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Nanny for the Russian Mafia
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I join a nanny placement service to escape a lifetime of pain in foster care, only to be sent to a man who dishes out punishment for a living…
…a Russian mafia boss.
He’s an older man who’s suddenly in charge of raising his nephew after his sister and her husband die…or are murdered, as he suggests foul play.
And when he sees how well I connect with his child he more than suggests that he’s ready for an adult kind of play with his younger woman nanny.
I tell him it’s not just my first time outside of my country and my first time in Moscow, but also another kind of first time that I want to give to him and only him.
He tells me I’m going to be his first, and last, forever.
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My grip tightens on the steering wheel of my matte black Range Rover until my knuckles are white. I exhale hard, wondering where my new nanny is.
I look at my phone for the dozenth time. Yep, still the same. The flight landed ten minutes ago and she’s still not made her way to the curb.
My eyes scan the arrivals, watching reunited families come through the automatic sliding doors with big smiles on their faces.
For most people this would be an incredible sight. Not me. I’ve got an empire to run, and no time for a family. Not now. Not ever.
That’s why she’s here in the first place…except that she’s not. Yet.
My Gucci loafers tap the floorboard hard. Even the blood in my feet is pulsing at a rate that’s beyond safe, as the fine Italian leather bends with each foot tap.
I don’t have time for this. I should have sent one of my men here today to pick her up, but I need to make a good first impression. And I want some time to get to know her before I take her to my home. People are trying every different angle to penetrate the impenetrable fortress I’ve built half an hour outside of Moscow.
How do I know she’s not one of them?
I’ve got half of the women in Moscow trying to get my number and get with me, knowing if I choose them as a wife they’ll never have to work a day in their lives. Fuck ‘em. That’s why I employed the services of this Nomad Nanny organization out of America. I gave them a fake name and everything, and thanks to some nifty Photoshop work dummying up an ID and some bank records, everything checked out.
When most people lie, they lie up. They exaggerate their “wealth” by at least twenty percent. Not me. I exaggerated mine down by 100x. The last thing I need is to be a target. Hell, I already am here in Russia.
With my sister dead and her husband too, my days may be numbered. But anyone who’s after me knows they can expect a fight if they plan on challenging me, and that includes my little five-year-old nephew and godson, Vitaly. He’s been living with me for a week now. Damn, it’s hard to believe his mother, my sister, has been gone that long.
OD’d on sleeping pills? Bull shit! She’d never do that to herself, especially with the way she loved little Vitaly. I’m going to devote every resource I can to finding out who took her life, and then I’m going to take theirs…slowly.
I breathe out hard, my mind racing as my eyes scan the exit doors like a tweaker looking for a fix.
And a fix is exactly what I hope this young woman is. This…Crystal. That’s an American name if I’ve ever heard one, but damn…I can’t deny that I like it. It’s classy, elegant, and beautiful at the same time. Plus it sounds just mischievous enough, just naughty enough, that she might be able to keep up with the little rascal that Vitaly will quickly grow into. There’s no use in trying to stop it. He’s surrounded by Bratva now. He will become one of us, but he’ll forever be mine.
I’ve been to the Moscow airport many times, but there’s something about today that’s different. It’s not the imminent threat on my life, but rather something that I feel. It’s as if the universe is trying to talk to me, to send me a signal. I’m not into all that fluffy astrological hocus pocus bull shit, but for the first time in my life I actually feel like maybe, just maybe, there could be something to it.
I shelf the idea and keep scanning for a pink backpack. That’s how Crystal told me I’d find her. Crystal with the pink backpack. Can you be more American?
And more innocent?
She’s only eighteen, according to the agency at least, so there’s no way she’s going to be able to play mind games with me…assuming she has a plan or has her own agenda.
Not a chance.
I’m all about respect and I will respect her until she does something to lose that respect and that trust, not that I anticipate that happening. I rule my domain with an iron fist, and one slip up and she’s gone. I won’t have my son, damn it still feels weird realizing that Vitaly is mine now, being raised in a way other than exactly how I say.
I see movement in my rear view and quickly turn to look. A cop, but one I don’t recognize as one we have on the payroll.
He yells at me to move out of the restricted no parking zone, but I don’t budge. I can see the frustration on his face and as he approaches the driver’s side window I move my suit jacket to the side so when he arrives I can take his frustration level even higher. Once he sees my holstered nine-millimeter and gets one look at my face he’ll know right away who I am. Everyone in Moscow does.