Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) by Nicole Fox (best romantic novels in english .txt) 📗

“No job.”

He ticks one off.

“No freedom.”

Another goes down and then he aims his forefinger at me.

“And no care for your poor sick mother. How does that sound?”

I pause outside Erik’s study, listening to the sound of typing keys and working out what I’m going to say, what I want to say.

I know I can’t back out of the deal and yet … It’s like waking up from a dream and taking a cold shower, the reality of the situation crashing over me.

“Yes?” he calls at my knock, his voice far stiffer than it’s been these past few days.

He’s sitting stiffly too, bolt upright in his chair with his intense eyes moving over me. But not in lust now, or affection, or whatever the hell was happening between us before. It’s more like the way McCauley looks at me—searching for slipups.

“We need to talk,” I say, hands instinctively moving over my belly.

“About?” he asks curtly.

“About your work,” I mutter. “What exactly does a Bratva boss do? I’ve tried to ignore it, Erik, but I just can’t … It’s just so fucking crazy. And now with the baby—”

I cut off, tears stinging my eyes. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.

Erik stands up and walks over to me smoothly, once again dressed in his pristine suit. It’s like he’s put on armor to protect against our growing bond. I think he’s going to embrace me, but instead he reaches inside the suit jacket and takes out some tissues.

I grab them, our hands brushing.

“Thanks,” I whisper, dabbing at my cheeks.

“What I do is necessary to keep worse men at bay, Camille,” he says quietly. “There are men in this city that would see it brought to its knees. Child prostitution, selling drugs outside rehab centers, protection rackets on good, solid people who do not deserve to have their lives interfered with.”

I am nodding, I realize, though my body suddenly feels cold and clammy. I’m caught between wanting to accept it all and shove it somewhere deep where it can’t bother me again, and knowing it’s wrong. All my life I’ve done the right thing. What the hell am I even doing here?

“And the murders?”

I glance up at him. He’s towering over me, face unreadable.

“Self-defense,” he says without feeling. He moves close, wrapping his arms around me. But there is no emotion in the embrace. It’s more like he’s trapping me. “Why are you asking me this, Camille? Why now?”

“I feel sick,” I whisper honestly.

My belly is churning as viciously as my mind.

“Camille.” He puts me at arm’s length. “Did you speak with the detective again?”

I shake my head, stunned at how easily the lie comes. “No,” I tell him. “I learned my lesson last time.”

17

Erik

I look up at her apartment as that unwanted guilt moves through me.

What would Camille say if she knew I was here?

I rub at my shoulder, the wound feeling tight and hot flares of pain moving through it. It is like a reminder of the man I was when I received it, the man who put down a traitor who had served me for years because he forgot his place.

She switches her light on and off twice, a sign that she’s ready for me to come up.

I sit back in the car and dial Anatoly.

“Do you have him?” I ask.

“Two of the boys are picking up him. Ah, wait a second … Say that again.” His voice quietens and then he returns to the phone. “We have him now. Would you like me to handle it?”

I repress a sigh, thinking of Timur, another man who was loyal for years. But a loyal man would not go to Radovan’s mother’s house to see if I had visited before his death. Nor would he visit Alena’s family to inquire about our relationship. He is trying to find out if I killed them in a jealous rage, trying to lay the bricks of my downfall.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “Find out what he knows and then …”

I do not need to say the rest.

I hang up the phone and climb from the car, twisting my shoulder. I could take medication, but I welcome the pain. I have allowed myself to get too sentimental, almost weak.

I have allowed myself to become like my father.

I will not make that mistake again, especially when I am sure Camille lied to my fucking face.

I replay the scene in my mind as I ride the elevator. Perhaps before I would not have been able to detect it, but there was a hesitation before she answered me. I need to know what she is doing when I’m not around.

I knock on the door, the guilt gone now, the pain vanished.

Bethany pulls it open just enough to poke her head around the edge.

“I thought you were gonna sit out there all night,” she says. She opens the door the rest of the way. “Come in. Do you want something to drink, to eat? I don’t have much, I’m afraid. I could rustle something up. I might have a beer around here somewhere.”

She’s blabbering, nervous. Good.

“No.” I drop onto her couch, lay my forearms on my knees, and lean forward. “Sit.”

She looks anywhere but in my eyes.

“You have not told Camille about our arrangement, I hope,” I say.

“No!” she cries. “It’s just … I was actually starting to like her, you know?”

I shrug.

“You have a job. Your feelings don’t matter.”

“Wow, thanks,” she giggles shakily. “I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.”

I press my hands together.

This woman should have been reprimanded the day those thugs attacked Camille in the parking lot. What is the purpose of hiring an informant who moonlights as a self-defense instructor if she cannot even defend the target?

“I need an update about Camille,” I tell her. “Has she mentioned speaking with the police?”

“The police?” She bites her lip. She’s hiding something, I sense. “No, she hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Are you playing games with me?”

“No!” she snaps. “I swear to God she hasn’t said a thing.”

“But