Bratva Boss's Babysitter: An Instalove Possessive Male Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 192)

by Flora Ferrari

  CONTENTS

  Bratva Boss’s Babysitter

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  About the Author

  BRATVA BOSS’S BABYSITTER

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 192

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Raquel Quintanar Hernandez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  BRATVA BOSS’S BABYSITTER

  Erik Godunov is a man to be feared. Six foot seven and built like a dominating bear, with steel colored hair and eyes that pierce, I should be terrified of him.

  He’s a Bratva boss, a man used to getting what he wants. And what he needs from me is to be a nanny for his ten year old niece, Kat. She’s an orphan after her mother died, and I relate to that, big time. I’m an orphan too, just an inexperienced nineteen year old who should just keep her head down and get on with her work.

  But when I see this possessive forty-three year old giant bear of a man, I feel something flaring inside myself. It’s silly, it’s crazy, he’d never want me … Or would he? Maybe I have something this absolute savage of a man needs. Maybe, just maybe, I can be more than the babysitter for the Bratva boss.

  But even if that’s the case, he doesn’t know about my past. I’ve lived on the streets and some pretty crazy stuff has happened to me. Not to mention that my parents were junkies and I might have a stalker out there, looking for me, always looking for me. Am I really the sort of woman a man like Erik would claim?

  My passion is painting, but I’m not sure I can paint any sort of reason into my mind when this dominant alpha tells me I’m his, and his alone. He’ll kill anybody who touches me. I belong to him. And I’m going to give him children.

  Is it a trick? Is it real? Can I trust this feeling inside of me, this new warmth, this feeling of belonging? The more time I spend in his mansion with Kat, the funniest, most endearing little girl in the world, and Bullet, the most playful, loyal Great Dane in the world, the more I feel like I belong.

  Can I be the Bratva queen? Or is something going to go terribly wrong?

  *Bratva Boss’s Babysitter is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

  NEWSLETTER

  Get a free, new, original story NOW by joining my mailing list and staying subscribed.

  CLICK HERE >> Get a FREE book now

  CHAPTER ONE

  Erik

  I sit in my garden with Igor, the sun blazing as he leans back in his seat and sips his glass of whiskey. Igor, my second in command, is a tall, thin man with a sharp nose and an aura I know can make some people uneasy.

  That’s what makes him so useful.

  Some have nicknamed him Ghoul, for his vampire like presence, the way he will stare silently at you as though wondering if killing you will work into his schedule.

  That’s all reputation, and in reality he’s a decent man, smiling this sunny morning as he sets the glass down.

  “I’m telling you, boss,” he says. “She’s the right one for the job. She needs this job, bad. She’s an orphan and she’ll know not to snoop. She’s too desperate to do anything stupid.”

  I move my finger around the edge of my glass of orange juice, glancing into the deeper grounds of the garden.

  My estate is large with ample room for Katelyn, my ten year old niece, to roam. The fences are high and guarded day and night, and yet I still feel a pang as I watch the small girl leaping around near the fountain.

  Her mother – my younger sister – died senselessly, blamelessly, in a car crash.

  There’s no one to blame and on whom I can take vengeance. It’s just one of those things. That was several months ago now and I’m stunned by Kat’s resilience.

  Bullet, my Great Dane, lopes beside her, a giant beast of a dog with a big sloppy grin and dark white black coloring, one eye patched white, the other dark.

  “It’s getting difficult to take care of her,” I admit. “A child needs a woman. A man alone can only do so much.”

  Igor grins and knocks back the rest of his drink.

  “You know, Erik, there’s some in this modern society who might call you a sexist pig for saying something like that.”

  “It’s a fact,” I say with a shrug. “A child needs a mother, or at least a babysitter who can somewhat fulfill that role. Women are more maternal than men.”

  Igor chuckles and shakes his head. “Not saying I disagree with you. Just saying there are some who’d call you one old fashioned bastard.”

  “Then I’m old fashioned,” I growl. “Maybe I’m the sort of man who wants to …”

  I trail off, leaning back, letting my passion deflate before I display it to one of my men.

  I’m the sort of man who wants to claim a woman. But I’ll never find her.

  “Tell me more about this girl.”

  Igor nods, used to my habit of suddenly changing the subject. It’s one of the things I like about him.

  “Her name is Erin Woods and, like I said, she’s an orphan. She’s nineteen years old and currently living rough, flitting between halfway houses, churches, anywhere she can get a bed and a meal. But as far as I can tell, the streets haven’t turned her cruel. She really is perfect.”

  “And you’ve vetted her?”

  “Yep,” he says. “No ties to any criminal organization that we can find. And you know we’d find it.”

  “You always do thorough work,” I agree. “And Kat does need a babysitter or someone. I can’t keep doing this alone.”

