Page 72 of The Bratva's Nanny
I hesitated and took a deep breath, letting the words spill out.
“You were right about Varkov paying off my debt. It was Roman. He had it sent through a ghost account. That’s why you couldn’t trace it," I said, lacing my tone with bitterness. "I was grateful at first because he helped me. But now, I'm stuck in the Bratva, forced to do his bidding. I'm a prisoner, Finn. Nothing but a pawn. I need out.”
Finn's expression turned calculating, his eyes narrowing as he processed my words. He didn’t trust me; that much was clear.
“And you think I can help you?” he asked, his tone skeptical.
I nodded, desperation creeping into my voice. “I know you can. I just can’t stay there any longer.”
“And now?” He referred to my presence in the café. “Surely, there’s no way you’d have left his house unguarded.”
I swallowed.
What if Finn recognized Vasili in the car outside?
Shit. Why didn’t I think of that first?
But his scarecrow eyes told me he didn’t.
“I’m a lot stronger than you think. I snuck out, and I’ll sneak back in. There’s someone there helping me.”
He laughed wickedly, his eyes glinting dangerously. “I knew you couldn’t remain a prude for too long. Started sleeping around to get the doors open, have you? Probably spread your legs for the big boss, too, because…a hundred grand, Maria? Ah, well. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always suspected that you’d be sweet in the middle.”
A forced smile clawed its way up my lips.
I wanted to spit on his face and slap him hard across the cheek, but I resigned myself to self-control. At this point, I had to ensure nothing jeopardized the mission. Not even my ego.
“I need a way out, Finn,” I repeated. Because it’s better to repeat myself than press replay on the garbage he spewed. Inhaling deeply, I continued, “I need someone to help me escape, to get me away from Roman's grasp. And I know you have the connections, the resources to do it.”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. He steepled his fingers, his gaze piercing as he considered my plea.
“I see,” he said, his voice dripping with intrigue. “And what makes you think I'd be willing to help you? What's in it for me?”
I swallowed hard, my heart skipping with anticipation. This was it. Would Finn help me, or would he turn me down? I took a deep breath and plunged ahead, hoping my words would convince him.
“I’d pay you.”
“You would pay me?” he jeered, taunting. “Un-fucking-believable. This girl brought me here to be mocked.”
“Shh. Keep your voice down,” I hissed and pressed further. “Take it from me: Money is not his problem. If he could do a hundred, he can do more.”
“For what?” he spat, his tone dripping with venom. “For your pussy? You think a man like Roman Varkov would pay a million for putting his dick between your legs? Grow up, Maria. I know you like to dream big, but please, there’s a huge difference between tangible dreams and fantasies. There are many more fish in the sea. Many more affordable fishes, baby.”
Fuck you, Finn Jameson. Fuck. You.
I gritted my teeth.
Anger burned like poison through my veins.
God, I wanted to slap him so hard that I hoped his neck would snap.
My breath faltered. I had to act like I fucking cared about his fucking price.
I gasped, “A million?”
He chuckled, kissed his teeth, and said, “Everything has a price, Maria. If I help you get out of this mess, I want something in return.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What do you want?”