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

of the aisle. The man is gone. I glance back at Ally. I could find the man quickly, but with Ally, I’d need to ensure we were both protected, which would make me too slow. I’ll have to let him go.

I return to her, putting my arm around her waist. I pull her away from the cart. She tries to reach out toward it, but I stop her.

“Forget the cart,” I say. “We need to go.”

“Tell me what that word means,” she says. She tries to drag her feet, which isn’t very successful but is incredibly annoying.

“It means ‘the watcher,’” I tell her. I direct her to the end of the corner, check east and west, and proceed around the corner. The doors are within sight.

“And?” she prompts.

“It’s an old custom. It means that a target is under surveillance. In the old days, it was an honor tradition—forewarn your enemy, so they have a chance to defend themselves. Over time, especially with the Colosimos, it turned into a threat.”

“A threat?” she echoes.

“Marco Colosimo is telling me that he can come after you or me even though I have full knowledge of the fact that he’s watching us. He’s telling me I can’t do anything about it.”

“But he didn’t just kill me.”

“He’s playing mind games. I’m certain he came up with that whole scenario. He’s telling me that he can get that close to you—close enough to stab you—and there’s nothing I can do. Son of a fucking bitch.”

I guide her back to the car and put her in the passenger side before checking around me. I know it was likely only a threat—a taunt—but Marco is smarter than I originally thought. And it would be incredibly clever to give me less than five minutes to prepare for an attack.

He knows it would haunt me to have Ally so close and lose her.

Worthless Mafia fuck.

I get into the driver’s side, locking the doors. The drive is silent as we return to the mansion.

“So, the Colosimos know about us.”

“After the gala, everyone likely knows.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t consider them a threat when this started. His father is dead. Marco shouldn’t have ascended this quickly. The Mafia shouldn’t have trusted him enough for him to make all these brash decisions. They must have already been preparing for him to take over.”

“And he’ll hurt me?” she asks.

I take a deep breath. It would be a huge risk for Marco to go after the chief’s daughter, but then again, it was a huge risk for him to go after the Bratva, and yet here he is. Threatening me. Threatening my woman.

Before I can answer, she slides over the center console. She sits on my lap, her legs on either side of my legs. Even in mortal danger, my cock is pleasantly surprised.

“I don’t think so,” she says to me. She bounces twice on my lap. “I know you. I know you wouldn’t let that to happen.”

I know she’s trying to distract me, for both our sakes. I know there are at least four calls I need to make to ensure the Colosimos don’t leave my life in ruins. But as her lips press against mine, all of the sirens in my mind quiet. All I sense is the sound of her shirt buttons hitting against the center console, her breath in my ear, and desperation concealed like a gun.

Ready to fire.

Sex while sober isn’t something I do.

It isn’t alcoholism, or some vague notion that sex is something I need to suffer through. Alcohol just makes the storm in my head manageable and makes me hate whoever is underneath me a little less.

But Ally on top of me is like taking MDMA and Coke while driving a Mustang down an open road with no speed limit.

Reckless. Wild. Fucking irresistible.

She rests her head against my chest as she wiggles out of her silk underwear. Her pussy bumps against my erection as she squirms above me, and I grip onto her arms to help her lift each of her legs and kick off the underwear.

She fumbles with my belt. As I raise myself up, she pulls my pants and boxer briefs down, rocking herself back and forth as she tries to slide them past her legs and down to my knees.

When she continues to try to get my pants lower, I pull the seat lever. The backrest of the seat jerks backward and she falls onto me. She lifts herself up onto her hands, looking down at me with a smirk. I grab her wrists. With the weight of her upper body in my grasp, I slowly lower her arms above my head. Her body presses up against mine, her lips nearly pressing against my lips.

I close the distance between us. The kisses act like liquor shots, each one getting more reckless. As our kissing becomes more frantic, my hands move to the back of her thighs, right under her ass. I pull her forward, so the tip of my cock is pressing against her entrance.

She reaches down, her small hands guiding my cock into her. Even with how wet she is, there’s resistance. I’ve taken her quickly both times before, but with her on top, she eases her way down with a pace I’d never tolerate with anyone else.

It’s slow, painstaking, damn near agonizing.

But when I’m buried in her, she looks at me. There’s the softest vulnerability in her face.

I love it—because it’s mine.

And I hate it, because—like all things I’ve ever loved—it will one day break.

Her hands pressed against my shoulders, she slowly lifts herself up and down an inch, acquainting herself with my size. The soft patter of her fingertips keeps moving across my shoulders and the front of my chest. Her lips are slightly curved in an uncertain smile.

In someone else, the nervousness would be a sign of weak character, but with Ally, I’d let her self-consciously lead me through a battlefield if it’s what she wanted. I’d let