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

I am. One person might know who you are and if they don’t, they’ll find out if my dead body is discovered. Even if they don’t know, we paid for the best tables here. We’re practically on a stage. Everyone is watching and they’re wondering what our connection is, so if I die, you will be the first one questioned.”

I indicate for Daniil to step forward. Marco refocuses on him. I hand Daniil the glass. “Get Marco three shots of Mariya’s Revenge.”

“Yes, sir.” Daniil leaves with the glass. I turn back to Marco.

“You have the same problem,” I say. “If you kill me, everyone has seen us together and everyone knows the Colosimos still resent my men for showing the city that you’re just unstable thugs.”

“The city doesn’t know who you truly are, though, does it, Mr. Alekseiev?” he taunts. “Besides, I have no plan to kill you in the short-term. I said I’d make you suffer and I meant that. These things take time.”

He glances around the club. Daniil returns with the three shots and sets them between the two of us. He retreats. Marco and I don’t reach for the shots.

“I’m not going to kill you yet,” Marco says. “But I’m threatening your kingdom. You’re threatening me with prison time, which would be a relaxing vacation for a man of my means and connections. You should remember that I’m not the face of any major legitimate businesses, so I have nothing to lose—you made sure of that. I’m going to tear you apart like it’s your autopsy. And I’m telling you this now because I know you’ll look back at this moment and know that I’m everything you think you are and that’s going to be the other thing that kills you, Lev.”

He takes a shot and downs it. He stands up. As he passes by me, he bumps the glass against my arm.

“It’s great to meet the owner,” he says, his voice carrying over the sound of the music. As he continues to stride down toward the bar, I see several people turning to look at me.

I fight the impulse to go after him. He’s a worthwhile contender, but he’s wrong. I’m not going to let him go to prison. I’m going to kill him myself. As soon as I have the police chief in my pocket, I’m going to stick each of Marco Colosimo’s body parts in a different section of the city like skulls on a spike.

And each one of them will be painted red with the same warning:

Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.

* * *

Getting drunk is a game for undergrads, easy women, and people who never grew up. But as I step into my house, my body feels heavy and my thoughts weightless, floating away.

I wander through the house. I imagine Allison in every room—drinking in the den, eating in the kitchen, showering in the bathroom, napping in my bedroom—but she’s not in any of them. There’s no reason that she would be, but she infiltrates every room.

I’m not the kind of man. I don’t let shit bother me, but she’s so deeply under my skin that it’s aggravating every part of my life.

I stop in my personal gym. The warmth from the liquor is changing into heat from rage. I jump onto the treadmill, selecting nine miles per hour. I run for fifteen minutes but the frustration digs into me farther. I pound out thirty pull-ups. The aggression continues to grind against my brain. I start wrapping my hands for the boxing bag.

My cell phone beeps. I take my time reaching it.

Allison Harrington: Is everything okay?

It’s such a small thing. The tension in my shoulders and jaw eases. I tap her number on the screen and bring the phone up to my ear, letting out a slow breath.

“Hello,” she says. She sounds like she’s underwater or ill. “Did you fix whatever you needed to?”

“Not exactly.” I walk over to the gym’s mirrors in front of the dumbbells and kettlebells. I replay our sex in the dressing room. “But it’s not important. Are you ready for the gala tomorrow?”

“I mean, I will be if I get enough sleep.”

I glance at my phone. 2:29 a.m. Shit. My phone must have just been reminding me that I had a text and I hadn’t noticed it before.

“I apologize. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Wow. You aren’t used to apologizing, are you?” She laughs. I press my ear harder against the phone, taking in her joy. “It’s fine, Lev.”

Her voice sounds nice when she’s just woken up. I imagine her, curled up on her bed, her hair splayed over her pillow, wearing some kind of thin shirt that can’t conceal her nipples.

I should have checked to see what her bed looked like when I was at her apartment.

I could relax if we fucked again, but phone sex would be a decent substitution.

“So, is everything okay?” she asks again. Her words slur slightly together, sticky with sleep. It takes me a few seconds to understand what she said.

I’m certain I could coax her into telling me her deepest fantasies and get her desperate to have me fuck her again. But the sound of her tired voice works its own magic on me.

“Tell me about your court cases,” I say softly.

She laughs. “You want to know about what I did with the DA?” she asks. “It was mostly the one case, but I helped out other people in the office. There was one interesting case, involving a house covered in cat prints.”

Her voice is a lull in a storm as she goes on, talking about this and that. The actual things she says are less important than the fact that she’s the one saying them and I’m the one listening. It’s like playing a game where the outcome doesn’t matter—all that matters is the back and forth between us. Her exhaustion seems to have taken down all of her emotional walls. She is simple, raw, vulnerable, even