Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) by Nicole Fox (best romantic novels in english .txt) 📗

I’m sitting at the dining room table in Mom’s cramped little house, trying and failing to dream up ways to make enough cash to pull myself from this rut. My bank account is dying a death of a thousand cuts as I sort through the stack of bills piled in front of me. Fifty dollars for gas, ninety-three for electric, overdue interest here, a late penalty there—little by little, it all adds up to one big kick in the groin.

Seventy thousand dollars seemed like so much, not so long ago. Now, it’s disappearing a penny at a time like sand slipping through my fingertips.

I remember Erik’s deal and shudder. No fucking way. Going to that godforsaken auction was already a nightmare that I’m going to spend a lifetime trying to forget. Having his… no, I won’t even let myself think it. Nuh-uh, no way, no how.

I force myself to focus again on the pile of envelopes. I’ve worked my way through most of it, taking notes on a yellow legal pad about what needs to be paid where. There’s just one fat envelope left at the very bottom.

I sort aside a couple of useless flyers, shoving them into the trash pile, then pick up the behemoth that I’ve been eyeing and ignoring since I first sat down.

I know what it is—the color scheme of the hospital is an obnoxious baby blue and pukey green. Why they chose that particular pairing is beyond me, but those kinds of decisions get made at a pay grade far above mine. I couldn’t even hold down a job as a receptionist at a doctor’s office, after all.

I’ve mostly been ignoring it because I know the damage inside is going to be severe. Between the ambulance ride and the multi-night stay at Chez Hospital, I’m expecting a payment owed of fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, more than enough to make my head swim. My hands are already sweating at the mere thought.

Just do it like a Band-Aid, I tell myself. I gulp and rip it open. The top has my mother’s name and personal details stamped on it. I scan down the paper, and even before I get to the bottom, I know it’s going to be bad. Really, really bad. There is scan after scan, and drug after drug listed in the “Services rendered” column, each with a staggering sum printed to the right.

All told, it comes out eighty-nine thousand dollars.

For a moment, I swear the world goes dark, like my brain is saying, “That’s all, folks,” and just packing it in.

Eighty-nine thousand dollars.

I can’t pay that. I can’t pay that back ever, much less in the time frame that the hospital and the bank have in mind for me. There is a schedule of payments due on the second page, and that alone is enough to send me reeling all over again.

The payment from the auction isn’t enough even if I sign it directly over to the vampires at St. Mary’s General. And it’s not like I have an extra nineteen grand just loafing around between the couch cushions.

I’m fucked. We’re fucked. My whole entire world is very, very fucked.

I’m sitting in the car, trying my damndest not to hyperventilate myself into a seizure. God knows I wouldn’t be able to afford the medical care if that did happen. On the other hand, maybe it’ll just take me out of my misery.

But Mom needs you, I tell myself. That’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place. I spent six hours with my head in my hands at that kitchen table, racking my brain for a way out of this situation.

I’ve thought about dealing drugs, helping Rob stick up a Brinks truck, even becoming an escort like he suggested. But I’ve seen Bonnie and Clyde—I know where that path leads. And it isn’t exactly a one-way ticket to stability and prosperity.

There was only one thing that had any hope of work.

There’s no shame in this, I assure myself as I get out of the car and walk down the long stone driveway, though a larger part of me screams that there’s all the shame in the world. But what else am I going to do? Mom needs her care. That has to happen.

I ignore that whispering voice that reminds me of how good the sex was. That isn’t part of it. This is a business decision. Nothing else.

The butler answers the door with a slight bow. “Mr. Ivanovich is awaiting you in the library,” he says. “Would you like me to show you the way, ma’am?”

“No,” I tell him. “I remember.”

As I walk down the hallway, I study the wealth: the art, a full suit of armor, a glass cabinet filled with vintage liquor. Erik would do a great job at impersonating a Bond villain.

Maybe I could give myself a five-finger discount on a few of these items and pass them to Rob to sell off through his black-market connections.

But then Erik comes walking down the hallway in a crisp, pale blue dress shirt, his eyes staring into me as though he’s reading my intentions.

“Up to no good?” he says with a small smile.

I shake my head. “I, uh, got lost,” I lie.

“Right.”

He fiddles around with his hands for a moment, not looking at me directly. It almost seems like he’s nervous.

Then I remember our night together in vivid detail and laugh out loud. I don’t think ‘nervous’ is in Erik’s vocabulary.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

“No, no,” I say, choking back my giggles. I sober up quickly, an abrupt change of gears. “Nothing is funny at all, actually.”

He nods, like he understands far more than just the words coming out of my mouth. “I was pleasantly surprised to hear that you had called,” he says.

I decide to tell him the truth, straight up. No point in diving into this sordid little affair with a