  “What, uncle?” Kat says, skipping over, Bullet loping at her side, almost as tall as the girl while laying there on the ground at her feet.

  Kat is so much like my sister, with her freckled pale cheeks and her long brown hair worn in a snake like braid over her shoulder. She has the same energy, too, like she’s always on the verge of breaking into a run.

  “I’m not a baby, uncle,” she goes on.

  “It’s rude to eavesdrop, young lady,” I tell her, but I can’t help but smirk.

  She idly strokes Bullet behind the ears and the loyal dog just pants beside her.

  “Can I take him inside, uncle?” she asks. “It’s getting hot out he
re. On the internet it says if it gets hotter than seventy degrees it can be bad, and especially for a big doggie like Bullet.”

  “Of course, Kat,” I say. “Take him to his room and feed him, if you feel up to it.”

  “Can I?” she beams. “Really?”

  I nod. “Do you remember how to measure it?”

  “Uh, yeah,” she laughs, still stroking Bullet behind the ears.

  She stomps off, but Bullet stays sitting there, watching me with his intelligent brown eyes. Kat pokes her head out of the back door.

  “Bullet, here boy.”

  I stand and stroll over to him, giving the nape of his neck a soft brush with my knuckles.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Go inside.”

  He makes a soft groaning noise of assent and then slinks inside, stopping to give me a short nod before disappearing into the house. I return to my chair and lean back.

  “I have business all day today,” I muse. “And it’s becoming untenable to either keep her here or leave her in the care of the maids and my guards. She is safe, of course. But not cared for, exactly.”

  “So you want me to bring the girl, boss?”

  I nod. “Yes, bring her here. Today. Kat might think she’s twice her age, but she needs a babysitter.”

  “A nanny, I think they're called,” Igor grins. “But same difference, eh?”

  I sit in the back of the car as the driver takes us up the long driveway – past the front fountain with the harpies shooting water from their puckered stone mouths – to the large double doored front entrance.

  I climb out and walk up the high stone steps, one of my guards opening the door for me. I nod to Andrei and then head inside, clicking my neck from side to side, taking a deep breath and letting the pressure of business recede into the background as I always do upon returning home.

  I walk to the east side of the house, the floors carpeted and patterned in the style of a Russian aristocrat's home, as though we’ve taken the nineteenth century and transported it here, to the east coast of America in the modern world.

  When I reach Bullet’s room – a large bedroom style space with a dog bed and a feeding area and more toys than I could’ve dreamed of growing up – I hear two voices raised in frenetic conversation.

  I pause, listening.

  “And he’s a really good dog,” Kat is saying, speaking like she’s just had a mountain of sugar. “I mean he’s the most loyal dog ever, Erin. He’s always smiling and he always does the right thing, like if I call him and uncle Erik isn’t there, he’ll come right away. But if uncle Erik is here he goes to uncle. I think he loves uncle the most. Are you nervous about meeting uncle Erik, Erin? Isn’t that funny? Erin and Erik. It sounds just the same, right?”

  “It sounds very similar,” Erin replies.

  I stop, my hand on the door handle.

  Something thunders in my chest.

  I feel like the world is splitting and reshaping in the moment when I listen to her voice, a light, airy, New York accent, the sort of voice people probably hear a thousand times a day in the city.

  And yet, and yet …

  It is magic to me.

  It pushes deep inside of me and strikes a primal note.

  I try to tell myself to calm down, that a voice alone cannot – and should not – provoke this response in me.

  But as she goes on I feel something crashing into me, a certainty I have never felt before.

  She’s the one. I need to put a baby inside this woman. Now. She’s mine. I’ll kill any man who touches her.

  How is this possible just by hearing her voice?

  “And yes, I guess I’m a little nervous. This whole place is pretty fricking intimidating, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” Kat says. “It’s ten times bigger than mommy’s place was. Mommy … she’s … do you know what happened to my mommy?”

  “Yes, I heard,” Erin whispers. “I’m sorry, Kat.”

  “Hey, Bullet …”

  Bullet’s snout pokes around the edge of the door, searching for me.

  “Hello, boy,” I say, pushing the door open and kneeling down.

  Bullet goes berserk, as he always does when I return after a long day at work. He leaps up and rests his forepaws against my shoulders, slathering my neck and cheek with his big tongue. I rub him behind the ears and then stand up, taking my silk handkerchief from my suit jacket pocket and wiping myself down.

  “He’s excited,” Erin says, standing up from where she and Kat were kneeling next to Bullet’s toy box.

  I stare.

  I keep staring.

  I can’t stop staring at this perfect fucking goddess.

