Page 77 of The Bratva's Nanny

When they removed the covers, they were met with a surprise. Instead of Polina, they found a fake doll, its plastic eyes staring blankly up at them.

Finn’s face turned red with anger.

I paused, waiting. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, and my palms were sweaty.

Then it came.

“You bloody, lying, two-faced whore! You fucking little piece of shit! You tricked me!” he roared, his gun trained on me, looking like the monster he truly was.

Adrenaline. Shortness of breath. Heart racing. Fear.

My body responded to the tense situation, and my senses heightened as I faced Finn.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my heart race like a runaway train. I felt a shortness of breath, as if my lungs were constricting. Fear crept in, its icy fingers wrapping around my spine. But I refused to let it consume me. I stood tall, my eyes locked on his, my mind racing with the next move. I had to stay focused, had to keep Polina safe. No matter what happened, I had to see this through.

What was it Roman had said about me being a terrible actor?

Nonsense.

In my opinion, I could shine on Broadway if given the chance.

I smiled sweetly, my heart pounding in my chest. “You should have known better than to trust me.”

And then, all hell broke loose. The silence was shattered by a deafening crackle, like the sky itself was splitting apart. Roman’s men emerged from the shadows, their guns blazing. They’d been surrounding the dilapidating buildings. Gunshots echoed through the air, and the shots came in rapid succession.

Finn’s men fell like flies, their bodies crashing to the ground. I watched in awe as Lev led the team, taking them one after the other.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the shooting stopped. The silence that followed was oppressive.

Roman emerged from the shadows, his eyes blazing with fury—dark suit, silver gun, and stormy eyes that promised death. If the Grim Reaper was good-looking and sinfully delicious, he had to be Roman Varkov.

He had been listening to our conversation through the tiny microphone he had hidden in my clothes, and clearly, Finn’s advances toward me had struck a nerve.

He strode toward Finn, his movements swift and deadly.

Finn’s eyes widened in terror as his fist connected with his face, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Pick him up.” His tone was brittle, icy, and biting. Lev picked Finn up. And his fist went flying again. And again. And again.

Until a thread of liquid red flew from Finn’s mouth, soiling his jacket and shoes.

But he didn’t move an inch.

Roman growled, his voice low and menacing. “Nobody fucking touches what’s mine, bastard.”

Finn cowered, trying to scramble away, but Roman was too quick. He pinned him down and pressed his cigar against Finn’s busted lip.

He screamed in agony as Roman applied pressure, his eyes bulging with pain.

I’m going to kill him.

If he didn’t stop, he really was going to kill him. I had to do something, and quick.

“Stop!” I cried, rushing toward them. “Roman, please…please, don’t kill him! We need him alive. Roman!”

And his eyes flicked toward me, his expression unyielding. But he hesitated, the fiery flames smothered, and his grip on Finn loosened slightly.

He let him go, and my hand flew to my chest in relief.