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

front door, I expect to have the Titan-sized man guarding the door to drag me back inside. Nothing happens.

When I get into my car, I touch my mouth. I try to get the warmth and tenderness to sink past my lips and linger, but as I drive down the road, it fades away.

* * *

I haven’t been driving long before I notice the car following me. Any other day, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But any other day I wouldn’t be a murderer engaged to another murderer. I wouldn’t have the blood from my fiancé’s minor wound on my shirt—a wound sustained when he killed a man. Given the circumstances, it seems pretty clear the car behind me is keeping pace.

My law textbooks come to mind. Stalking didn’t become a crime until 1990 when the first law was passed in California after several high-profile stalking cases ended in murders. Stalking was defined in 2005 as a crime where a person incites fear for the safety of another person or persons or causes them a significant amount of emotional distress.

That seems to fit the current situation like a glove.

I peer at my rearview mirror. The black car is still there.

It remains a car or two behind me except for one street, but I have to turn several times to get to my apartment and it turns with me.

I veer sharply into my apartment’s parking lot. It’s not quite as smooth as Lev’s driving, but the black car doesn’t make the same turn. It gives me enough time to park, lock the car, and run into the apartment. I sprint up the stairs. It’s late enough that I don’t pass anybody. I lock myself in the apartment, then run to the window facing the parking lot.

The black car is pulling in. It parks near the two cars that are missing tires. I stare at it. Nobody gets out.

I take my cell phone out of my bag, staring at it. I could call my father, tell him about the car. But if it is the police, it could cause them to become more suspicious of me—they’ll twist it in front of a jury, saying it’s a sign of a guilty conscience.

Except it won’t be a twist because I am guilty and my conscience is a stack of bricks on my shoulders.

“Hey. Where did you go before?”

I whirl around. Julia raises her hands to show she’s unarmed.

“Whoa. Are you okay?” she asks. “You look like you’ve taken enough meth to take on—wait, you didn’t do meth, did you?”

“No,” I scowl. I turn back to the window. I can’t see if the person is still in the car. The windows are tinted.

Julia steps up beside me. “What are we looking at? That’s a nice car. It isn’t Lev’s, is it?”

“No,” I say. “I think it was following me.”

“Why would a car be following you?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

I drop my bag on our couch. Fear is beating hard in my chest. But I know if I’m marrying Lev, I’m going to need to be able to stand up to him. And Lev can shoot a man without flinching, so the least that I can do is confront some sociopath in a public place.

By the time I’m almost to the car, I see the silhouette of the man inside the car. He barely fits in the driver’s seat. As I grab the handle of the driver’s door, lurching it open, I recognize him.

It’s the same man who was guarding Lev’s mansion. The mountain man.

“What the hell,” I snarl. “Why were you following me?”

The man shrugs, less volatile than I would have expected. “Lev told me to watch out for you.”

“Why wouldn’t he just tell me that?”

The man pauses, checking over his shoulder. “It’s not my business to know, Miss Harrington. There’s another, um, person watching out for you on the other side of the building. It’s not just me. But I will have to tell the boss that you came out here to talk to me. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do.”

I slam my palm against the roof of the car. “While you’re at it, tell Lev that I told him to go screw himself.”

I turn around, rage slamming down with every footstep away from him. When I’m nearly back to the apartment, I turn back around and head back to the car.

“Never mind. Don’t tell him anything,” I say. “I’m going to tell him myself.”

I take my phone out, walking a few steps away from Lev’s guard dog. It rings twice.

“Hello, Allison,” Lev answers, irritatingly calm. “I’m going to assume that you have some complaints.”

“Complaints? Oh no. Never. I love thinking that I’m being stalked by a psychopath my whole drive home and then finding out that he’s working for you. I might turn it into my new hobby.”

“If it’s any reassurance, I can’t prove that he’s a psychopath.”

“Well, we have proof that you’re a sociopath,” I snap. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me? Did you want to scare me? Is there some lesson in this? Do you want me to be paranoid everywhere I go?”

“It’s nothing like that. You didn’t take my first option, so I altered my plan. This is the second option.”

I grit my teeth as Julia comes out of the apartment.

“What was it?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

I nod, covering my phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s fine. Lev just thought we might need someone to watch out for us. Like we’re little children.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “Cool.”

“It’s not cool at all,” I say.

Lev clears his throat. “Could you put me on the phone with Julia? We both want what’s best for you while you’re on a suicide mission.”

I remove my finger from the speaker.

“No,” I say. “Julia, he didn’t even tell me he was going to do this.”

“That’s a bit shitty,” she admits. “But he must have seen the neighborhood we’re in and thought you needed someone watching out for