Page 23 of The Bratva's Nanny
I clutched my chest, feeling each thump against my palm like I had a jackhammer plugged into my heart.
This can’t be happening.
I should’ve reported it to the authorities, but…that would’ve been the worst idea.
Besides having screwed up my chances of getting a job at one of the best hotels in New York, I still had to find a way to build up the money to repay my father’s debt. Reporting this crime would mean getting mixed up in a gangster’s mess, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to keep running from those types of men for the rest of my life.
So, this was my fate.
I’d stumbled down the wrong path, fallen into the wrong story, and had no choice but to deal with it.
The murder was to remain a secret, even if it would leave a permanent scar for the rest of my life.
Chapter Seven – Roman
“I prefer pancakes and Skittles.” Polina’s voice filtered through the cracks underneath the kitchen doors. Then, steel clambered, and there was a pitter-patter of feet dragging wooden stools.
“So, you never even tried one?”
That was her voice—the woman who managed to leave an impression deep enough to rob me of sleep the previous night. To my surprise, I’d found myself trying to process her strong will, fierceness, and composure. How she’d done it—kept her confidence and even grown stronger now—baffled me.
Eighteen months ago, I’d underestimated her. Sent four of my best men after a girl, had two of them horrendously beaten up, and the other two mysteriously blinded during her escape. Till date, they had no plausible explanation for their incompetence.
And in the present day, I’d still underestimated her.
Women of that caliber were hard to find. And I’d come across many women.
“Oh, I have,” Polly stated, and I imagined her showing some extra sass with an eye roll just to emphasize. “But not many times, and let me tell you, none of them wowed me.”
“None of them?” Maria spoke in a maturely sarcastic manner, acting like Polly’s reveal was surprising when it wasn’t.
“Ah, but one blew my mind. I don’t think my taste buds are going to ever recover.”
“But one?” Maria’s voice lit up. “I wonder who was able to keep Polina’s taste buds wanting more.”
Polina squealed and might have launched forward in a hug attack as well. “You, of course! I love every bite and lick of it, Maria. Thank you so much!”
It was her thing—hug attacks, most especially when she was very vibrant. And she sounded extremely vibrant.
Whatever they were talking about, it seemed important enough to have Polina’s undivided attention and give her such a bubbling rise of excitement.
I opened the door.
Two pairs of eyes met mine, one more excited and the other losing its light the second I walked through.
“Daddy!” Polly ran to me with her arms opened wide, her hair swish-swaying from side to side, and her teeth all bared.
She jumped on me, her small legs going around my waist as she smacked a wet, brown-stained kiss on my cheek and wrapped her arms around my neck, snuggling her face between the collar of my shirt and jacket.
I knew my daughter. I knew when her display of happiness was exaggerated to try and sway me to believe that she was alright when, in fact, she was not.
However, now was not one of those times.
Whatever Maria had done, it worked. She’d undoubtedly won Polly’s heart. Before this moment, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her this happy.
“Was I interrupting something?” I asked Polina, feeling my lips curve at the dreamy smile on her face.
“Yes.”