Page 70 of The Bratva's Nanny

So wet. So hot. So tight.

“I’m close,” I warned her.

Her pussy clamped down hard as I sank deeper. I took a moment, kissing her shoulders softly, taking notes of every quiver and sound. With a final thrust, I lost what was left of my restraint and came inside her.

Deep down inside, I felt that cracked door burst open to splinters. Maria didn’t know it, but she had caused some irreparable damage—damage I could possibly never recover from.

***

Maria lay on her side, and I sat at the edge of the bed, the both of us now naked. After going three times, I couldn’t stand the hindrance of clothes.

I was savoring the afterglow of the moment, my mind relaxed and content when she spoke, her voice hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

I turned to her, my eyes locking onto hers. “Anything.”

She sat up, and the sheets slipped from her bare chest.

My cock twitched.

I struggled to keep my eyes away from her pink, perky tits and focused on her instead.

Her eyes seemed to search mine, as if looking for something. “I’ve wanted to ask you this for a very long time,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about Polly’s mother. Who is she? What happened to her?”

A pang settled in my chest, a familiar ache that I had learned to live with. I sucked on the cigar between my lips, the smoke filling my lungs as I thought about the woman who had given birth to my daughter.

The woman I had once loved and lost.

I exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, and sauntered over to a drawer on the dresser. There, I took out a picture and handed it over to Maria.

A picture I hadn’t looked at in six years.

A picture of her.

Maria lightly traced her beaming face with her fingers, and her gaze held mine. “I don’t even have to ask; I see where Polly gets her cheerful spirit. Oh, and those eyes. That smile. She’s definitely the one. And she’s so beautiful. Can you tell me about her?”

If any other person had asked, I probably would have requested Lev to take the person on a Level One trip and have the shit beaten out of him—or her. A strong warning to mind their fucking business.

But Maria was not any other person.

I retook my seat on the bed. “Her name was Lorelai. Lorelai Fanning,” I said finally, my voice low and rough.

I took another puff on the cigar, gazing into the past. “I met her in a hail of bullets. It was a clash between us and some Italians in front of one of my restaurants. There was a shootout. She was caught in the crossfire, got shot in the arm and injured by one of my men.”

Another drag on the stick, and I shook my head. “I felt guilty. She had nothing to do with it. So, I took her in, cared for her until she recovered. The starry ceiling lights? That was for her. She said it helped her sleep at night, gazing at the stars in the galaxy. And as she healed, we fell in love. She was innocent. Had that warm glow, like a ray of light. It was refreshing. I had never known someone like her before.”

Maria’s eyes were fixed on mine, her expression soft and encouraging.

I continued, “I married her when she got pregnant. We were happy, or at least as happy as we could be in our world. I thought I had it somehow—a life of forever with the woman who made me happy—even if I didn’t deserve that kind of life. But as should have been expected, happily-ever-afters are not for men like me. She died during childbirth, leaving me with a daughter to raise on my own. My Polina.”

I’d been delusional, and death came knocking on the door to remind me of the man I was and the life I led. I learned the lesson the hard way and never felt so much as a sliver of that emotion ever again.

Until the martial arts tutor came along, with all of her feistiness and warmth.

I paused. “Her dying wish was that I take care of Polina, that I protect her and keep her safe. And I have, Maria. I’ve kept my promise, no matter what it took, and I intend to keep doing so.”

The room was silent for a moment, only the sounds of the soft hum of the air conditioning and her breathing echoing.

Then, Maria spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hand reached out to touch my face, and I leaned into it. “You’re a good father, Roman. Polina is lucky to have you.”