Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) Fox, Nicole (best chinese ebook reader .TXT) 📖

After the first ten minutes, she talks less and less. She becomes quiet except for the sound of her breathing. I could stay on the phone and listen to it for another few minutes, but I know that would be irrational.

“Good night, Allison,” I whisper.

“Good night, Lev.”

I end the call and sit there for a moment. I rub my face, trying to pull my thoughts away from Allison. Sitting there, it feels like I’m in the depths of an illness. I’m not myself. I shouldn’t have cared whether or not she was tired. I shouldn’t have called her at all. Tenderness is a virus and being around her has infected me.

I massage my shoulder. I need to redirect my focus to my work. Fear is the father of love and there’s no fear when I focus on my company. Not only am I certain in its longevity, but I’m also certain that even if the end comes, I’ll see it coming from miles away.

I can’t say the same about people.

12

Allison

Irina answers the door when I arrive at Lev’s house.

“Welcome, Miss Harrington,” she gestures inside. She’s holding an ibuprofen bottle. She catches me looking at it. “Mr. Alekseiev is being stubborn. Maybe you could convince him to take some medication?”

She offers the bottle to me. I take it. “Did he hurt himself?”

“No, not exactly,” she says, picking up a rag and dusting spray off the floor. “It’s not my place to say anything. Mr. Alekseiev is in the den. It was nice to see you again, Miss Harrington.”

She sprays the handrail of the spiral staircase before wiping it down. I pass her and head into the den.

I’ve found myself discovering new parts of Lev—his criminal connections, his concealed kindness, his body—but I’m not expecting to find him in his den, lying on the couch with his clothes rumpled, his arm covering his eyes, and the strong scent of alcohol lingering on him.

Irina’s evasiveness makes a lot more sense to me now.

“Do you need some ibuprofen?” I ask.

He shifts his arm. “No. You’re early.”

“No, I’m not,” I say. “It’s nearly 4:00.”

He grabs his phone, the screen lighting up his face. “Shit.”

I set the ibuprofen on the end table. “It’s not the best time to start indulging in any addictions.”

“It has nothing to do with addiction. It’s a migraine.” He sets his phone down. “Everything will be fine.”

I sit down on the couch’s armrest. It’s strange to feel comfortable in my blackmailer’s house, but that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m at home.

Lev sits up, rolling his neck, and winces. “We need to talk about the gala.”

“I think we’ve quizzed each other enough. Unless you’re ready to confess more.”

“It’s not about quizzing each other. It’s about the engagement.”

That part always slips my mind. All this time it’s felt like we’re preparing for some adult version of the prom. The bad parts are easy to forget.

“We’re going to announce our engagement the morning after the gala,” he says.

“Why wouldn’t we do it at the gala?”

“Less risk,” he says. “We’ll pretend that I proposed the night of the gala after a very romantic night together.”

The doorbell rings. Lev barely glances in the direction of the door before he closes his eyes again, rubbing his temples.

“Is that Ilya?” I ask.

“Close,” he says. “Did you want to see Ilya?”

There’s an edge in his voice I haven’t heard before. I don’t see him as a jealous type, but I can’t figure out what other emotion it could be.

“No, I just haven’t seen anyone else visit.”

A woman enters the room, carrying a large bag over her shoulder. She’s almost fairy-like in her beauty. Her blonde hair flows down her head like sunlight, her skin is flawless, and everything about her is the definition of dainty.

She’s gorgeous and I hate her for being in Lev’s den right now.

Lev gestures to her. “Allison, this is Sophie. She’s Ilya’s wife. She’s going to help you get ready for the gala.”

“Oh, Ilya’s wife. Great.” I hold out my hand, hoping she can’t see my embarrassed blush, and she shakes it. Her hand feels incredibly fragile. “Thank you so much. I’m not great at makeup or anything like that.”

“You should have seen what she was wearing at the club,” Lev says. I give him a dirty look, but he just smirks at me.

“I’m sure he remembers every detail of what you were wearing, Allison,” Sophie says. She wraps her small arm around me. “You brought your dress, right?”

“Yes. It’s in my car. I’ll get it.”

After I get my dress—still in the box—I retreat with Sophie upstairs. She’s brought expensive shampoos and conditioners for me to use. As I shower, enveloped in the warm, musky scent of her shampoo, I contemplate what kind of information I might get out of Sophie. Ilya must know some details about Lev’s Bratva connections, but that doesn’t mean Sophie will. She seems too delicate to be involved in any of this.

When I finish my shower, I put on the dress. Sophia combs my hair with a gentle touch. I watch myself in the mirror as we talk about the gala, my family, and her relationship with Ilya.

“He is truly the sweetest man,” she says. “He’s the only man I’ve ever been with that I know I can trust no matter what.”

“Oh?” I ask. “So, you know everything about him?”

She slides a bobby pin into my hair. “I know what I need to know.”

“Does that mean you know a lot about Lev?” I ask.

In the mirror, I see Sophie’s face skip through several emotions. Her lips press together for several seconds before she looks up at me. “Could I give you some unsolicited marital advice, Allison?”

“Sure,” I say, though I’d strongly prefer court-admissible criminal evidence.

“I married Ilya because I knew he’d always value me and that’s what I needed. I didn’t want men who treated me like something that was fragile or like a ball and chain,”