Nanny and the BRATVA BOSS Read online

  © 2019 by SC Daiko Romance

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The locations are a mixture of real and imagined. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or any events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design Hart&Bailey

  Content editing Trenda Lundin

  All enquiries to [email protected]

  To Lesley, Kat, Helena H and Nancy,

  with thanks.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Excerpt From Their Virgin Nanny

  Excerpt From Beast: A Mafia Romance

  Other Books By SC Daiko

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Zoe

  I rolled my old suitcase into the arrivals area at JFK airport, the wheels squeaking embarrassingly. My insides fluttered as I scanned the line of people holding up cards with names on them, and my heart did a panicky little flip. My flight had been delayed by three hours, and I couldn’t see the driver sent to pick me up.

  I pulled my cell from my purse and searched the contacts for Mrs. Konin’s number, glancing around one last time before tapping the dial icon.

  “Miss Addison?” A burly black-suited man came up from behind. His voice was gruff, and his fleshy face lacked any expression.

  “Please call me Zoe.” Relief flooded through me and I gave him my broadest smile. “I’m sorry to have kept you.”

  “No need to apologize.” He shoved his shades up his bulbous nose. “Waiting around is part of my job description.”

  He set off and I trotted behind him as fast as my suitcase would allow. We exited the terminal, a blast of summer heat hitting me like a slap in the face. I tried to match my stride to the burly gruff man’s. Easier said than done. He set a fair pace and I struggled to keep up. At the parking lot, he took my case and stowed it in the trunk of a black Mercedes limo.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  Might as well try and be friendly.

  “Oleg,” he grunted.

  I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  He squeezed my fingers briefly, his bear-like paw engulfing my wrist, but he didn’t say anything.

  Okay…

  I sat in the back seat.

  Oleg got behind the wheel and rolled up the glass partition. Clearly there wasn’t to be any conversation en route. He started up the motor and we pulled out of the parking lot.

  I reached for my cell and scrolled to my sister, Olivia’s name on WhatsApp.

  ME: Arrived and on my way to Fairwood.

  She responded straight away.

  OLIVIA: Ooh, exciting!!!

  ME: Can you let the parents know? My phone is nearly out of juice.

  OLIVIA: Sure.

  A smiley emoji flashed on the screen.

  ME: Laters xxx

  Staring out the blackened windows of the car as we crossed the Hudson River, I chewed the inside of my cheek, wondering about Taras Melekhov, my new boss. He and his wife were divorced, and he had sole custody of their daughter, Emma. Strange Mrs. Melekhov had no access to the child. Even stranger Taras had entrusted his housekeeper with interviewing me via Skype. Except, from my work experience in London, I’d learned that billionaires are different than the rest of us, so maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  I stared out of the car for the remainder of the ride. Fairwood was about an hour away from the airport and on a direct train line to New York. I couldn’t wait to visit the big apple on my days off.

  At last, we rolled to a stop. Metal gates with spikes on top opened to let us through. Two uniformed men waved us past.

  Gravel crunched under the tires and we halted in front of wide steps leading to a massive oak door. A plump, middle-aged lady with curly gray hair, stood in the open doorway. I recognized her as Mrs. Konin.

  “Welcome.” She ushered me inside. “Oleg will bring your suitcase in once he’s parked the car.”

  I thanked Mrs. Konin and followed her up the central staircase to a spacious galleried landing. “Your bedroom is on the third floor.” She paused to catch her breath. “This way.” At the end of the corridor another flight of stairs led to a suite in the attic. “Emma’s room is up here as well,” she explained.

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” and I couldn’t. She’d be my focus for the next six months, the maximum allowed by my visa.

  “She’s a delightful child.” Mrs. Konin said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We all love her.”

  After admiring the stripped wood flooring and white wooden furniture, I strode over to the gabled window and gazed down at extensive grounds graced by a swimming pool, tennis courts and what I presumed were staff cottages, all surrounded by high fencing. In the distance, a black sedan car loitered by the side of the road. It seemed out-of-place in this remote spot and I asked Mrs. Konin about it.

  “Federal agents,” she said calmly. “You’ll need to get used to their presence.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Don’t be a wuss, Zoe. I knew who Taras was, so I needed to keep a cool head and hold my nerve. Except, I couldn’t resist asking, “Why are the feds there?”

  “Search me,” Mrs. Konin shrugged. “You’d have thought they’d something better to do. Whatever it is they’re looking for, they won’t find anything. Mr. Melekhov is a business man, pure and simple.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t my character to be judgmental, but I’d read up about Taras and some of his business dealings were distinctly shady. Live and let live, etcetera. I’d come to Fairwood to look after his daughter. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Mrs. Konin patted my arm. “Come down as soon as you’re ready. You’ll eat with Emma and me in the kitchen. It’s at the back of the house, you can’t miss it.” She paused in the doorway. “Mr. Melekhov won’t be home until much later, and he prefers his meals alone.”

