Page 8 of The Bratva Bosses' Nanny

He takes a seat next to me, casually leaning back in the chair, making it look like the most natural thing in the world to invade my personal space. “Hey, Emma. How’s the kiddo doing?”

“She’s learning. We’ve been going over some basic English words.” I feel slightly off-kilter being this close to him but push the feeling aside.

“Good,” he says, then looks at Alina. “She’s a quick learner?”

I nod, eager to keep the focus off me. “Yes, she seems eager to learn, despite the language barrier.”

Nicolas turns his intense gaze back on me. “And how are you adjusting? Everything up to standard?”

“Um, yes, everything’s fine. Your home is beautiful, and the staff have been helpful.” I can’t help but feel like I’m being evaluated. I wanted to bring up the lack of toys. But I’m a little too intimidated by him right now.

“Good to hear,” he says, but his eyes don’t warm.

“Look, Emma. Don’t mind Aleksandr’s behavior today. He’s...wary of new people,” he adds, almost like an afterthought, but it feels like he’s making an excuse for his friend.

I nod, grateful for the bit of insight. Just then, his gaze shifts, landing on my luggage in the corner of the room. A look of realization crosses his face. “Did they not tell you where you’d be staying?”

“No,” I reply, a blush creeping into my cheeks. “They didn’t.”

His holds my gaze as if he’s trying to read my very thoughts. The intensity of his stare heats my cheeks. “Come on,” he says, his voice dropping an octave lower, “I’ll show you to your room then.”

That sentence, simple as it is, reverberates through me like a live wire. My heartbeat quickens as I hurriedly gather the colorful blocks and stash them in their box.

“I’ll be right back sweetie,” I smile to Alina. Then I rise to my feet, suddenly self-conscious, and follow him out of the room.

He leads me down a long hallway adorned with paintings and luxurious decor. “Your room is, um, right next to Aleksandr’s. We have other rooms, but they’re currently being renovated and out of use for a couple of days. Until then...you’ll be staying here.”

I nod, taking in the information. So, I’m neighbors with the most intimidating of the three. Great.

“You might hear, um...noises at night. Try to ignore them,” he adds, pausing at a carved door before opening it for me.

“W-what kind of noises?” I can’t help but ask.

His eyes narrow, the smirk evolving into a full-on, devilish grin. He leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. “Oh, you’ll definitely know,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory, timbre. He holds my gaze for a moment which feels like an eternity, but also not nearly long enough.

Then he winks, steps back and pivots on his heel to walk away, leaving me standing there with a pounding heart and a face I’m sure is flushed.

Oh boy, isn’t he sexy. And equally mysterious.

I step into the room, still pondering what those “noises” might be. But for now, I have a room—a gorgeous one at that. It’s time to settle in.

I take a moment to absorb the space I’ve just stepped into, and it’s nothing short of luxurious. The aesthetic screams old money but with a modern twist. Lavish Turkish rugs spread across the dark wooden floors, contrasting elegantly with the minimalist furniture.

There’s a sense of understated opulence here that leaves me wondering—just what exactly do these guys do for a living?

If Kate referred me to them, they must be reliable, at least to some extent. Yet, the mystery of it all keeps gnawing at me.

I sit down at the sleek desk, taking out a notepad to jot down a list of activities and care guidelines for Alina. Usually,affluent families hand me an exhaustive manual for their child—pages and pages of what to do and what not to do, down to the minutiae. But these three? Not a single guideline. It’s as if they expect me to handle everything on my own, or maybe they just don’t care enough to be detailed.

That poor little kid. I ponder over the list, determined to fill the gaps they’ve left wide open. It’s clear she’s going to need more than just a caregiver. She needs someone genuinely concerned for her well-being. And whether they like it or not, that person is going to be me.

Spending the day with Alina feels surprisingly rewarding. My degree in child psychology does come in handy as we navigate the language barrier and start to build rapport. Still, a child psychology degree is one thing—actual hands-on experience as a nanny is another, and I draw on both to make this work. As we’ve played and talked, I’ve made a few lists and once she’s asleep I decide it is time to deliver the first.

Venturing into the kitchen, I find the chefs absorbed in their own world, idly smoking. I suppress a frown. Smoking in a kitchen? Really? I hand them a list of meal plans specifically designed for Alina. Their faces barely conceal their irritation, but when I mention that any complaints can be directed to Aleksandr, they go eerily silent.

I sense I’ve played the right card. Good to know I’m not the only one who finds the man intimidating.

As evening draws in, I make my way back to my extravagant room. The house is unsettlingly quiet. The guys haven’t returned yet—or at least, I haven’t seen them. And for some reason, that makes me more anxious than if they were here. What are they up to?

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