Page 66 of The Bratva's Nanny
The door opened, and Lev pranced in, closing in on my desk with a blue file.
“Name is Finn Jameson. Forty-one years old. American. Been in and out of prison a couple of times in the past. Juvie, actual prison. Even had a one-time recommendation to get checked at a mental hospital. They did. He’s sane. Sane enough to keep going around, looking for trouble. But none of those things were hard for us to figure out,” he said, taking the seat across mine.
“What we didn’t know, however, is that Finn’s been in this business for a long, long time. He’s been operating right under our noses, somehow making himself invisible under the fucking radar, because why are we only finding out about him now? Easy, I’ll tell you: It’s because the mole is so fucking good at hiding.”
I flexed my fingers under my chin. “How long?”
He opened the file, flipped a page, and pointed to the list of Finn’s crimes highlighted in red. “He’s been in the game since he was sixteen, imagine that. Loan fraud, extortion, kidnapping, you name it. Goes in there, gets the job done, and you wouldn’t even suspect the guy next door. Keeps his client’s profile under a tight mum.”
“He’s a crook, though,” he continued. “With the loan thing, it’s a wicked bait, especially to people that can’t pay back.”
Like Maria and her father, I seethed.
I was well acquainted with the Finn-kind. The kind that preyed on the helpless. They’d appear like saviors with understanding hearts, and when it was time to return the favor, the devil underneath the cloak would appear, requesting everything else.
Lev’s voice floated back. “Nothing but a misguided lad, misguiding others. He’s a freelance operative, working multiple jobs for the highest bidder, no questions asked.”
I pushed the file back to him with a smirk playing on my lips. “Why does it sound like you’re impressed?”
“Maybe a little,” he murmured, though eyes held anything but humor. Challenged was what they were. Knowing Lev, he liked to be at the top of his game. “He’s smart, I’ll give him that. But we’ve dealt with chameleons before. They don’t stay hidden for long.”
“If we want to catch him, we have to set traps.”
“And I know exactly how to set them.” He looked at me, determined. “All I need is your word, Roman, and I’ll bring you the fucker’s head.”
Chapter Eighteen – Maria
I tucked the soft blanket around Polly’s tiny form, her eyelids drooping as I sang a gentle lullaby, deliberately staying off lyrics that would trigger any memory of Old McDonald’s farm and starry skies.
Her small hands grasped my finger, her gaze locked onto mine, and I smiled, my heart overflowing with affection. I had grown so attached to this little girl; her innocence and trust pierced my tough exterior.
“I like you a lot, Maria. I like your brownies and everything else that you make for me,” she mumbled sleepily. “I’m so glad that bad man didn’t hurt you and that you’re here with me and with Daddy, too. You don’t know it, but since you got here, he’s been a lot happier.”
Her words ran deep, damning Old McDonald’s triggering memories and going straight to tug on the strings of my heart. I didn’t want to believe it—that I could be a reason for Roman’s happiness. It didn’t sound like a thing to happen in real life. Being a reason for pleasure was undisputed, but anything else lay in murky waters.
As I watched her drift off to sleep, memories flooded my mind.
I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, my touch tender.
I’d never had a mother’s love, never knew the warmth of a gentle embrace or the comfort of a soothing voice. She’d seen the tough times with my father and ran away to protect herself. Sometimes, I couldn’t blame her. Most times, I did. There was no one there to protect me from the tough times.
No one to shield me from his curses.
No one to stop the blows from coming.
No one to hold me at night and caress my hair or call me “baby” when there was no dinner—because the monster chained the fridge shut and wouldn’t let me eat until I touched him.
There was no one.
My childhood was a stark contrast to Polly’s, who had a loving father in Roman. At least she had one parent who adored her, unlike me, who had been alone and unloved.
I’d seen how he was with her. How he cherished her, adored her, and spoiled her silly. If anything were to happen to her, he’d die.
But with my father, it was quite the opposite. He was almost the death of me.
Now, that was true, untainted happiness.
For her, Roman was willing to show sides of him no one else could ever see. He didn’t mind being a six-year-old version that complimented tutus or cared about strawberries for her sake. The man could buy her the whole world and wouldn’t even blink, for Christ’s sake. He could kill for her and commit the worst atrocities for her. She had direct access to his heart, and that was access that could never be denied.