  I sat on the bed while I waited for my luggage. I brought a shaky hand to my forehead, suddenly a tad overwhelmed. Too late now for regrets, I told myself. You accepted this job for a good reason. Think about the outcome and you’ll be fine.

  * * *

  I wondered about Taras’ ex-wife as I went from room to room later… on the pretext of making my way to the kitchen. If she’d been the one who’d planned the décor, she had excellent taste. There hadn’t been much information available on-line about the Melekhovs’ divorce. Maybe I could ask Mrs. Konin?

  But, when I eventually found her, she wasn’t alone. Emma had strewn the table with a heap of outfits with labels still on them.
She was chatting excitedly to Mrs. Konin, speaking a language I couldn’t understand. Russian, presumably.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Konin switched into English. “Emma, this is your new nanny, Zoe.”

  Taras’ daughter glanced up at me. She had sky blue eyes and a mane of dark auburn curls fell to her waist; she tossed them over her shoulder and pouted. “I’m too old for a nanny. I’ll be twelve soon.”

  “But I’ve come all the way from England.” I deliberately moved the corners of my mouth downwards, faking that I was upset.

  She giggled. “I love your cute accent.”

  “And I love yours. It’s even cuter.” A smile creased my lips and I indicated toward the outfits. “Can you show me what you’ve been spending your pocket money on?”

  She giggled and shook her head. “I don’t get pocket money, silly. I use Papa’s credit card to order online when I want to buy anything.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. That was silly of me,” I deadpanned, catching Mrs. Konin’s eye and getting a wink from her. “Let me see what you bought, and then perhaps we should clear the table... so we can eat supper?” I rubbed my growling stomach, which hadn’t been fed since breakfast at least ten hours ago. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  She and I chatted about clothes and make-up while eating spaghetti with meatballs followed by ice-cream. Emma represented a new challenge to me, and I was looking forward to getting to know her better, molding her as only an awesome nanny could.

  Soon I felt my eyelids drooping... it was well past midnight according to my body clock. I stifled a yawn, and thankfully Mrs. Konin caught on. “Go up to bed, lapochka. I’ll see to Emma. You must be exhausted and can start work properly tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I pushed back my chair. “I’ll take you up on that suggestion. I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

  Problem was, I woke earlier than the sparrows. Thank you very much, jet-lag. I tossed and turned but couldn’t get back to sleep. Putting on shorts and a t-shirt, I decided to go for a run. Quietly, so as not to wake anyone, I tiptoed downstairs and let myself out the back door.

  The ground felt hard beneath my feet as I set off across the lawn in the pale dawn light. I ran for about half an hour around the perimeter fence, on a well-beaten path. Sweat beading my brow, I found a stone bench and took a break, doing my stretching exercises before sitting and contemplating the sunrise.

  My ear caught the sudden sound of footsteps, tramp, tramp, tramp. Someone was running toward me. I sat as still as a statue and waited for whoever it was to come into view. A security guard, most likely. I didn’t have any identification on me; I hoped I wouldn’t be shot by mistake. I pulled at the strand of hair that had come loose from my messy bun and my heart thudded.

  The man running toward me came to an abrupt halt.

  Dressed in shorts, a black tee stretched over his broad chest, he drew heavy brows together.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.

  Thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, and the green of his eyes reminded me of the forest trees back home. His chin was covered in black stubble, his nose slightly crooked, like it has once been broken in a fight.

  Taras Melekhov. Thirty-two years old. Bratva Boss.

  “I’m your new nanny. Zoe Addison.” I folded my arms.

  “But you’re so young.” His voice was deep, melodious, and infused with a slight Russian accent.

  Devoid of make-up I’ve been told I look like a teen. I stared at him, and my mouth went completely dry.

  “I’m twenty-five,” I blurted out, my cheeks flaming. “And I’m extremely well-qualified. A graduate of Norlands, the best childcare training school in the UK.”

  His eyes ate me up, travelling from my head down to my toes, then back to my face.

  Hard, flinty, don’t mess with me eyes.

  I stared back at him, and he held my gaze.

  “You’d better go inside,” he growled. “Emma will be up soon.” And then, almost as an afterthought. “Don’t let me catch you out here at this time of the day again.”

  “Yes, sir,” I saluted.

  He barked out a mocking laugh before settling back into his run.

  I stared at his powerful body pounding away from me, and heat climbed up my neck.

