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

But thoughts of the Harrington bloodline are still top of mind. I’m a frontline girl. Not a wallflower relegated to the sidelines.

So I wait just a few seconds before following him down the hallway.

I stop right before the den’s entrance.

“They’re desperate,” Lev’s voice retorts. “The Colosimos know they can’t overpower us. Duilio was competent enough—with some help—but his son is being controlled by his emotions and letting it cloud his judgment. He’d rather let the family die in his rage than forfeit and rebuild strong enough to strike back later.”

The Colosimos.

I know who the Colosimos are. When I was little, the Colosimo Mafia was the boogeyman in Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island. My dad used to be haunted by the violence they committed. There was one incident where the girlfriend of a Mafia member was raped and worked with the police to arrest the rapist. Dad believed they must have begun to suspect that she was feeding the police information about them—which, as far as he knew, was not the case. The girlfriend’s neighbors reported hearing screams from her house. When the police arrived at her residence, they found her dead with several gashes, broken bones, mutilated, with a rat stapled to a section of her body that was not disclosed to the media.

Several streets where there was a heavy Mafia presence didn’t report a single crime for over two years.

The fear of the Colosimos faded, but not because of time. Less than five years ago, the top players in the Colosimo family began showing up murdered and whispers of a Russian Bratva taking over the Colosimo territory began filling the streets. People were grateful—only because it meant that, if they were killed, it would be quick instead of the torture that the Colosimos preferred. The Bratva wasn’t any more innocent than the Colosimos but they weren’t cats that played with their food.

They were Dobermans that went for the throat and ripped it out.

Lev is Russian and proud of his Russian heritage. He lives with a suspicious amount of luxury. His first thought when he saw a dead body at his club was to use it to his advantage. Someone tried to kill him. He killed someone without showing the slightest remorse. He kept a gun on him in the most innocuous situation.

He’s a Doberman—no room remains for doubt.

I need to protect my throat. I slip quietly away from the den.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Lev returns to the kitchen and we head to the car, not discussing his phone call. Sitting in the passenger side of Lev’s car feels like a terrible metaphor. I’m just riding along. I have no control over what direction we go. I could bail now, but I’d only hurt myself and other people who are behind me.

I fiddle with my bag. It’s nearly ready to fall apart.

He glances over at me. “You’re going to need a new bag for the gala.”

I nod. “Sure. Are you in the Bratva?”

His hand twitches on the wheel, the car swerving slightly. It’s enough to send a chill down my spine.

“How is that related to your bag?” he asks.

“It’s not. I just need to know the truth.”

“You need to be focusing on the gala,” he says. “That’s what’s important right now.”

“No. It’s not.” I turn, so my body is fully facing him, the seat belt digging into my shoulder. “We’re going to be married, so I have the right to know the truth about my husband.”

He raises his eyebrow. “That may be the first time you’ve accepted what’s going to happen. Good.”

“Don’t get too happy about it. I still want an answer to my question.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, only shifting them to check for other cars. I stare at him, waiting. In the window behind him, I can see we’re entering a sophisticated part of the city, where there’s less traffic and the architecture is clean and modern. The silence blisters in my ears, tension building in my chest.

He’s just going to ignore me. He’s not going to answer, which answers my question in its own way, but it’s also a reminder that I’m even more powerless in this relationship than I had thought. I could run to my father about my suspicions, but before he could find anything to arrest Lev, I’d be found with a bullet in my head.

I also led him straight to Julia. I couldn’t force her to go into hiding with me when her job is everything to her.

He stops at a red light and turns to me. “Yes.”

He locks eyes with me. He must see the fear in mine, no matter how hard I try to blink it away.

“Are you actually … in it or do you only help them through your business?”

“It’s better if you don’t know any more than that.” He presses on the gas. My body lurches forward. I hadn’t even noticed the change in the light or the traffic, but we don’t crash and die, which could be a blessing, or maybe not so much. Maybe that’d be the easy way out. “You’re the one who worships the law. If you don’t know anything, you have plausible deniability and since we’re not married yet, we’re not protected by spousal privilege. That would mean if you took the stand, you’d either have to tell the truth on the stand or perjure yourself. Neither option would end well for you.”

“You suddenly care about the law now?” I turn back toward the road and press my fingers against my temple. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Then don’t believe it.”

I watch a pair of young women laughing with each other as they carry shopping bags. They cling to each other’s arms as they try to not fall from laughing so hard.

If I’d ignored Jeffrey Douglas, my life could have remained that simple. It’s just another moment where my moral compass led me straight to my own ruin.

“Once we’re married,” I say, “you’ll have to tell