it’ll have to be enough.

The alcohol burns its way down my throat, and I settle into the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Nikolai’s face, his commanding presence which had me seduced and vulnerable. I feel like a fool for falling for someone like him.

Or someone like Dmitri. Is he also tangled up in this mess? It wasn’t just Nikolai who had my heart racing and my body aching, it was Dmitri too.

I take another swig of wine, the memories of Dmitri’s touch mingling with Nikolai’s in my mind.

Am I really that messed up? Attracted to two—and, oh God, maybe even three—mafia men? Textbook case of a bad romance novel protagonist.

I should be terrified. I should be plotting my escape, not daydreaming about their complicated smiles. But here I am, pouring another glass of wine, toasting my clearly excellent life choices.

And then there’s Aleksandr. The thought brings a snort of laughter. As if my situation wasn’t complicated enough without adding Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly into the mix.

The bottle is empty before I know it, and the room decides to join the merry-go-round in my head. I flop back onto the couch, giggling at the absurdity of it all. The world spins, and I spin with it.

Thumbing my phone with tipsy precision, I shoot Zoe a lifeline text.

I need u. Pls come over. I’m at my old place

The message zips off. I flop back on the couch, phone clutched like a drunk’s promise. Zoe’s my human reality check, the no-nonsense to my nonsense. She’ll swoop in, red hair blazing, armed with ice cream or tough love—whichever I need more.

Now, I’ve just got to wait and not fall into the wine-and-spiral abyss. Easy. Ish.

Jeans? Who needs them. I wiggle out of the confines of my denims and sprawl on the couch. Zoe’s got keys; no need to play doorwoman.

As minutes tick by, the room does a lazy waltz. Zoe’s snail pace has me wondering—did she stop for coffee? She lives, like, one sneeze away.

Then—knock, knock.

Really? Zoe’s knocking now? I stagger to my feet, a little wobbly, a little grumpy. “Did you lose your keys?” I grumble, yanking the door open.

But it’s not Zoe. It’s Aleksandr, standing there like some tall, dark omen.

“W-what are you doing here?”

Aleksandr’s towering figure fills the doorway, an unexpected sentinel. “You texted me you needed me,” he states, his voice a low rumble which seems to vibrate through the floor.

“What? No, I didn’t. I texted Zoe,” I protest, but even as I speak, the room gives a not-so-gentle lurch. Oh no, not now.

Aleksandr steps forward, his hand catching my elbow to steady me. “Easy there,” he murmurs, his other hand reaching out to brush my hair back from my face. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m fine,” I protest, but the words slur together in my mouth.

“Clearly.” Aleksandr’s lips tilt into a small smile at my feeble attempt at defiance, and he steps further into the apartment, door closing behind him.

The room spins as Aleksandr reaches out to pull me towards him. I sway into his embrace, the warmth of his body enveloping me like a cocoon.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to my scrambled brain. “Just relax.”

“D-don’t touch me, you...”

“You what?” he echoes.

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