Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (open ebook .TXT) 📗

Miss Needy, which is Tiana’s new nickname. Unfortunately for tonight’s escapades, she’s become unusually attached to me—crying when I leave the room, and screaming when I have to hand her off to anyone else, including her father.

But the one thing more powerful than her love for me is her love for grilled cheese. And it’s almost lunchtime.

Thank God.

I put her in her chair and hurry through making her sandwich, then slap it on a plate and put it in front of her. “I’ll be right back.” I leave her with Marianne, the housekeeper, then run to the stairs. No telling what I’ve already missed. I slip off my shoes and pad barefoot down the hallway to stand outside Kostya’s office door.

I whip out my phone and switch to the recording app just in time to hear a string of hurriedly whispered Russian. Yelisey is talking, I think.

But no sooner has he finished his sentence than Kostya says, “That will be all, then,” followed by the rustling of clothes and the scraping of chairs as the men stand up.

Gosh-freaking-dammit. Foiled by grilled cheese. I just hope that the snippet I managed to catch will be at least a little bit revealing.

I sneak back downstairs, because to get caught before Operation 007 even takes shape would make me the most pathetic human in the history of humans. Tiana hasn’t missed me but has somehow managed to smear cheese in her hair. It’s a new skill she has and one that requires her second trip to the bathtub for the day.

By the time I have her smelling like bubble-gum shampoo and blueberry soap, her eyes are droopy and she’s ready to snuggle while I read her to sleep. By the time I flip to the last page, she’s snoring in my arms.

Moving slowly and carefully, I withdraw my phone and transfer the sound bite I grabbed into a transcription app. When I have a line of text, I punch it into Google Translate and, abracadabra, the answers are laid bare before me.

The meeting is set for tomorrow at 9 p.m. Your regular suite at the Baltzley.

Now, the million-dollar question: what the hell could that be about?

The Baltzley Hotel is downtown, although I’ve never understood why Kostya uses it when he has this impressive property to bring his out-of-town guests to. Probably because it’s safer to not let them know where he lives, I now realize. And he can control the meeting at the hotel. A hotel room has only one door in and out. For the discretion a Russian mobster needs, the Baltzley probably charges extra. I have no doubt that Kostya would be willing to pay.

My “is he a mob boss?” radar dings inside my head. It isn’t proof positive, but I can get that easily enough. I’ll just … follow him. Of course, I can’t exactly bring Tiana along, and I can’t trust any of the house staff to watch her. But I haven’t had a day off since I moved in and he certainly can’t expect me to give up my own … oh hell. I can’t justify spying on him, but I am entitled to some time to myself. How I choose to use it is up to me, right? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I hear something and look up to see Kostya is standing in the doorway. I swipe out of everything and shove my phone aside as fast as possible, but he doesn’t seem to notice anything suspicious.

It’s perfect timing, actually. I can talk to him about my “night off.”

I extricate myself from the covers and walk out of Tiana’s bedroom, pulling the door shut behind me. He’s leaning against the wall opposite her door, his hands shoved in his pockets and his ankles crossed. “I like listening to you read to her.”

How could a guy who likes the Love You Forever book be a Mafia boss? No way, no how. Which makes all my ridiculous notions about him even more ridiculous.

“Thanks. She loves that book.”

He seems so different from the man who had been talking to Yelisey. So much more relaxed now. Smiling even. It’s like Kostya is two different men. And since I can only trust one of them right now, I have to find out about the other. I don’t have any choice. “I need tomorrow night off. Is that … doable?”

Right now, he looks pretty doable himself. I’m a sucker for his smile. And his eyes. And that little piece of hair that flops over his forehead and makes my hand itch to push it back.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth and gives the slightest headshake. “I have to be out tomorrow night. I can’t keep her. Can you switch to another night?”

Shit. I should’ve had a better plan in place. This is a man who likes details. Unfortunately, I have none prepared. “My mom said she would …” I clear my throat. I’m making up lies as I go along. “My mom’ll watch her.”

“Your mother?”

I chuckle because I’m so nervous. Also because I’m a big fat liar. “Yeah. I mean she raised me, and I turned out okay, right?” Another chuckle, although this time I stare at him and bat my eyelashes, like I’m something out of a fashion magazine and not standing in a hallway wearing half of a grilled cheese sandwich on my sweater with hair frizzy from Tiana’s bathtub splashing. I imagine myself as something better, someone he would want. That kind of thing helps me get from moment to moment. But so does humility. “I mean, not this moment, when I look like …”

“You look quite fine, Charlotte. More than fine.” He reaches for one of my hands but seems to reconsider and stops halfway.

“You might need glasses, Mr. Zinon.” But I love the way he talks to me, as if no one else exists. Or maybe he’s like that with all women. I don’t know. I’d like to say I don’t care, either,