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

“Okay,” she says. “Fair is fair. It was about a year ago in November. I was with three of my friends. It was my sophomore year and I’d been friends with these women since the beginning of my freshman year. Um.”

She rubs her forehead, avoiding my gaze now. In most people, I’d assume this was a tell, indicating that they were lying, but her eyes are getting glossy. One side of me wants to dig harder into this story, figure out how I can use it to get more control over her father, but the other part of me is uncertain.

“We went to this frat party. It wasn’t the first time. We’d been to a few. Far more than I should have been going to as the chief’s daughter. And two of my friends were doing drugs. I turned a blind eye to it.”

She rubs her neck, pressing against her throat for a second.

“When we got into the car, Lily, my friend … she insisted on driving. She told me she was fine. I believed her. I didn’t want her to see me as this uptight chief’s daughter, and I believed her. Another car swerved out of its lane—turned out that driver was drunk far more than Lily—and her reflexes were so impaired that she didn’t get us out of the way in time. I don’t know if you could have done that even if she’d been stone sober. Either way, we crashed. Lily died. The other driver … he got off on some kind of technicality. That’s one reason I’m pursuing law. So that never happens to anyone again.”

Her voice breaks, her hands cover her face, and she trembles. I move closer to her, not used to being in this position. Offering comfort is not one of my strengths, to say the least. Awkwardly, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward me. At first, she resists, but then she slowly crumples against me, pressing her face against my chest.

The den is filled with her sobs. I try to focus on anything else—Mariya’s Revenge, the Bratva, the Colosimos—because I can’t risk letting her emotions affect mine. This is a contract between us. She’s nothing to me but a means to an end and a body to fuck.

But I don’t let her go.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

I’m not certain if she’s talking to me or her friends, but I stroke her hair. When she looks up at me, her eyes are a galaxy of emotions. Her hand clings to my arm as she pulls herself upward. Her eyes close as she kisses me. The way her lips slowly move against mine, it’s the most sensual kiss I’ve ever received. I return it, giving her back what she gave me.

Her eyes flicker open. That galaxy of emotions is slightly calmer, but now they seem to quiver in uncertainty. I must be looking at her in the same way. I don’t know what the fuck she was just thinking.

She breaks our reverie, looking down at her legs, then sits up a little, moving away from me as she wipes her tears from her face.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t answered the question,” she says.

“It’s fine,” I mutter.

“No, um. I came up with this idea. So … Julia was the EMT. She pulled me out of the car. I—I owe her my life.”

She covers her hand with her mouth, staring intently at her knee.

“We should actually start heading to my apartment now. The traffic gets busy around this time and if I don’t get there soon, she’ll start making dinner on her own.”

“Okay,” I say, though everything seems very fucking far from okay.

* * *

When Allison introduces me to Julia, I expect to see a Florence Nightingale-type—a plain woman, bordering on ugly, the kind of girl whose heart is beautiful, but nothing else.

But I was wrong. Julia is not ugly. Nobody needs to make false claims about her.

She doesn’t have the same magnetism as Allison. She’s an America’s sweetheart level of cute. She doesn’t have the strangely angular face of a model or the banality of a prom queen, but she has flowing golden hair and freckles that make her appear more genuine.

“It’s nice to meet you, Julia,” I say. I shake her hand, placing my other hand over it to convey warmth and investment in the greeting. I glance over at Allison. Her forehead is furrowed as she looks away from our hands.

There’s no way she thinks I’d choose Julia over her, right?

“I didn’t know what you had here, but I brought some wine.” I offer it to Julia. I didn’t pay any attention to her while we were shaking hands, but now I see it.

She hates me.

This is a new problem. Usually by the time people hate me, I’ve already trapped them in their circumstances. I don’t need them to like me. But right here, right now, I need Julia to like me and I don’t like that. I’m ponying up to the negotiating table in the weak position. Very out of character for me.

“Wow. This is expensive,” she says, taking the wine from me. “I could probably sell this for someone to pay their medical bill.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” I say.

“Jules,” Allison interjects. “I thought we’d make some pasta. We have all of the ingredients. Lev, why don’t you sit down?”

She indicates their living room, which is seven feet from the door and a step away from the kitchen.

“I can help,” I say.

“No. You should sit down,” Julia says. “Please.”

Every instinct tells me to cut her down, but I can’t have her running to the chief. I walk over to their tiny bookcase in the corner of the room. Most of the selection is law books. I look out the window. It’s facing the parking lot.

The location of her apartment is disappointing. I expected a lot more from the chief’s daughter. Either her father doesn’t care about her or she’s testing