Page 45 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

To where? Would they even let me in?

I’ll talk to them, okay? Just come

Okay, fine

I text her my location.

As soon as I set my phone down, the group chat pings. Dmitri first.We are fine. What’s wrong?

I hesitate before typing.Just checking in. Is it okay if my friend Zoe comes over?

Nikolai’s reply is like a door slamming shut.No

Damn. I knew they’d be cautious, but... I try again.Please?

I can see Aleksandr has read all the messages. He doesn’t reply. Does he know I can tell he’s seen them?

Nikolai’s concession comes with strict conditions.Okay, fine. But the security will have eyes on her and don’t give her a tour of the house or anything

Dmitri types.I’ll let security know

I quickly type backThank youand add a smiling emoji for good measure.

Am I pushing boundaries here? Maybe, but who cares at this point. Zoe’s harmless, and I need a friend right now,someone unconnected to this complicated web I’ve found myself in.

Time crawls by, each minute stretching longer than the last. It’s quite a trek from the city center to here. I pace, I wait, and then, finally, the front door opens. Zoe’s here.

Her arrival comes with the kind of energy that only she can bring. “Jesus, the security was such a pain in the ass. They patted me down like four times! Just what are they worried about?” she mutters, adjusting her jacket.

I can’t help but laugh, a genuine sound that’s been too rare these days. “Oh, I’ll tell you,” I say, pulling her into a tight hug.

She hugs me back, then steps away, her expression one of mock indignation. “Jesus, girl, it’s like it’s been years since we last talked.”

“It’s been a week. That’s long enough.”

Zoe’s eyes continue to roam. “Just how big is this house, huh?”

“You haven’t even seen the half of it,” I tell her, and there’s a note of pride in my voice. This house, with all its secrets and shadows, has become a part of my life. And for the first time, I’m sharing a piece of that with someone from my old life.

Zoe kneels, meeting Alina’s eye level with an ease that speaks of a kindred spirit accustomed to the innocent world of children. She extends her hand, a gesture so simple and yet so trusting. “Hi there, I’m Zoe.”

Alina, still partly shielded by my frame, peeks out and takes Zoe’s hand, her grip tentative but holding a quiet strength. “I Alina,” she whispers.

Zoe’s face lights up. “Oh, isn’t she so cute!”

“She really is,” I agree, my heart swelling with affection for the little girl who has become my charge.

“You’d make a wonderful mom,” Zoe says suddenly, her gaze softening as she watches me interact with Alina.

“Oh, shut it,” I respond with a laugh, trying to brush off the compliment, but inside, her words warm me more than I want to admit.

“I’m serious!” Zoe insists, her voice emphatic. “Look at you. You’re a natural with kids.”

Before I can protest further, she steers us into the living room, where we all settle down, Alina included. The space feels less intimidating, less like a chessboard of the Bratva’s power plays, and more like a place where life—real, everyday life—can resume, if only for a while.

“So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?” Zoe asks.

I exhale deeply, the sigh carrying the burden of recent days. “I don’t know where to start. Everything is so complicated.”

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