Page 50 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

Emma shakes her head, a lost look in her eyes. “I didn’t have any time.”

“Jesus, Emma. You’ll eat now,” Dmitri insists, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Her protest is weak, “I really don’t feel like eating right now.”

Aleksandr’s final word cuts through any further refusal. “Oh, but you will.”

“Emma, what do you feel like?” I ask, my voice more gentle than I intend.

She shrugs, a shadow of a frown on her face. “I don’t know. Anything?”

We make our way to the kitchen. The staff has left, leaving behind a fridge full of possibilities—a challenge for those of us not versed in culinary arts. Dmitri stares into the fridge, baffled by the assortment of ingredients.

Aleksandr suggests, “Maybe a sandwich?”

Dmitri closes the fridge, dismissive. “A sandwich wouldn’t keep her full.”

“We can order food,” I offer, already reaching for my phone.

Aleksandr shakes his head. “It would take at least an hour to arrive here.”

“What’s your idea then?” I turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like you know how to cook.”

Dmitri’s gaze slides to me, a glint of something in his eyes. “But you can.”

It’s true. As a kid, I always had to fend for myself in the kitchen. “Okay, fine. We can make her some blini,” I say, deciding on a simple Russian comfort food.

Aleksandr steps up, ready to assist. “Tell me what you need.”

I nod and start rattling off a list. “Flour, eggs, milk, a bit of sugar,” I instruct, watching as Aleksandr gathers the items.

Dmitri eyes the ingredients with a mix of intrigue and skepticism. “You sure about this?”

“Trust me,” I reply with more confidence than I feel.

We stand side by side at the counter, Aleksandr mixing the batter while Dmitri and I chop some fruit for the topping. There’s an unexpected rhythm to our movements, a silent camaraderie that forms in the act of cooking for Emma.

Aleksandr looks over at me, a small smirk on his face. “You’re not bad at this,” he says, flipping a perfectly golden blini.

“Neither are you,” I reply, acknowledging his surprisingly good technique.

Dmitri watches us, his arms crossed. “I’ll set the table,” he says, opting for the task he’s most comfortable with.

Emma leans against the doorway, watching us with a newfound curiosity. “I didn’t know you guys cooked,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“We’re full of surprises,” Aleksandr says with a chuckle, placing the last blini on the stack.

I plate the blinis, topping them with the fresh fruit and a dollop of cream. “Dinner is served,” I announce, proud of our collective effort.

“Have they found Alina yet?” Emma’s voice is laced with concern, her fork paused mid-air.

I nod, a half-truth rolling off my tongue to soothe her worry. “Yes, she was in her room playing, a security guy told me.”

“Okay, good.” She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she resumes eating, albeit slowly.

They haven’t updated me yet, but the last thing Emma needs is more stress. “You eat, I’ll be right back,” I say, pushing back from the table.

I step out, my phone in hand, ready to chase down a concrete answer from the security team.

---