Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) by Fox, Nicole (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📗

“Yes.” Ilya glances over at Lev. He must see the same stiffened demeanor as I do. He mutters something to Lev—it sounds Russian and apologetic. Lev must have heard him, but he doesn’t acknowledge the comment.

I can’t decode their relationship. Lev is Ilya’s boss, so Ilya would be Lev’s subordinate, but here they are, eating together while joking about something personal and Ilya knows about Lev’s ‘future wife’ without any questions about where I’ve been this whole time or applauding our engagement or anything normal like that.

Yet, Ilya still seems more than subordinate. He seems subservient.

“I didn’t mean to pry about your heritage,” I say. “I’m sorry about that. Lev is just weird about it because of something I said earlier. I accused him of being influenced by the Bratva.”

Ilya’s eyebrows briefly shoot up, but he laughs and relaxes again.

“The Bratva? I’m certain Lev could lead them quite well,” Ilya says. He reaches forward, touching my hand, before quickly pulling back. “Miss Harrington, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you needed to be apologetic. You don’t need to feel sorry around me. I can take care of myself.”

His tone is bordering on pleading. He’s not only subservient to Lev. He’s subservient to me, too.

Why?

I clear my throat. “So, how did you get here through the rain? It’s coming down pretty hard.”

“The flooding isn’t quite as bad as it was,” he says. “But I also have a Raptor that Lev bought me, so I’m not worried about it. If you’re worried about the rain, I could take you home if you’d like. It’s safer in my vehicle than yours.”

I glance at Lev in question. His jaw is clenched and there’s a flicker of disapproval and possessiveness across his face. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like it.

I look back at Ilya. “I’d appreciate it so much if you’d do that.”

* * *

The wipers slice across the windshield, but it’s like bailing a boat with a hole in the bucket. The road looks like a river, too, but Ilya seems unperturbed. He might as well be in a car wash.

“Have you worked for Lev for a long time?” I ask, fiddling with my sweatpants’ drawstrings. When Lev retrieved my clothes for me, they were still warm. He told me to return the next day. It wasn’t a request. That level of arrogance always gets under my skin, but somehow the friction is also addictive.

“About five years,” he says. “But I’ve known him longer.”

“How did you two meet?”

“We had some friends in common,” he says. His tone isn’t harsh, but there’s a tension in the arm that’s gripping the steering wheel.

I stare out the window, pretending to be lost in thought. I wait until his arm relaxes.

“You two are close.”

“Yes,” he says.

“So, what crime did he commit?”

He chuckles. “You’re a rather peculiar choice. I always thought Lev preferred the ones who stood still and looked pretty. He’s always found talkative people annoying.”

“That’s good to know,” I say. “Now I know how to annoy him.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Ilya warns. “Why do you want to know what crime he may or may not have committed?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Miss Harrington, if you don’t trust him, then you don’t trust me,” he says, his tone turning serious. He looks over at me, sending my heartrate racing since he’s not looking at the road. “And if that’s true, there’s no point in me telling you anything.”

“Okay,” I say quickly, nodding toward the road. He turns back, his body relaxing again.

“You said the apartment building next to Sylvester’s Liquor, right?” he asks.

I nod. I could have lived in a better complex. My father offered to pay for a better place. He showed me crime statistics. He showed me photos of crimes that have happened in the area. But it was the place Julia decided on, I could afford it on the money I’d earned as a tutor, and I didn’t want to start my independent life depending on my father’s money. So, now Sylvester is my neighbor on one side. The other side is a vacant warehouse, occupied mostly by rats.

Ilya pulls into the driveway. It’s a bumpy experience as it’s impossible to miss all of the potholes, especially now that they’re harder to see in the downpour. He drives past the decrepit cars, two of which are missing their tires. The last one in the row has a smashed window. The broken glass floats in a murky puddle beside it.

“Does Lev know that you live here?” Ilya asks.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew exactly what room I sleep in, where I pee, and what I eat every morning.”

Ilya snorts. “That’s likely true.”

He parks in front of the building. The front door is only a few feet away, but the sheets of rain crashing down aren’t inviting.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have an umbrella,” Ilya says.

“It’s fine.” I jerk open the door. Rain starts whipping into the truck. “Thanks for the ride, Ilya.”

I step into a puddle, soaking my sneakers and socks, but I don’t stop running until I’m in the building.

Once inside, I bound up the stairs, skipping steps. I nearly run into Mrs. Gillium, a widow in her seventies who is, allegedly, a prostitute. When I get to my apartment, I scramble to unlock the door and lock myself inside.

I stand motionless for several seconds, absorbing the silence of the place, before quickly shucking my soaked clothes and changing into something dry.

I look around my room. Now what? Home feels weird after Lev’s mansion. What was once cozy is now weirdly confining. Everything looks shabby, second-hand—mostly because that’s exactly what it is, but it never bothered me before. I like my stuff. Or at least, I used to.

Flopping into bed, I open my constitutional law book. I try to focus on the words, but my brain is in shambles. It’s like driving through that mess of a parking lot outside my building, but instead of hitting