Page 49 of The Bratva's Nanny
Then, he came to me—crouched to my level and raised my chin with a nudge of his index finger. He assessed me and dragged his gaze over the imprints and bruises.
“He dared to touch you…” he mused, speaking more to himself than me in his cool, composed tone.
With a gentle brush of his fingers across my neck, he tilted my head to the side.
When he arrived at a decision, it was with a jaw tick. He spoke just five words—five words that weren’t an ordinary threat but a vow.
“I will slit his throat.”
I looked past his dark designer suit and hard-set jaw and into his eyes, and I suddenly wished I didn’t because in them roared destructive storms, glowing embers, and flames of hell. Promises of death—painful, torturous death.
And hidden in the midst of all that darkness was care.
Care for me.
Chapter Thirteen – Roman
Lev was talking, making logical proposals for different strategies to catch the culprit. He pushed a stack of files closer across the desk and pointed to some inscriptions scribbled beside the black-and-white photographs of some past foes of the Bratva. And I was listening—at intervals.
“…but we had Roger eliminated. So, technically, unless he somehow came back from the fucking dead to stage this, then it can’t be him.”
“It’s not Roger.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully, drew back the files, and continued flipping. “Maybe not. Successors, though? Not a far-fetched idea, if you ask me. Roger had a stronger motive. You ran his business to the ground after that dirty move he made with the Feds. His two-hundred-million-dollar merchandise investment got tossed into the Mediterranean on your orders….”
I zoned out again, and his voice faded like a backdrop.
Beside Lev, she sat as still as a statue, with her arms wrapped over her chest and her eyes staring straight ahead at nothing.
Two weeks had passed since the scare at Polina’s school, and she’d barely said a word. Not even to Polina. Dawn and dusk came, and sometimes, she remained holed up inside her room. A few nights, I’d passed by her bedroom and heard the soft sniffles she tried to hide.
Seeing her like that, broken and beaten, angered me in a way I couldn’t explain.
Though the purplish bruises were faint dark spots now, she was still badly shaken up. She had almost fucking died. It made sense that she wanted to be alone for a while.
I kept Polly away, even if it broke her heart. We both knew she needed the time and space to get over it. And another way, which was my absolute favorite, was to deal with the scumbag who dared mess with her.
From across the desk, I noticed Lev had stopped talking.
He studied me, then her, and leaned back on his seat with a smug smile, understanding settling on his face. His fingers went through his hair, and he loosely balanced an arm on the armchair.
“You’ve been staring,” he commented in Russian to keep her from understanding.
Her eyes flickered between us for a split second, and she immediately lost her curiosity.
I didn’t answer him, but he went ahead with his inquisition anyway, speaking in Russian. “She’s the one, isn’t she? The girl that made you smile.”
“Lev….”
One warning, and he backed off, two hands raised in the air and that stupid smugness curling at his lips.
I rubbed the spot between my eyes, in no mood for any more drama, and sighed, adding one more word in Russian, “Yes.”
He barked a short laugh at my admission, not shaken by my glare or downturned lips. The rest of my words rolled out in English, matching my fury's speed and proficiency.
“Now, I need to find out what the fuck this is all about. This is the second time some asshole tried to kidnap my daughter. And not only that....” I moved my head, stared at her, and growled under my breath, “They dared to touch what was mine.”
Her eyes widened, and she stared at me like I had grown two heads. Confusion and conflict lingered, and I saw the many questions swirling through her mind like a hurricane. But she didn’t need to worry; I would make it clear to her soon enough that every single part of her was mine and could not be touched by anyone else. Ever.