Page 73 of The Bratva's Nanny
Finn’s smile was calculated, his eyes glinting with intent. “As much as I’d love it to be, it’s neither a million dollars nor eating Roman Varkov’s juicy leftovers.” He leaned forward, his voice soft but firm. “I want the girl.”
My protective instincts flared up, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. “No.” I shook my head, my voice firm. “Not Polly. She can’t be harmed, Finn. I won’t let that happen.”
He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “No harm will come to her. I promise. My boss wants her alive.”
My curiosity was piqued.
His boss?
I leaned in, my eyes locked on his and my voice laced with suspicion. “Why does your boss want her?”
His smile grew wider, but he remained silent, his eyes glinting with secrets. “I’ll text you the details,” he said, his voice cryptic.
As we sat there, the tension between us grew. His gaze drifted out the window, and I followed his line of sight, realizing he was watching the street, ensuring we weren’t being watched. I felt a flutter in my chest, my nerves on edge.
Then, his eyes snapped back to mine, a knowing glint in their depths. “You can leave now,” he said, his voice dripping with dismissal.
I stood up, my movements fluid and speedy. I reached up and adjusted the hoodie over my head, pulling the strings tight. The hood cinched snugly around my face.
My eyes locked onto his; I could sense his gaze sweeping over my every move. I felt a shiver run down my spine, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine.
“And, oh, remember this, Maria, just in case you’re thinking of trying something stupid,” he said, his voice smooth. “I always fucking get what I always fucking want.”
Chapter Twenty-One – Roman
In three hours, I’d read through books, crammed an ancient Greek mantra, and mused over Aristotle’s note:
“Anybody can become angry—that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way—that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.”
He was right. It wasn’t.
The effort was equivalent to trying to calm a raging sea—impossible.
So, I paced the floor, waited it out, and paced the floor again. Two cigars, one bottle of vodka, and an emptied gun. Across the room, strewn on the floor, was a dummy with thirteen holes in it.
Still…impossible.
Now, I stood in the office, gazing at the view through the large ceiling-to-floor glass window, my hands buried deep in my pockets, curling and unfurling.
I looked out over my city. The skyline stretched out before me, with the skyscrapers rising like giants. Beyond was a vast landscape of stone and steel, city lights that never dimmed. But my mind was elsewhere, consumed by the woman who had just walked in.
The door opened with a soft click, and she entered. I faced her.
When she spoke, her voice was innocent, but her eyes betrayed her guilt. “You called me?”
I took in her appearance. She looked nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.
Unable to keep the storm from rising to the surface, I ordered, “Come here.”
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, her eyes fixed on mine. Fear lurked behind her gaze, the knowledge that she had crossed a line.
“Is everything okay? Why do you look so mad?”
The storm morphed into something more vicious, and I grabbed her wrist, grating my teeth and curling my fingers into her skin. “You are many things, Maria. Many things but a terrible actor.”
Her eyes ballooned in shock, and she wriggled her wrist, trying to break free. “Roman, let me go. Let me go right now!”