Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) Fox, Nicole (best chinese ebook reader .TXT) đ
Book online «Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) Fox, Nicole (best chinese ebook reader .TXT) đ». Author Fox, Nicole
âYes.â Ilya glances over at Lev. He must see the same stiffened demeanor as I do. He mutters something to Levâit sounds Russian and apologetic. Lev must have heard him, but he doesnât acknowledge the comment.
I canât decode their relationship. Lev is Ilyaâs boss, so Ilya would be Levâs subordinate, but here they are, eating together while joking about something personal and Ilya knows about Levâs âfuture wifeâ without any questions about where Iâve been this whole time or applauding our engagement or anything normal like that.
Yet, Ilya still seems more than subordinate. He seems subservient.
âI didnât mean to pry about your heritage,â I say. âIâm sorry about that. Lev is just weird about it because of something I said earlier. I accused him of being influenced by the Bratva.â
Ilyaâs eyebrows briefly shoot up, but he laughs and relaxes again.
âThe Bratva? Iâm certain Lev could lead them quite well,â Ilya says. He reaches forward, touching my hand, before quickly pulling back. âMiss Harrington, I didnât mean to make you feel like you needed to be apologetic. You donât need to feel sorry around me. I can take care of myself.â
His tone is bordering on pleading. Heâs not only subservient to Lev. Heâs subservient to me, too.
Why?
I clear my throat. âSo, how did you get here through the rain? Itâs coming down pretty hard.â
âThe flooding isnât quite as bad as it was,â he says. âBut I also have a Raptor that Lev bought me, so Iâm not worried about it. If youâre worried about the rain, I could take you home if youâd like. Itâs safer in my vehicle than yours.â
I glance at Lev in question. His jaw is clenched and thereâs a flicker of disapproval and possessiveness across his face. Iâd be a liar if I said I didnât like it.
I look back at Ilya. âIâd appreciate it so much if youâd do that.â
* * *
The wipers slice across the windshield, but itâs like bailing a boat with a hole in the bucket. The road looks like a river, too, but Ilya seems unperturbed. He might as well be in a car wash.
âHave you worked for Lev for a long time?â I ask, fiddling with my sweatpantsâ drawstrings. When Lev retrieved my clothes for me, they were still warm. He told me to return the next day. It wasnât a request. That level of arrogance always gets under my skin, but somehow the friction is also addictive.
âAbout five years,â he says. âBut Iâve known him longer.â
âHow did you two meet?â
âWe had some friends in common,â he says. His tone isnât harsh, but thereâs a tension in the arm thatâs gripping the steering wheel.
I stare out the window, pretending to be lost in thought. I wait until his arm relaxes.
âYou two are close.â
âYes,â he says.
âSo, what crime did he commit?â
He chuckles. âYouâre a rather peculiar choice. I always thought Lev preferred the ones who stood still and looked pretty. Heâs always found talkative people annoying.â
âThatâs good to know,â I say. âNow I know how to annoy him.â
âI wouldnât advise that,â Ilya warns. âWhy do you want to know what crime he may or may not have committed?â
âI donât trust him.â
âMiss Harrington, if you donât trust him, then you donât trust me,â he says, his tone turning serious. He looks over at me, sending my heartrate racing since heâs not looking at the road. âAnd if thatâs true, thereâs no point in me telling you anything.â
âOkay,â I say quickly, nodding toward the road. He turns back, his body relaxing again.
âYou said the apartment building next to Sylvesterâs Liquor, right?â he asks.
I nod. I could have lived in a better complex. My father offered to pay for a better place. He showed me crime statistics. He showed me photos of crimes that have happened in the area. But it was the place Julia decided on, I could afford it on the money Iâd earned as a tutor, and I didnât want to start my independent life depending on my fatherâs money. So, now Sylvester is my neighbor on one side. The other side is a vacant warehouse, occupied mostly by rats.
Ilya pulls into the driveway. Itâs a bumpy experience as itâs impossible to miss all of the potholes, especially now that theyâre harder to see in the downpour. He drives past the decrepit cars, two of which are missing their tires. The last one in the row has a smashed window. The broken glass floats in a murky puddle beside it.
âDoes Lev know that you live here?â Ilya asks.
âI wouldnât be surprised if he knew exactly what room I sleep in, where I pee, and what I eat every morning.â
Ilya snorts. âThatâs likely true.â
He parks in front of the building. The front door is only a few feet away, but the sheets of rain crashing down arenât inviting.
âIâm sorry, I donât have an umbrella,â Ilya says.
âItâs fine.â I jerk open the door. Rain starts whipping into the truck. âThanks for the ride, Ilya.â
I step into a puddle, soaking my sneakers and socks, but I donât stop running until Iâm in the building.
Once inside, I bound up the stairs, skipping steps. I nearly run into Mrs. Gillium, a widow in her seventies who is, allegedly, a prostitute. When I get to my apartment, I scramble to unlock the door and lock myself inside.
I stand motionless for several seconds, absorbing the silence of the place, before quickly shucking my soaked clothes and changing into something dry.
I look around my room. Now what? Home feels weird after Levâs mansion. What was once cozy is now weirdly confining. Everything looks shabby, second-handâmostly because thatâs exactly what it is, but it never bothered me before. I like my stuff. Or at least, I used to.
Flopping into bed, I open my constitutional law book. I try to focus on the words, but my brain is in shambles. Itâs like driving through that mess of a parking lot outside my building, but instead of hitting
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