Page 36 of The Bratva's Nanny

“It might as well have. Last time I checked, which was this morning, Polina doesn’t have a phone yet,” he mumbled, suspicion laced in his tone because only my daughter possessed that much power.

“No, she doesn’t.”

I didn’t bother with the details, and Lev didn’t push. With words, anyway. His widened eyes and squeezed brows did all the talking.

I readily changed the topic. “How did your in-law take your wedding present?”

“Oh,” he murmured under his breath, his expression sour, and pointed to the purplish bruise on his jaw. “Didn’t expect him to throw a punch like a fucking pro boxer, but he did and went on to loudly profess his love for her, swearing to protect her and their unborn baby with his life.

The smile faded as I pushed my chair back, rising to my feet. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No, it doesn’t. He might be as broke as a fucking church mouse, but he earned my respect. He wanted something and went for it with his full chest and head held high. Only a real man has guts like that.”

“Hmm,” was all I could say because Lev’s voice suddenly got stuck in my head.

And it made me realize something I should have seen from the very second I’d tasted those brownies.

I wanted her.

Chapter Ten – Maria

When he stepped into the living room, he caught me pacing, with one hand on my hip and the other in my hair.

I wasn’t sure why I cared what he thought, but I hadn’t wanted him to see me that way: worried, anxious, so fucking scared that I thought I would lose my mind—because I was this close to losing it.

The full length and breadth of him, dressed formally in his signature Tom Ford suit, appeared in my line of sight, and the world spinning around me came to a stop. And so did my feet.

This embodied darkness of a man was gorgeous—gorgeous enough to rob me of all my worrisome thoughts for sixty seconds. That was until I remembered why I’d pressed his number out of Polina before tucking her in and singing her to sleep two hours ago.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “I have a problem.”

I expected a reaction, anything but just having him stand there, close to one of the couches, with his folded arms across his chest: hard lines, dark eyes, and a clenched jaw. No concern. No empathy. No emotion. And it made me wonder: Living with a man like Roman Varkov should’ve put my fears to flight. I didn’t know the entire story or what went on behind closed doors, but I knew enough to understand how dangerous this man was.

Maybe I was overreacting. There was no way a man like Finn could have the guts to come to the Varkov mansion. I knew that for a fact.

I should have felt protected under his wings. I should have—

No.

My father might have been different shades of terrible—a drunk, a cheat, a gambler...name it. But seeing the worst sides of him motivated me to bring out only the best versions of myself.

We owed Finn Jameson, and, on my word, I’d sworn to pay back every last cent.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his thick Russian accent laced between every letter forming the word.

I was distressed and was already starting to think that sending him that SOS text was a bad idea, but it didn’t stop that dark thrill from sending shudders down my spine or erupting butterflies in its wake.

I slid a hand down my face.

Sometimes, I had to admit that I was ridiculous. And this very moment was one of those times. I dropped my hand and ambled closer, but not close enough to know what he smelled like. Maybe if I did, I would officially lose my mind.

“I’m in trouble.”

“Hmm.” His gaze swept down my face and stopped at the couch by his side. He lowered himself on it, his weight sinking into one of the throw pillows behind him. Then, he stared at me like he expected me to understand eye language.

When I stood unmoving, he glared. “Sit.”

I was too worried to care that he’d commanded me like he would a pet. Quietly, I slid into the vacant space beside him, kept my legs pressed together, and ducked my head to escape the intensity of his attention.