  She’s wearing jeans and a simple sweater, chunky black boots that look new, that must be part of the clothes package Igor gave her when she began working earlier today.

  And yet her simple clothes can’t hide the absolute flawlessness of her beauty. Forty-three years I have lived on this planet and I’ve never seen a woman like her.

  I’ve never imagined a woman like her could exist.

  She has curly blonde hair, falling luxuriously down to her shoulders, a thread of it falling across her eyes and partially obscuring them. Her eyes themselves are like glistening green emeralds. Her body is full, her body is thick, her body is everything I could dream of, curves in all the right places, her legs straining against the fabric of her jeans.

  I have to look away from her before my manhood floods.

  I can’t let that happen, obviously, not with Kat around.

  But when I get this woman alone …

  I’m going to claim her in every way a man can claim a woman.

  She’s going to understand, without fucking question, that she’s mine.

  She belongs to me.

  And I’m going to pump my hot cock into her, making her wet and slick, and then fire my seed deep inside of her.

  She has the look of a woman with an eager, hungry womb.

  I know just by looking at her.

  And I’ll feed it, feed it with every slick, hot drop.

  “Um, hello, Mr. Godunov,” she says, averting her eyes. “I’m Erin.”

  “I know,” I say, voice coming out as a trembling growl.

  You’re going to produce milk for my children, Erin, and you’re living in a fucking dream world if you don’t think I’m having a taste, too. I’m going to suck the milk from your bouncy, voluptuous breasts and then spread it over my cock, making it even wetter, ready to pound into you and make more children.

  Jesus Christ, I can’t let these thoughts consume me, not here, not in front of my niece.

  I turn away, Bullet slinking at my side, and walk through the house.

  I emerge into the garden, the setting sun making the sky a purple bruise, and wander right to the end of the garden, through the maze like hedges, emerging near the pond.

  I sit down and Bullet sits beside me, patiently, head cocked like he knows something is different.

  “Hell, boy,” I whisper. “She’s the one. She’s really the one. I’ve finally found her.”

  My queen.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Erin

  The next morning, I wake early and make Kat breakfast, stunned at the size and at how well stocked Erik Godunov’s kitchen is. After living on the streets for six months, to see so much food and vegetables stacked so neatly in the pantry is mind-boggling.

  I make pancakes as best as I can, and even though I’m pretty sure I’m not the world’s best pancake maker, Kat sits at the stool and cuts them into chunks, grinning as she munches.

  She’s a pretty, precocious girl, braiding her own hair with skilled fingers after breakfast, her freckles making her look bright and happy. My heart aches when I think about how she lost her mother, and how she never had a father, my heart aches and I see a glint of myself in her.

  “Uncle Erik said we can walk Bullet in the garden,” she says after breakfast. “But really it’s not a garden, Erin. It’s ooj.”

&n
bsp; “Excuse me, young lady,” I say, giggling as we carry our plates over to the sink. “And what exactly does ooj mean?”

  She grins. “It means really, really big. Duh.”

  “Sure we can walk him,” I say. “Just let me wash these wishes.”

  “Let the maids do that, Erin.”

  “Kat,” I say, turning to her. “I am very capable of washing a few dishes. In fact, it’s good to do things yourself sometimes, to prove to yourself that you can stand on your own two feet.”

  I half expect her to snap at me, for the pampered spoilt rich girl to emerge from the playful façade.

  But then she nods slowly and reaches over for the faucet. Something blossoms inside me, a maternal warmth I wasn’t even sure was there after so many downtrodden years, and together we wash the dishes.

  We could use the dishwasher.

  But where’s the fun in that?

  Ha, ha. I’ve been living like crap for so long this is my idea of fun.

  After breakfast, we wander the grounds, the day overcast and grey, but with no rain spitting down at us. I wear the boots supplied by the thin, intimidating man who picked me up off the streets and drove me to Mr. Godunov’s estate.

  As we walk, I try to look out for the man of the house himself, my skin tingling when I remember the way he stood in the doorway last night. He’d gone from seemingly friendly – when he was greeting his dog – to apparently angry as he stood up and stared at me.

  I thought, He hates me. He’s going to fire me on the spot.

  He was wearing a steel grey suit the color of his hair, his jawline sharp, his greyish, fjord blue eyes biting and cold. His jaw held a light smattering of steel shadow and he was – is – ooj, as Kat might say.

  Almost seven feet, built like a vending machine of muscle, every inch of him straining at the fabric of his suit.

  When he enters rooms in regular houses – not this giant mansion, with bear-sized doors – I imagine he has to duck his head.

  “Erin, did you know, I’m an orphan now?” Kat whispers, and I see the hint of sadness behind her cheery exterior.

  It’s insane how quickly I feel like I’ve warmed to this little girl.