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

“Ilya,” I answer. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not good,” Ilya says. “Our newest recruit, Rodion. He’s dead.”

“The Colosimos,” I say.

“They haven’t taken credit, but it wasn’t a good scene,” he says. “He was mutilated. Missing body parts. His wife called us after she called the police, so we couldn’t clean up.”

“Keep your eyes open. We’ll retaliate once we know more,” I say. He doesn’t say anything. “Ilya?”

“Yes,” he says. “Good.”

I hang up. I know what he’s thinking—I’m going soft. Allison is whittling me down to someone who will take a hit without hitting back. But the last time the Colosimos retaliated, Allison almost got killed. If it were just me, I’d lead with a scorched earth tactic, but I can’t risk the chief’s daughter, especially now that everyone important knows we’re dating.

I turn. Allison is at the bar, ordering a drink. I need to tell her about the Colosimos. I need her to be more prepared than Rodion’s wife if something happens to me.

And God, I need to fuck her.

* * *

We leave the ballroom not long after. I need an escape and tell Ally we need to talk. I can feel her father watching us with a death glare, but he doesn’t intervene. I wouldn’t be surprised if he follows us down to the ocean where we’re now standing, but I don’t hear his footsteps on the rough mix of sand and stone.

Ally picks up a small piece of driftwood. She tosses it out into the ocean where it disappears under a wave. I wait for it to resurface, but it never returns.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asks. She’s barefoot, her shoes in her hand. The city lights are a faint glow in the distance, transforming her into a silhouette, but when she moves closer toward me, the illumination from the hotel creates a shrine of light around her. It looks damn near like a halo.

“One of my men died tonight,” I say, pressing two fingers against the edge of a circle of large stone bricks. Inside, a teepee of sticks waits to be burned. “Killed by the Colosimos.”

“That’s terrible.” She veers closer, pulling herself up onto the stone bricks, and sits, setting her shoes down beside her. Her knees nearly brush up against me. “Were you close?”

I shake my head. “I don’t get close to anyone in the Bratva. I’m not telling you this to get your pity or sympathy. I need you to know because his wife fucked up. She called the police before she called us. The police can’t prove anything on a phone call, but it paints us in a bad light. Gets them looking in the right places. It also means that we had no time to cover up anything we needed to cover up before the police got there.”

Her knee taps against my waist. “If you want me to intervene in the police’s investigation, I can’t do that.”

“Getting you involved would only give the police a scent to locate me through,” I say. “No. I’m telling you because if I get killed, you need to know how to handle it and I know you’re not the type to blindly accept directions, so I’m giving you context. The Bratva is at war with the Colosimos. The man on the motorcycle was a member of their Mafia. If I’m killed, you need to burn down my office. Everything important is in there. If the police ask—”

“You want me to commit arson?” she interrupts.

“If they find out my connections to the Bratva, they’re going to assume you were complicit. The information about Jeffrey Douglas’ murder is hidden in the office as well, so arson will be the least of your problems.” I put my hand on her knee, which has started jiggling uncontrollably. It stops. “And you can convince them that whoever killed me was the one who set the fire.”

Her hands grip the edge of the firepit. When I try to take her hand, she tucks it under her thigh.

“Why can’t someone else do this?” she asks.

“Because it would look suspicious if someone else showed up at my house after I was killed. Their motives would be immediately questioned. The easy way to avoid that is to have someone who would have a good reason to be in my house—like my wife.”

Her mouth forms around the word ‘wife.’ She tucks her other hand under her thigh. “Why can’t you just tell me where the important things are, so I can get rid of them? Burning down your whole office seems excessive.”

I trace my finger around her knee, seeking an answer that she won’t despise me for, but I always end up with the same explanation.

“If you knew where information was that could be manipulated to implicate the Bratva, you would use it against me,” I say. “It’s well-hidden but it’s not fireproof. The best option I see is for you to burn everything down.”

She nods, more receptive to the truth than I thought. Almost suspiciously accepting of it.

“But this is all really unlikely, right?” she asks. “You killed that man after he tried to kill us twice. You’re not going to die.”

“I’d imagine the Colosimos first sent someone who needed to prove himself—an amateur. He was too eager to shoot and that’s why he missed a shot that should have been easy.” My hand subconsciously reaches for my bullet wound. “It only takes a man with a little bit of patience. I have a public life as the owner of Mariya’s Revenge. If someone wants to kill me, they just need to wait for the right opportunity. And not miss their first shot.”

She sweeps back some of her hair, a shiver slipping through her. “I mean, as long as I inherit all of your money, it’s good.” She offers a nervous, half-hearted laugh.

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

She looks up at me suddenly. Her eyes are cold and her