  Arrogant prick.

  I hoped I’d have as little to do with him as possible.

  Chapter Two

  Taras

  My balls were heavy as lead. I ran across the lawn, through the front door and down the stairs to my gym. Fifty push-ups later and the tension still festered; I took care of it in the shower. What the fuck was wrong with me? My cock shouldn’t have grown hard just from an eyeful of that young woman’s curves.

  My daughter’s nanny.

  I always made a point of not shitting on my own doorstep. I fucked voluptuous, blonde beauties, not doe-eyed Mary Poppins types. I was disappointed in myself for reacting to her.

  A sign of intolerable weakness.

  I stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around my waist. On a long exhale, I opened the wardrobe. I changed into a sharp dress suit, then went up to my formal dining room.

  Noise echoed through the door to the kitchen. Dishes clattering and feminine voices.

  Mary Poppins and Emma.

  I fought the urge to look in on them and helped myself to freshly squeezed orange juice. First time we’d hired a British nanny. Mrs. Konin had gotten the idea from a TV series she’d been watching. Apparently, a school in the UK trained girls to work for celebrities, even taught them martial arts and getaway driving. Not that she’d need those skills working for me. None of the nannies I’d employed since my divorce had stayed more than a couple of months; the lack of continuity wasn’t good for Emma.

  The kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Konin arrived with my breakfast. Two eggs, sunny-side-up, and a cup of strong black coffee. She placed the plate on the table and stood back, eyeing me.

  “How’s the new girl working out?” I leaned forward.

  A smile lit up her face. “So far so good. Emma seems to like her.”

  I nodded. “And you?”

  Mrs. Konin’s smile widened. “I think she’ll do nicely.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

  I shuffled my seat back. Mrs. K thought I didn’t spend enough time with my daughter, and she was right. No one would ever know the reason for my reticence, however.

  Better that way.

  “Maybe I’ll touch base with her later,” I said and left it at that.

  My housekeeper huffed.

  I worked my jaw and lifted an eyebrow.

  She knew better than to press me. She huffed again and left me to my own devices.

  Moments later, the door opened again and Demyan, my right-hand man, appeared. “Dobroye utro,” he wished me good morning.

  Built like a tank, inked like a tattoo artist, and loyal as a faithful hound, Demyan had been with me since I’d left Russia eight years ago.

  I took a sip of coffee. “Call Oleg to get the car ready.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  * * *

  Wet work was something I usually left to my boyeviks. Today, however, I needed to supervise. I stood leaning against the wall in the basement of my office building, clenching and unclenching my fists.

  Five of my men were going hell for leather, punching and kicking the motherfucking traitor cowering on the concrete floor. Shouldn’t have taken the fucker on when I arrived in Fairwood, but he’d sworn loyalty to me and had seemed a good worker. Sergei used to run my nightclub, Lure, with his wife Tiana. She’d left him last month citing irreconcilable differences. Gut instinct had made me put Demyan onto tailing him.

  The sharp heat of anger inflamed my gut and my pulse pounded in my ears. I planted my legs wide, every muscle in my body tensing.

  A trusted member of my Bratva had grassed to my enemies.

  With a shudder I stepped toward the rat, pulling back
my lips and baring my teeth. “I’m asking this for the last time. What did you tell them? Come clean and I’ll spare your life.”

  The worthless scum spat out a broken tooth and blood dribbled down his chin. “N… n… nothing, Boss.”

  “You’re a fucking liar.” I watched my own spit roll off his cheek. “Shitass.”

  I nodded at Demyan and turned away, the sound of knuckles hitting flesh echoing in my ears.

  A futile task.

  Sergei had known damn well his life was over the minute Demyan had caught him. The fucking dickhead wasn’t going to talk.

  I’d held a meeting with my contact only last week in the private members’ lounge in Lure. Sergei had hovered around ostensibly checking that the drinks were to everyone’s liking. What the fuck had he heard?

  His groans turned to gurgles. I didn’t need to turn around; I already knew his face would be a pulverized bloodied mess, his internal organs damaged beyond repair by the beating. If he’d been a dog, I’d have put him out of his misery.

  But he wasn’t a dog; he was a snake, of the cunting grass variety. I didn’t show mercy to snitches. I swiveled on my heel to face my men. “You know what to do, Demyan,” I ordered with a snap of my fingers, my voice deliberately devoid of emotion.

  Sergei lay limp and unconscious in a pool of blood. The sight took me back to my early days in the Vory. I’d worked for Balandin then, the Boss of all the Bratva bosses, climbing the ranks until I’d no longer needed to watch people beg for their lives while they bled to death. My status now meant I had men who did that for me.