Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) Nicole Fox (most popular novels TXT) 📖

passes the breadbasket full of warm dinner rolls. I grab one and plaster the fakest smirk I can muster on my face. I hope the bastard doesn’t think he’s impressing me.

“Would you mind telling me your name?” he says after a few silent minutes have passed.

“Annie,” I growl in between bites.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to dine with you, Annie. I’d like to learn about you. Who are you? What do you do?” Nikita pats his mouth with his napkin and then places it on his lap, patiently awaiting my answer. His whole aura exudes this powerful sense of control. Every movement, every word, down to the pitch and pronunciation, is calculated for maximum effect. He reminds me of a panther in the jungle stalking his prey—me.

I huff. Is this guy for real? I shake my head and swallow before responding. “Majoring in accounting and supposed to be graduating this June.”

His eyebrow quirks. “You’re in college?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you do for fun?” He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and takes a sip.

“What is this, twenty questions?” He raises an eyebrow and says nothing. I scowl. “Let’s see, I like to read, hike, and occasionally, I volunteer at an animal shelter.” I scoop up mashed potatoes a little too aggressively and bite down on the fork on accident. The tang of metal reverberates painfully through my teeth. “What about you?”

“You could call me an entrepreneur. I own a couple of businesses.”

“You mean you’re a criminal.”

“Most of my business is legitimate.”

“But not all of it.” I place my utensil down on the table and wait for him to answer.

Once he’s done chewing his food, he inhales and closes his eyes for a second. He picks up his glass of wine and swirls it, looking at the red liquid as if he’s trying to come up with an acceptable answer.

“I do what needs to be done to make my businesses and my family successful.”

I snort. Yup, he’s a thug. A criminal. Someone who belongs in jail.

We fall silent again. I go back to my food. The steak has got to be the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but the rolls are pillow-soft and so warm. I want to keep eating this same meal forever, over and over again. I can’t imagine ever getting sick of it. Nikita seems content to stay silent and chew slowly, thoughtfully, carefully, taking small sips of wine between bites.

After a while, he speaks up again.

“Tell me, Annie ... when was the last time you got fucked?”

The potatoes fall off my fork at the same time my jaw drops. I blink rapidly as I try to process his question. I’m honestly stunned. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. I’m taken aback and confused, and a little annoyed at the flash of heat that runs through my legs when those words come out of his mouth. I don’t like the effect he’s having on me, not one bit.

“When was the last time you got slapped in the face?” I retort.

He chuckles, seemingly satisfied with my answer. I look down at my plate to focus on something else. If the jerk thinks I’m some sort of whore who randomly sleeps with strange men, he’s dead wrong. And if he thinks I’m going to roll over and play dead, he better think again.

“Accounting, then? How are your grades?”

I take a sip of wine as I struggle to make sense of what is going on. It’s not every day that someone jumps from my sex life one moment to my grades the next. More heat crawls up my chest to my cheeks, his question still at the forefront of my thoughts. “Top of my class.”

The seconds tick by. Stars wheel overhead. Nikita finishes his meal in silence, but his gaze is constantly on me, studying me. And even though I try to finish my food, all I can seem to focus on is him. His body. His voice. And his question. No matter how hard I try, that question makes my skin tingle and every time I glance at him, my body heats up even more.

After a few more minutes of eating, with no more questions about when I last got laid, something changes in the air between us.

Nikita places his napkin on his plate and stands, then makes his way over to me. This close, I can smell his cologne, and the musk of man underneath it. His scent fills my nostrils completely, overwhelming me.

I stare at his chest, refusing to look up, refusing to acknowledge what him being this close to me is doing to my body. But he lifts my chin gently so our eyes lock. His eyes are dark, almost black, and swirling with a ferocious intelligence. The image of a black panther is even more powerful now. He stares into my soul. When he speaks, his words are quiet, whispered.

“You do understand that I own you now, Annie?”

I’m silent for a moment. But I won’t let this cocky bastard intimidate me into quitting. There’s a lot of fight left in me, even if I don’t see right now how I’m going to get myself out of this situation.

“No one can own a human,” I snap. “Not anymore.”

He continues to stare into my eyes and my pulse quickens. Without another word he releases his grip and walks away into the penthouse. The thump of his shoes against the floor stops and his baritone voice cuts through the air. “Until tomorrow night.”

Then he’s gone.

Left alone, I grab a dinner roll and shove it into my mouth, shredding it to pieces. Since I can’t take out my anger any other way, I guess being overly aggressive with a piece of bread is better than holding my feelings in. The heavy thump of footsteps alerts me to the fact I’m no longer alone and when I look up, I find my new friend. The jerk bodyguard is once again by my side. To hell with him