Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) Nicole Fox (year 7 reading list .txt) 📖

All through dinner, Erik managed to keep his calm, but I could see the cord of impatience running through him, the tightening of his jaws, his white-knuckled fist as he clutched the silverware.

Would Erik hurt Rob? Surely not. He wouldn’t cross that line. But I’m terrified to discover I can’t be sure. He’s a criminal, after all.

And not just any criminal.

He’s a kingpin.

“It sounds like he keeps you busy,” Mom says, but I barely hear her.

“That’s the way I like it,” I hear myself say.

In my mind, I hear Rob: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, shit, please, please—” And Erik will bring the knife to his throat and …

My leg taps under the table; fight or flight. Run. Go. Chase after them. Stop him before he kills your brother.

But I can’t alarm Mom. So I stay in my seat and panic.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Mom says, drawing me back to the present.

She eyes me in that all-seeing way she has had ever since I was a girl. I was never able to hide much from her, or maybe I just didn’t want to. It pains me that I have to keep a whole host of secrets now.

“Are you?” she goes on. “Happy here, Camille?”

I plaster a smile to my face. “Of course I am. And the money, Mom, it’s—”

“Life isn’t all about money, dear.”

I almost snort a laugh.

I could lay out the costs of her medical bills, but that would be unfair. But right now life is definitely all about money.

But is that all, really?

Or am I just giving myself an excuse to stay with Erik?

“Well?” she prompts.

“I’m doing great. You’re doing great. That’s all I care about.”

“Hmm-mm,” she murmurs. Her eyes swivel to the door. “I wonder what those two are up to. Money, he said. Do you think he’s offering Rob a job?”

I shrug as casually as I can, mind overflowing like a busted fountain. I see Rob dangling from the ceiling as Erik works him over like a punching bag.

My foot taps uncontrollably under the table.

“Did I tell you Cecilia is engaged?” Cecilia is one of her friends from the MS support group.

“That’s wonderful news,” I say, my voice a phantom. I force myself to turn to her, not wanting to make her suspicious. “Now it’s your turn,” I tease lightly. “We need to find you a dashing bachelor.”

“Forget dashing,” she giggles. “I’d prefer hunky. A nice chunk of meat to toy around with.”

“Mom!” I cry, laughing.

“What?” she demands. “A woman must have her vices.”

“What would your dream boy say to being objectified like that?”

“Oh, in my fantasies, he doesn’t say much, so that’s not a problem.”

I grip the table, grinning. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

We laugh—mine only slightly forced—and then the door opens and Erik walks in, alone.

My stomach drops.

“Where’s Rob?” I ask.

“He needed to use the bathroom,” he replies, seating himself slowly.

Sitting there in his expensive suit, his tattooed hand reaching for his wineglass, he looks the very picture of a criminal who has just executed a troublemaker.

Is ‘going to the bathroom’ one of those nasty euphemisms? Like telling a little kid that their dead dog ‘went to a farm upstate’?

Erik’s face betrays nothing.

But a minute later, Rob enters with a cheesy smile on his face, far more upbeat than I’ve seen him in a long time. He rubs his hands together as he drops into his seat.

“So, coffee?”

For the rest of the evening, I watch Erik closely, fighting the instinct rising within me. He is handsome, I reflect for the umpteenth time, and gracious. This dinner has brought out a whole new side of him, one I never guessed at. He’s bossy in the extreme, it’s true, but this Erik is somebody I can see myself building a life with …

I push the urge down, but it refuses to lie quietly. The bloody images in my mind are replaced with a picture of me and Erik at a gala or something, Erik courteously serving Mom a glass of orange juice, me standing at his side in some outlandish dress as his lady.

I curse myself for letting myself get all romantic-comedy about it. I have to remember who he is and how this started. But as he leans over the table to share a joke with Mom, I find that impression of him slipping away, getting harder and harder to reconcile with the gentleman seated at the table with me.

Later, once Mom and Rob have left, I ask him: “What did you and Rob talk about?”

His intense eyes flicker, but then he just smiles.

“What else?” he says. “Money.”

“C’mon,” I insist, “you can’t get off that easy.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I offered him a job, coordinating certain shipments for me.”

I sit back in shock. “A … job?”

“That is what I said, yes. Work in exchange for payment. Employment. Occupation. Vocation. Shall I continue?”

I’m too dazed to even take the bait of his gentle poke at me. “That’s … that’s very nice of you,” I say.

“I needed someone with his particular skill set. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he replies nonchalantly, as if we don’t both know that Rob is a Grade-A fuck-up if ever there were one.

“Well, thank you,” I say hesitantly. “I’m sure my mom and Rob will be thrilled.” I still don’t understand, but maybe I never will. Every time I peel back a layer of Erik, I find a new enigma hidden beneath.

Who is this man?

“So let’s posit,” the professor says, pacing up and down the classroom, “that a patient’s electrocardiogram reveals atrial fibrillation, right ventricular hypertrophy, and right axis deviation. What might the differential diagnosis in this case be … Camille?”

I bite down, caught off guard.

My head is far too full of Erik right now. I need to focus. The funny thing is, I know I know the answer, yet it is just out of my reach. I root around my mind,