Nanny for the Bratva Daddies: An Age Gap, Reverse Harem, Secret Pregnancy Mafia Romance (Forbidden Fantasies) by Sofia T Summers

Author:Sofia T Summers [Summers, Sofia T]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-12T00:00:00+00:00

20

NAOMI

Fyodor is here?

How the hell is Fyodor here?

Rain clings to the top of his curls and a dark pattern of dampness sprinkles across his shoulders. He couldn’t have been inside more than five minutes before finding his way here.

A numb silence falls and I find myself holding my breath, terrified for a moment that Fyodor will follow through with his father’s request. The man is so manipulative, and I don’t know exactly what hold Vladimir has over his son.

Daniil’s muted grunts of pain break the silence every so often, and even though no one moves, Daniil seeks out one of my hands. Warm blood makes contact slippery, but he grips me tightly as we all wait for Fyodor’s move.

My chest tightens further. The guards shift their stances and move as if the entire room is locked in a loop of slow motion. Vladimir stamps his cane on the ground.

“Fio,” he barks out. “Now!”

As he stands there, rising footsteps fill the air, and several of Fyodor’s guards file into the room behind him. The moment they see the weapon in Fyodor's hand, all of them pull their guns and aim them at Vladimir’s guards.

I still don’t breathe. I can’t. My chest constricts like I’m locked in a vise and when I blink, hot tears roll slowly down my cheeks.

There’s blood on the floor near me.

Daniil’s blood.

“Get. Out.” Fyodor’s voice is laced with rage so deep that it almost doesn’t sound like his.

Vladimir scoffs. “I knew it. This is what leads the Bratva? How did I spawn someone so weak⁠—”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” Fyodor’s shoulders rise with a deep breath that seems to inflate his entire body. “You are no longer welcome here. Not in any aspect. I don’t want to hear anything from you other than your death notice, do you understand me?”

In a flash, Fyodor lifts the gun and fires two clean shots into the heads of Vladimir’s guards. They both crumple without a sound and hit the floor with solid, wet thumps.

My world goes silent as the open, unseeing eyes of one of the guards lock onto me from where he lands.

His pupils are wide, and blood trickles down from the perfect red circle in the middle of his forehead. His mouth hangs open, jaw slack. I can’t look away.

He’s dead.

I’ve never seen a dead body before and now there’s one staring right at me.

“My men will escort you back to your villa,” Fyodor snarls, tossing the weapon to one of his men. “Where I expect you to rot for the rest of your days, understand?”

His voice is distant. I can’t look away from those empty, dead eyes. Tears flood my eyes and spill down my face in a continuous stream. Fyodor killed that man. He killed both of them.

To save us.

It’s a good thing, and yet a strange, sick sensation begins to build just beneath my ribs. A pressure that grows, inflating with each passing second. The iron taste in my mouth becomes overpowering.

“You’re weak,” Vladimir spits, slamming his cane on the floor once more.

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