Page 32 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

“You... big, brooding... Mafia... man.”

He doesn’t smile, but there’s a softening in his eyes. “You find me brooding?”

I nod, my head heavy on his chest. “And commanding.”

His hands are gentle as they guide me to the couch, settling me onto the cushions. I want to protest, to push him away, but my body betrays me, craving the comfort of his touch.

Aleksandr kneels in front of me, his hands still on my shoulders. “Just what did you drink?”

I try to focus on his question, but my mind is foggy. “Wine,” I manage, my words still slurring.

“Wine? How much?”

I shrug, feeling embarrassed. “Half a bottle?”

“You got this drunk... with half a bottle?” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me.

I scowl at him, even though his laugh is infectious. “Don’t make fun of me,” I mutter.

“I’m not. I’m just surprised,” he says, still smiling.

“Where is... Zoe?” I manage to say.

“Who is Zoe?” he asks.

Did I actually text him instead of Zoe? The world tilts dangerously again, and I press a hand to my mouth, my stomach heaving in protest. “I think I’m gonna—” The words are cut off as Aleksandr guides me swiftly to the bathroom.

I’m on my knees in an instant. Aleksandr, with a surprising gentleness, gathers my hair back as I empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl.

“Don’t look at me,” I manage between heaves, mortified.

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse things than puke.”

I scoff, the sound bitter even to my own ears. “Yeah, Nikolai told me.”

He stiffens slightly behind me. “He told you... what exactly?”

I look up at him, my vision clearing for a moment, the weight of his gaze almost as heavy as the revelation I’m about to confirm. “That you guys are murderers.”

Aleksandr’s expression hardens, and for a moment, I’m afraid he might lash out at me. But instead, he simply nods. “Yes. We are.”

My stomach churns, but there’s something about the way Aleksandr’s holding my hair back that’s almost comforting.

“Are you afraid of us, Emma?” he asks.

And I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know if I should be afraid of them or not. But in this moment, with Aleksandr’s strong hand holding my hair and his deep voice soothing me, I can’t bring myself to feel anything but safe.

“No.” I finally manage to say.

“Maybe you should be.” His reply is almost instant.

“Maybe.” I turn to face him, my cheeks still flushed from vomiting.

Aleksandr’s intense gaze holds mine, and I can feel the gravity of his words sinking in. Maybe I should be afraid of him and the Bratva. But the way he’s taking care of me...

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask.

His hands find my chin, lifting it up a fraction. “Never,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

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