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

“Lev.” Marco walks straight over to me as Letitia leaves, closing the door behind her. I stare at him, but I don’t take his hand when he raises it.

“You could have told Letitia who you are,” I say. He drops his hand. “It wouldn’t have changed the outcome. She wouldn’t have let you in without my permission even if you said you were Hitler or Jesus.”

“Yes, but we all like to play pretend here, don’t we?” he asks. He takes the chair in front of my desk without asking. “Or is it true love for you and Miss Harrington?”

A bait and switch—I can either agree with him, proving to him that he’s figured out my con, or admit that Ally and I have more going on than that.

“You know how true love is,” I say. “An eternal vow until the next woman opens her legs.”

He smirks. “Wow. It hurt you to even say that, didn’t it? She is a beautiful woman. I don’t blame you. Good connections, too. It’s almost in her blood.”

“It’s a fraud, Marco. You should be smart enough to figure out why I’m doing it.”

“I considered that,” he says. “Which is why I chose to leave my note in a public place. I heard that you were very protective when the two of you left the grocery store. It may be a fraud, but you wouldn’t be the first man to fall for a prostitute.”

I lurch forward, my hand on his throat before I can stop myself. My thumb presses against the soft flesh as his hand clenches around my wrist, fear flickering in his eyes like hazard lights.

Through the glass, I see Letitia turning away. I let my hand relax and let my arm fall back to my side.

Marco rubs his throat. “So. Not just a hooker to you.”

“Watch yourself, Marco,” I say. “I pay Letitia well enough that she will have no problem claiming that you attacked me and I killed you in self-defense.”

“Sure,” he says. “She could claim that. But how do you think the police investigation will go? Only an Alekseiev would be ignorant enough to think that fucking the chief’s daughter wouldn’t lead to the chief despising him. You Bratva fools will never understand family loyalty. You’re too far up your own asses.”

“Did you come here to just toss around schoolyard insults?” I ask. “Because while you scrounge around for cash, I make more money in an hour than you’ll see in a week.”

His lip curls up in a sneer. “Yes, well, all that difference in income and we’re still both in this office, aren’t we? I just wanted to remind you that dating the chief of police will only give you minor protection from the boys in blue. It won’t protect you from my men.”

“I have my own soldiers for that.” I lean against my desk. “But when I stuck your father and Vozzella like the pigs they are, I barely broke a sweat. So if your men want to die, send them right over.”

Marco thrusts out of the chair, his fists clenched. He’s nearly shaking with anger. My jaw is clenched, but I keep my expression as neutral as possible.

“I suggest you leave,” I say. “I’ll tell Letitia to give you a parking voucher.”

“Don’t bother.”

He storms out, fury following each of his steps like a trail of blood. I sit down at my desk, snapping open my laptop. I open the folder Letitia gave me, scanning over her notes.

I call Hammond. I tell him to hire Quality Boulevard to see what they’ll come up with.

I call Cooper. I tell him we’re not going to make an app.

I call Gardner. I tell him to mind his own fucking business.

I call Ilya. He tells me that the soldiers report that nothing has occurred at Ally’s apartment.

I pace in my office. There are so many broken pieces that I’m holding, something is bound to cut me. I don’t know what I’m willing to lose. I’ve never been forced into a position where I might have to give up something—at least not since the day I left my house, leaving my mother to fend for herself.

I sit back down in my chair. My phone beeps.

Ilya: 5*4 31 6

I don’t need Russia: From Slavic Tribes to Potential Superpower to translate the text. 5*4 means 54, the code for one of our weapons storehouses. Ilya would only be alerting me if it had been ransacked. There aren’t enough words in the message for him to be reporting any fatalities, which should be good news, but it also likely means no one was there to stop the thieves from taking everything.

I grab my phone and jacket and leave my office, telling Letitia to tell anyone who calls that I had a personal emergency.

As I get into my car, adrenaline is ripping through my brain like bullets. This is Marco letting his emotions get the best of him. He must have paid someone a lot of money to find out where one of our warehouses was. He can’t afford to make those types of payments, but he’s willing to implode his own syndicate to go after mine.

Emotions will lay waste to even the richest of empires.

I try to keep my cool while I drive, but even passing by police cars, it’s difficult to not slam on the gas. As I pass the police station—the flag hanging at half-staff—my phone rings. I glance at it.

Petrov.

He’s a promising soldier, willing to die to prove his worth. But there’s no reason he would be contacting me instead of Ilya unless it was an emergency.

“What?” I answer.

“Boss, a Colosimo tried to get into Miss Harrington’s apartment. He’s dead, but Mr. Sevostyanov wanted us to call you.”

“Stay there,” I order. “Deal with anybody who looks suspicious. Send someone to do a sweep.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up. Marco’s attack may have been a reaction driven by emotion, but he’s