Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox (classic fiction TXT) 📗

Even now that I’ve moved back to town since graduation, Nana still likes to argue with me about taking care of her. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the phrase, “I’m old, not dead.” She’s as hardheaded as ever, but every now and then, I feel her gratitude shine through.

While I was away at school, Nana didn’t have anyone to talk to or keep her company. Most of her old friends have passed away, and while I was gone, very rarely did anyone stop by to say hello. Only a handful of neighbors checked in on her, and I’m thankful that they were able to care for her while I was gone because I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to Nana. After everyone that I’ve lost, I don’t think I could survive another loved one leaving me.

“Are you ever not daydreaming?” a familiar voice asks from behind me.

I turn to see Madeline approaching with a handful of dirty dishes, a mischievous smile on her face. She’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. Perfectly dyed blonde hair, perfectly white smile, and the kind of curves any woman would kill to have. It makes sense that she’s a model when she’s not on the clock at Rudy’s.

“Sorry,” I say, blushing. I hate that I have a tendency to get trapped in my head because I usually end up becoming much more reserved. People often read that as either standoffish or awkward, so I’ve been trying to live more in the moment and spend less time with my own thoughts. But old habits die hard, or whatever they say.

“You know, I was thinking about what you said last week.”

“What did I say last week?” I ask. Madeline disappears for a moment to drop off the dishes, then steps back out into the diner, hands on her hips.

“You told me no guys were looking in your direction when I asked whether you were dating or not.”

I self-consciously brush a lock of hair behind my ear and turn my attention towards the counter, wiping it down. I hate when Madeline puts on her matchmaker boots and tries to set me up with different guys. I mean, of course, I appreciate her offer and the fact that she tries to introduce me to new people, but her taste in guys doesn’t match mine. She likes older, obscenely wealthy guys that have connections. Not exactly my type.

“But,” Madeline continues, “I think the truth is that you’re sabotaging yourself. That guy with the red hair during breakfast today is proof of that.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying hard not to blush.

“You know exactly what,” she says, laughing. “I saw the way he was looking at you and how he kept trying to get you to sit down and talk to him. He was hot! We both know that.”

“He was ... attractive, yes.”

“Why didn’t you go for it then? Why didn’t you sit down and talk to him?”

I sigh and turn around, leaning against the counter with one hip. “Because I’m on the clock and he had a tan line where his wedding ring used to be. He probably just got out of a marriage, and I don’t want to deal with all that baggage.”

Madeline clicks her teeth and shakes her head at me. “This is what I’m talking about. You keep finding reasons not to go for men. You’re sabotaging yourself so you never get close to them.”

“My god, it’s like Dr. Phil is in the diner with me,” I groan. I toss the rag behind me into a bucket full of other dirty napkins and wipes. “Maybe I just don’t feel like dating right now. Maybe with everything going on with Nana and my writing and this job, dating just isn’t high on my priority list.”

Madeline shrugs. “Maybe. But I know you. I’ve seen you fawn over guys one minute and then find something wrong with them and turn your back the next. All I’m saying is, it couldn’t hurt to give a guy a chance before you turn him away. I think you could meet someone really special.”

Despite all of her nagging, I know Madeline wants to be helpful and this is her way of showing it. Other people might grow annoyed with her incessant nudging and prodding whenever an attractive man walks into Rudy’s but it comes from a good place, so I don’t let it bother me too much.

“Anyway,” she says, glancing around at the nearly empty diner. “We should probably get started on cleaning up after the breakfast crew. Lunch will be here soon.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say.

***

When I close the front door behind me, the first thing I hear is a gasp from the living room.

Something’s wrong with Nana.

My heart rate spikes. I drop my purse clattering to the ground and spring around the corner as dark thoughts race through my head. Maybe she fell, or had a stroke, or someone broke in and ...

Nope. I race in the room to find Nana with her eyes glued to the television. One of her soap operas is playing, and it looks like someone just got shot by a masked gunman.

I let out a heavy sigh.

My body begins to unwind, and I scold myself for being so paranoid. I can’t live every day anticipating the worst, but it’s another one of my tough habits to break. After everything that I’ve lost, seeing Nana join that list might just be too much for me.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Nana says without looking away from the television.

“Hi, Nana.” I pull off my jacket and hang it up in the hallway, taking a seat on the big purple sofa next to her. It may be hideous, but the couch is one of the softest things I’ve ever sat on in my life, and though it doesn’t go with anything in the room, I