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

“Oh, you got me, Lev,” A sneer on his face, he puts his fist over his heart. “That’s exactly how to break my heart. Keep talking about my father. I’d love to hear your psychoanalysis.”

“You’re far more interesting. Any shrink would wonder how a man as impressive as Duilio could raise someone as weak-minded as you,” I say. “It’s just sad that after so many generations, the Colosimos will wither and die this way. You were worthwhile enemies—for a time. But you will never live up to what your father did because your father wasn’t overwhelmed by emotions. Your father would never throw away the Mafia’s legacy—not even to avenge you if you’d been killed.”

“You’re projecting,” Marco interjects, taking a step forward. “Everyone knows your father couldn’t give two shits about his family. You think when he was beating your mama, she wondered where you were? You think she thought you knew about it and never came to save her?”

I shrug. “They’re both rotting in the ground. You’re the one concerned about the dead. On the subject of rotting corpses, I’m most shocked that you took over for your father. We both know he didn’t want you to be the don.”

His jaw clenches. He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a cough. “My father had full faith in me. There was nothing he wanted more than for me to take over for him.”

“He didn’t think you had what it took to become the don,” I say. “He thought you lacked self-discipline.”

“You’re full of shit,” Marco says, a slight edge slipping out in his last word.

“You think I’m pulling some mind game, but I know this because your father sold you out to convince me that we were close allies.” I smile at him. “He told me that he knew you lacked self-discipline because you pissed the bed until you were ten.”

Marco’s face turns bright red. He charges up to me, our faces less than two inches apart.

“My father terrorized me,” he says, spittle hitting my face. “That’s the only reason I had any problems. He—”

I slam my head into Marco’s. Marco lurches back, clinging the bridge of his nose. Blood trickles down, skipping past his chin to his shirt.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts. “Fucking motherfucker.”

He rushes at me. His fist swings. The pain erupts. My legs buckle.

Before I fall, his other fist swings up. It collides with my jaw, my teeth slamming together. Adrenaline floods my system, blunting the pain. His fist comes at me again. I shift my head enough that it brushes against my jaw before hitting against the support beam. He makes a primal noise, taking two steps back.

When he kicks me, I know it’s coming, but he keeps kicking, gripping the support beam for stability. His foot jabs against my chest. I let my body slide forward the slightest bit. He hits my ribs. I move my leg down until it’s between his legs, letting him think the pain is crippling me.

It would be, but I focus on the memory of Ally’s face.

He hits my ribs again. As he raises his other foot again, I yank my leg back and stomp at his ankle. He stumbles, catching himself on the beam and pushing back, limping slightly.

He stares at me, his chest heaving. He’s a rabid animal. There’s nothing in his eyes but violence.

“We’re going to settle this,” he spits out. “And by the end of it, you’re going to regret every word that came out of your fucking mouth.”

He moves behind me. If he breaks one of my arms, I’m fucked.

Something small is pressed into the palm of my hand.

“Unlock the cuffs,” he says. I maneuver the key, getting it into the keyhole. The cuffs pop open. I bring my hands in front of me. My wrists have cuts in them from trying to break the cuffs.

Marco raises his fists, squaring off. I stand up slowly, testing the damage to my body. I drop the key on the floor.

I raise my fists, too.

* * *

My father used to tell me that pain was negotiable. He meant that anyone could handle pain if they weren’t soft, toughened by perseverance through previous pain, but I’m willing to negotiate now. I tell the pain to keep at bay now and I’ll let it conquer me after Ally is safe. I tell it that I’ll let it rip me to pieces—tomorrow. I’ll let it kill me—but later. Not now. Not yet.

Marco circles closer toward me. He wants me to move, to see where my weaknesses are. Just from his small stature, I know he’s going to be faster than me. There’s no point in trying to get around that, so there’s little point in moving first.

I lower my hands. He charges forward, swinging his fist. I block it with my forearm, grabbing onto the arm with my other hand. I yank him forward, jabbing him in the throat. When he bends over to gasp for breath, I thrust my knee into his face. His head snaps back with a guttural yell. I grab him by his hair, yanking his head down. I slam my fist down into the side of his head. He collapses onto the floor, his face stained red.

“Tell me where Ally is,” I say. He spits blood out. As he starts to stand back up, I stomp down between his shoulder blades. He falls onto his chest, his chin hitting against the floor. I grit my teeth together, rubbing my ribs where he kicked me, trying to ignore the pain that is demanding my attention in spite of my bargaining.

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

I slam my foot down again. He rolls out of the way and twists back around to grab my leg, becoming an anchor. I strike the side of his head as he tries to get up, but it only gives him an opening. He hits me in the ribs, the same place he kicked