Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) Nicole Fox (best ereader for pdf and epub TXT) 📖

details. Just do what you’re paid to do!” I slam my fist against the desktop. It has a satisfying solidity, but my rage still craves more. More destruction. More damage.

Seizing a coffee mug, I turn and hurl it against the wall. It smashes into the plaster and explodes into dozens of porcelain shards. Brown liquid drips down to the carpet.

Yelisey is silent.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve lost control like this, since my emotions weren’t locked down and out of the way of my business. Today, I’m running on anger. And again, it’s Charlotte’s fault. I only notice once my breathing has calmed that the coffee mug was one Charlotte gave me for my birthday, just a few months ago. I liked that mug.

Yelisey nods once, folds his hands across his stomach, then looks up at me. I should remind him to watch his tone, because I’ll kill him for a cross word, and I think he’s forgotten that.

“Think about this, Kostya,” he says quietly. “We can take out Jack Whelan and every member of his little gang, but if we do that, every other Irishman in the country is going to come for you. Some quietly. Some with guns blazing.”

I sigh and bury my head in my hands. He’s right. While I’m usually the voice of reason, today, it is I who needs his counsel.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“Tell me what’s going on, Kostya. Is it the woman?”

Counsel yes, but Yelisey and I aren’t confidantes like this. We’re associates. He’s a member of my elite group—the men I command and trust most in all of Bratva operations. But I don’t tell him my personal business. Ever.

“Mind your business.” I don’t want to have to tell him again. And I won’t. I pull the Ruger from my holster and set it on the desk. It’s a message, but one he’ll heed if he wants to continue being the man I trust most. Hell, if he wants to continue breathing.

“I don’t know if having a kid made you …” He smiles and taps his finger on the chair. “Soft on crime, but you’re off, Kostya. And if I can see it, so can the other groups.” He speaks the truth. No matter how uncomfortable it is, he means well by it. So I don’t fire the bullet I want to shoot between his eyes.

Yet.

Instead, I pick up my gun and walk around the desk to lean my hip against the edge. As calm as if I was born with a pistol in my hand, I hold the muzzle to his forehead. Yelisey Rusnak needs a reminder. I am the don. This is my life, my business. He is a soldier. Nothing more.

He doesn’t flinch, which is a good thing. If he flinches, I’ll kill him and have his group cut him up and scatter him along the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Don’t mistake my trust in you for friendship.” I pull the gun back and rest it in my lap as I stand still facing him. The only tell Yelisey has that says I’ve unnerved him is a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “I want men on Whelan’s top gun. And by morning, I want to know where Jack Whelan is vulnerable. And I want a plan.”

Yelisey nods, then stands. When he gets to the door, he turns as if he has something to say, but I cock my eyebrow, waiting, daring him, and he moves into the hallway.

I wait for it, and a moment later the elevator dings.

Good. There’s always a chance Yelisey could make a play for my power, but so far he’s been loyal, dedicated, trustworthy. His rewards allow him to buy the treasures he so enjoys. When that stops being enough for him, I’ll figure something out.

But for right now, I have nothing else to do. It isn’t even seven.

I’m tired. My cock is still hard. There’s no point in sitting in this office anymore. I pack my briefcase with some files I need to look over, and head out for the night.

I’m almost to the elevator when I see her. My office suite is empty except for me and now a woman who looks exactly like Charlotte, and scarcely any older. Someone is going to pay for the breach in security. But first …

“Mr. Zinon,” her mother says.

“Miss Lowe,” I reply, with the slightest wry smile as I emphasize the “Miss.”

She stands stock-still, but there’s something about the familiarity in her tone that says she’s comfortable, and it sets me on edge. No matter what’s between me and her daughter, that relationship doesn’t extend outside the walls of my house until I make it known. Besides, the affection I have for Charlotte is not transferable to her mother.

“What brings you here this evening?” I ask politely. I’ll be as charming as I can be while suspicion swarms in my chest. I don’t exactly have a reputation for welcoming unwanted guests. I’m sure Charlotte must have made that clear. If not, she’ll need to. Soon.

I wouldn’t have expected her to be so well-dressed—I may not know women’s fashion designers by name, but I can recognize garments that don’t come off the rack and she’s wearing an expensive outfit. Her hair is styled and colored and she’s made up as if she’s ready for her cover shoot.

“I need to speak with you.” If her Botox-enhanced smile is meant to put me at ease, she’s failing. Miserably. But I put down my briefcase and motion to the grouping of chairs she’s only just vacated.

“Then please, sit. Let us speak.”

She adjusts her skirt and crosses her ankles. I adjust my watch, because if we’re putting on airs, she needs to know mine is bigger, more expensive, and more deadly. I won’t be toyed with.

The feeling of tension is pervasive. I can practically see the air in the room buzzing with it.

“What can I do for you?” Again, I’m oozing charm, smiling like we’re friends, tilting my head as if