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

“You talked to him already?” Oh God. I have to know what happened so I can figure out how to undo what she’s done. “What did he say?”

“He bent to my will. Some big shot you work for.” Again, her ego is in overdrive. “I gave him three weeks to bring Lila home.”

My heart drops another notch lower. I think it’s doing backflips in my pelvis at this point.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I say in horror.

I know exactly what she’s done: she’s blackmailed the leader of the largest organized crime operation in California. “This isn’t an 007 movie, Mom. There’s no secret agent hero who’s going to come in and save our lives when Kostya decides you’ve crossed a line and someone has to be punished.”

I don’t even want to think about what that punishment looks like. I can’t stand the thought of what these kinds of thugs would do to my mother.

But somehow, no matter what I say, she is still too giddy to realize what she’s done.

“He’s going to bring back Lila. That’s all that matters.”

Breathing matters. Not being buried alive matters. Not having her lips sewn shut while someone chops off my appendages matters. I don’t know that these things will happen, but if anything in TV Land is true, these are reasonably likely scenarios for families who blackmail the mob.

“I have to call Kostya.” I have to … undo this, and I don’t wait for a goodbye before I hang up and dial his number.

My toe taps against the chair as Tiana crashes her Barbie car into the side of the dream house. I slide from my chair to the floor next to her and still her hands. Maybe she can sense my need for mayhem and that’s why she’s playing so aggressively, but I have to make this call, and I need as few distractions as I can get.

His voice mail answers, which is probably a good thing, since I have no idea what to say to him or how I would hold up under his questioning, which I imagine will be intense.

“Kostya, it’s Charlotte. I’m so sorry about my mother. She … she just wants my sister home. It’s been …” Aaand now I’m giving him excuses. I sound pathetic, even to my own ears. “Anyway, she won’t go to the police. She doesn’t have any proof anyway …”

I sniff because the tears are rolling down my cheeks and Tiana has turned to stare at me. Oh God. Now I’m traumatizing his child. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you and Tiana safe. You have my word.” Not that it’s worth much these days. “Please call me back so we can talk.”

Then the absurdity of the moment strikes me. A woman in a normal relationship shouldn’t ever have to worry that the man she’s sleeping with will turn her mother into shark food. But I am worried, and I don’t know whether to blame Kostya for what he is or my mother for what she’s done.

Nor do I have time to figure it out because Tiana needs a bath and her bedtime routine. After everything she’s already lost and the fact I don’t know how this is going to turn out, I want to give her all the consistency I can. For as long as I can.

I have to hope that’s worth something to Kostya. If not, Mom might not be the only one he sends swimming with the fishes.

By the time I have her down and snuggled into her bed with Foo Foo, I’m exhausted.

Instead of going to my room and crawling into my own bed, I can’t move. I sit in the rocking chair beside her bed and doze in and out until a soft rustling of her blankets wakes me.

I open my eyes and see Kostya standing beside his daughter, adjusting her blankets then leaning over to kiss her cheek. It would be an endearing picture if I wasn’t so busy wondering what kept him out so late. Was he dealing with my mother? Arranging a hit? Digging her grave?

He nods a silent hello. I swallow hard because there’s no smile when he nods, no indication that he remembers I’m a woman he slept with or acted like he cared for. That feels like lifetimes ago.

“Can I make you some dinner?” he rumbles.

I don’t even know how to respond to that. Of all the questions I’ve been bracing myself to receive, an offer of food is not even in the top fifty.

“Dinner? It’s after two in the morning.”

“Yes. Dinner.” His tie is askew, he smells like alcohol, and he needs a shave, but Kostya is still the most elegant man I’ve ever seen.

He turns and leaves before I can say anything else. As I follow him from the room and down the hall, I watch him walk, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, the way the material clings to his muscular thighs, the taper from his shoulders to his waist.

My sex stirs. My fingers itch to touch him. My body aches to have him inside me.

While my hormones forget everything that’s happened today, my brain screams at me to stop lusting after him. This can’t go anywhere now. He’ll never believe I didn’t feed Mom information. I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe me either.

Too soon, we’re in the kitchen. “Sit,” he tells me. He points at a barstool at the island counter. I obey nervously, perching on the edge of the stool and drumming on the marble countertop with my fingernails.

He busies himself in the refrigerator, plucking out various items and tossing them next to the sink. I see bread, tomato, sliced ham, cheese, avocado.

“Sandwiches?” I ask. I need something to fill the silence. The thoughts screaming inside my head are worse than anything he could possibly say.

But all he says in response is, “Sandwiches.”

“Nice grunting back and