Page 51 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

I stride towards the security room, my steps quick and purposeful. The door swings open to reveal the security guy, his eyes anxious as he meets mine.

“We couldn’t find her, sir,” he admits, and the room temperature seems to drop several degrees.

My anger, sharp and swift, cuts through the tension. “What do you mean you couldn’t find her?” My voice is a low growl, the threat behind it unmistakable.

He stammers, starting to explain, but I’m already barking orders, my tone leaving no room for excuses. “Check the cameras, every inch of this compound. Now!”

Chapter 19: A Night of Watch

Aleksandr

I watch Emma, her fork trembling slightly as she brings food to her lips. My instincts scream to protect, to comfort—to do anything to ease the fear that’s clearly etched on her face. But the Bratva boss in me knows better. Emotions are liabilities, and mine are a tangled mess when it comes to her.

“You need to eat,” I say, my voice firm, trying not to let the concern bleed through.

Emma looks up, her eyes meeting mine. There’s a vulnerability there that pulls at something deep within me. “I’m trying,” she says, a faint tremor in her voice.

I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. I need to move, to do something. This waiting game, it’s not for me. I’m a man of action, yet here I am, powerless, while danger looms over us like a silent predator.

My phone vibrates against the hardwood table, a stark interruption to the moment of fragile tranquility. I read Nikolai’s message, and my blood turns to ice.

We have a problem. Alina is missing

What?I reply.

I stand up abruptly, my chair clattering to the ground behind me. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Emma, though my eyes are already scanning the room, seeking out Dmitri. His expression shifts the moment our eyes meet; he senses the urgency, the unspoken dread that’s settled like a weight in my chest.

He nods once, subtly, a silent confirmation that he’ll watch over Emma while I handle this crisis. Without another word, I’m out the door, my thoughts racing as fast as my steps. Where could Alina be? How could this have happened under our vigilant watch?

I burst into the security hub, where a bank of screens cast an eerie glow on the faces of the men who should’ve been her guardians. “Search everywhere. Now!” My voice doesn’t just command; it threatens retribution for this failure.

Within moments, the once calm room erupts into a frenzy of activity. Cameras are checked and rechecked, every frame scrutinized for a glimpse of Alina’s cherubic face.

I pull out my phone, my fingers flying over the keys with ruthless efficiency. The message to my men is terse—a description, a photo, and the implicit understanding that failure isn’t an option. This city, with all its hidden alleys and shadowed corners, will give her up. It has to.

My call to arms doesn’t end with the silent command of the text. I seize the nearest secure line, dialing a number that rings straight through to my most trusted lieutenant. “Ivan, listen carefully. Alina is missing. I’m sending you her picture. I want every man available on this, streets, parks, anywhere a child might go or be taken.”

His response is immediate, a steel edge to his voice that matches my own urgency. “Understood, boss. We’ll find her.”

I end the call, my gaze snapping back to the screens, where the security team is replaying footage at double speed. “Back it up,” I command, pointing to a frame where a shadow looms a bit too close to the play area—a shadow that shouldn’t be there.

A tech zooms in on the image, enhancing it pixel by pixel. It’s painstaking, the seconds stretching into eons, and then the shadow gains definition, morphing into the shape of a man—a man who has no business being in our world.

“Who is that?” I demand, my voice a dangerous calm that belies the storm raging inside me.

“We don’t know, sir,” the head of security admits, his face ashen. “He’s not one of ours.”

I lean closer, memorizing the face that’s now enemy number one. “Find him. Find them both.”

As I pace the floor, a sound catches my ear—a soft shuffle, like fabric against fabric, coming from the small room under the stairs. It’s a place rarely disturbed, used for storage.

I approach the door, every nerve ending on fire. This could be a setup, a trap to catch us off guard, but it could also be the answer.

With a cautious hand, I reach for the doorknob, the metal cool and unyielding under my grip. Slowly, so slowly, I ease the door open, half-expecting the worst.

And then I see her—Alina, curled up in a corner, her favorite doll clutched tightly to her chest. Relief crashes into me like a tidal wave, and a sharp exhale escapes from my lips as I drop to my knees to be at eye level with her.

“Alina,” I whisper, my voice a mix of reprimand and overwhelming relief. “What are you doing here?”

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