Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) Fox, Nicole (best chinese ebook reader .TXT) đ
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âI donât see how this scenario proves that youâre trustworthy,â I point out.
âWeâre the ones with the dock-loading businessââ
ââwhich you stole from the Irish.â
âRegardless, you need us,â he insists.
âI donât need you. I donât need anyone, Duilio.â
He smiles again and I try not to retch. I can feel his frustration with me growing, but I donât give a fuck. The Italian bastard is clearly trying to back me into a corner. Iâm not about to let that happen easily.
âMy business will make it easier for you to traffic guns,â he says, spreading his hands wide. âWithout it, you canât expand your business at all. If you want this partnership to work, I need you to prove that you arenât just going to kill us all the moment we show up with your guns.â
His excuses are thin, to say the least. But the death of one minor don might be a small price to pay to keep Duilio fat and happy.
I sigh and raise my hands in mock surrender. âOkay, Duilio. As a token of my goodwill, I can send a professional to do what you need.â
His reply is quick. Too quick. âI donât want your âprofessional.â I want you to kill him.â
And therein lies the rub.
On the inside, Iâm fuming. This greasy fuck thinks Iâll be lured into a trap this obvious? Itâd be insulting if it werenât so transparent. Blood on my hands and him with the ability to connect the dots for whoever is interested ⊠It would take a true idiot to fall for this little gambit.
And I am far from stupid.
But I donât betray any of that. All I do is shake my head. âNo, Iâm not going to do that,â I say.
Duilio doesnât seem to notice the rage brewing in my chest. He tilts his head to the side, chins wobbling, and fixes me with his watery gaze. âI was under the impression that you were quite skilled at eliminating threats. Iâd heard that you were willing to get your hands dirty for the sake of the Bratva.â
âYou should stop listening to rumors. They can cloud an old manâs judgment.â
He sneers. âI donât mean to sound critical. Itâs just that youâre more like your father than everyone thinks.â
There it is. The line has been crossed.
No one insults me like that and lives to tell about it.
In one smooth motion, I spring forward, grab a pen from the cup on the table, and jab it deep into the pulse in Duilioâs fat neck.
At the corner of my vision, I see Siro lurch forward, hand in his jacket.
I yank the pen out of his bossâ throat. Blood spurts out onto my pants as I turn and lunge at the scrawny advisor. He blocks my first thrust, but I swing my fist into his ribs and his body sags to the side. The knife he was reaching for clatters to the ground.
I stab the pen into his neck too, then drop it, putting my hands on his neck and gripping as tightly as I can. His hands grab my wrists, trying to pull me off, but blood is gushing out of his neck and his face is turning ashen.
It doesnât take long before his hands fall to his sides. His body goes limp.
I keep squeezing until Iâm certain heâs gone.
When I relax my hands, his body drops to the floor. I flex each of my fingers and shake off the stiffness. Adrenaline is coursing through my system. I want to fight, to drink, to fuck, to go to war right this second.
But I force myself to take one deep breath and regain control.
âIâll call the clean-up crew,â Ilya says quietly. I turn around to look at him. His facial features are smooth, but thereâs a tension to his stance thatâs hard to ignore.
âYou donât approve?â I ask. His expression doesnât change. âSpeak openly, Ilya. This is not a time for discretion.â
âI donât believe it was the smartest decision,â he says, the words coming out slowlyâa careful man with careful words. âWhen you killed off Duilioâs soldiers in the beginning, it was dangerous. We all knew that, but as you foresaw, it was necessary. But this is the don. This could lead to a war with his family. He has a son and if his son rises to replace his father, he will want to prove his ability to lead by avenging the men you just slaughtered.â
âThey were already planning to kill me.â I wipe blood off my hands. âThatâs why they were so adamant that I personally murder Gio Calvino. They wanted to kill me or entrap me. Either way, they had no interest in being allies. Weâll just have to wait to see how Duilioâs son reacts to the murderâif he cares about power and staying alive, he wonât test the Bratva. But if he is a fool, then he will end up like them.â I point to the bodies on the ground. âBleeding like stuck pigs.â
Ilya nods once. âUnderstood.â
âGood. Call the crew. I have to change.â
I take off my tie and head toward my office gym.
* * *
âMr. Alekseiev, welcome back. And Mr. Sevostyanov, always a pleasure.â
The doorman bows his head as Ilya and I step back into the hotel. The floor still vibrates from the music coming from the ballroom, but by this time of the night, there are more than a few empty parking spots out front. When I step back into the ballroom, there are only a few stragglers left, each in the later stages of intoxication.
Ilyaâs wife, Sophie, bounces over toward us. She is an ethereal beauty. Her blonde hair is so pale, it borders on silver. Every one of her features is delicate. I spotted her at one of our nightclubsâa shy little thing, dragged along by her friendsâand was intrigued.
But when Ilya saw her, it was like heâd been struck by lightning.
He still looks at
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