Page 46 of The Bratva's Nanny
Roman Varkov robbed me of sleep. Just one night with him, and my skin was set on fire, singing in anticipation of the day I would feel that intense burn again.
Inclining against the seat, I directed my gaze to the rearview mirror and wasn’t a bit surprised to find Vasili staring at me.
He asked, his voice a fearsome mix of bass and gruff, “Is there a problem?”
“No.” I tore my eyes away. “We just have to wait a little while longer; that’s all. Polly’s school won’t be closing today until five. So, you should probably turn the car around.”
I needed some good sleep.
“Sure.”
He shifted the gear, plunging the car deeper down the road to a junction with a curve. I peeled my gaze off the road, already almost nodding off to the imaginary tunes of sleep, when a sketchy detail resurfaced in the most vivid form at the back of my head.
It was a memory from my days in PMAA. Polly was practicing some horse-power air kicks while talking animatedly about the book exhibition coming up in her school. Her excitement was palpable, and it made her remember every single detail, down to the exact number of weeks she had to wait before the live participation.
I counted down the past days with my fingers, getting more agitated as realization unveiled like the break of dawn.
Polly had two full months and some weeks left until live participation. Why would the school suddenly change that?
I knew the answer but had to be certain.
Alarmed, I tapped on the message again to read through it, and a hollowness sank in my stomach. The words became clearer, and the unprofessional script more pronounced.
U. 2. Ur. Mgt.
Shit.
The book exhibition was not today.
Whatever was going on was fucking shady, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.
With my heart pounding, I tapped Vasili’s shoulder from behind—no time to call his name. With guarded eyes, he met mine through the rearview mirror. No questions asked. He saw my fear and sensed there was trouble.
“Take us back. I have to get to Polly’s school. Something smells really fishy, but I have to make confirmations before we inform the boss.”
I made sure to add that part about confirming things before informing Roman because everyone was well acquainted with how he got, especially where Polly was concerned. If it turned out to be a false alarm, maybe a mistake on the part of the school, Roman would have my head for wasting his time.
Vasili understood with a short nod. He swerved the car around and stepped on the gas.
We pulled up to Polly’s school, expecting to quickly swing by, rush inside, and make confirmations. But as Vasili approached the entrance, I was surprised to see a long line of cars snaking around the block.
I groaned in frustration.
Vasili inched the car forward, slowly making his way toward the entrance. As we waited, I tapped my fingers against the glass and checked the time on my screen for what felt like the hundredth time.
Outside, a Barbie-like mom with wavy ginger hair and a sunshine smile held her son by the hand as they descended the steps. She dressed expensive and pretty, the type of pretty that got everyone’s attention.
During my short trips to Polly’s school, I’d noticed her a couple of times. She greeted everyone passing them by and giggled between interactions with her son.
I rolled my eyes. Must have been a Beverly Hills Housewife who’d moved to New York to shoot another season. Not that I was judging or anything.
Faking a smile, I wound down the window and waved to her. “Hey…hi!”
She paused, drew closer to the car, and flashed another of her cheery smiles.
“Oh, hi!” She had a Southern drawl. Maybe a rising Texas Housewife, then?
I went straight to it, asking her about the school’s book exhibition, and showed her the funny message informing parents and guardians of the shift and new dismissal time.