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

“Yes, three weeks. That should be plenty of time for a man with your skills and your influence to get her back here.” She nods, smiles again, satisfied with herself.

It would be so easy to end her life here. I have a gun in a holster under my jacket, a knife in my boot, and rage in my fists. It would take very little finesse to show her my skills in that particular area.

My influence. I could drain the blood from her body right here and invite the LAPD in with their chemicals and black lights, and I would still walk out a free man because I as good as own California.

Instead, I nod. “All right. Three weeks.” I stare at her. “Ms. Lowe, have you considered what you’ll do if your daughter is dead?”

She isn’t, but I want to hurt this woman.

As the words leave my mouth, I enjoy her sorrow. The way her eyes mist again and her frown marks deep lines in her face. She deserves worse, and if she was anyone else, and not someone Charlotte loves, I would make her suffer for her plot. I would kill the sister.

But I can’t stand the thought—even though I know Charlotte’s betrayed me—of her suffering. That’s something I’m going to get over quickly because I can’t let this kind of treachery pass.

A minute ticks off the clock before she takes enough deep breaths she can compose herself. “Then I want her body back. You can do that.”

Of course I can. Money makes everything possible. But the sister is alive and I have no intention of killing her—not unless this explodes and I need to do it. But I nod anyway. I’ve had enough of this game. It’s time for me to figure out how to deal with Charlotte Lowe and her betrayal.

And then it will be time for me to make moves of my own.

15

Charlotte

Something feels wrong.

Kostya didn’t spend the night at home. Although, I’m not surprised. But my mother not answering her phone is … odd, at best. Scary at worst. I’ve called twenty times this morning. Ten more since lunch. It isn’t like her not to answer. When there’s bragging to do about her ingenuity or ways to let me know I’ve failed and she’s had to step in to “save” me, she takes every opportunity.

I dial again and wait. And again, the voice mail picks up. This time it tells me her voice-mail box is full. I don’t doubt it—I’ve left a good twenty messages.

“Dammit,” I curse under my breath. I look over my shoulder guiltily.

The last thing I need is for Tiana to pick up my naughty language and for Kostya to have yet another reason to be angry with me. Once Mom gets ahold of him, he’s either going to fire me or kill me. I have to stop her.

“Fuck,” I curse again. I cringe. I’m not usually a salty type, and definitely never around a kid, but I don’t even know who I am anymore. “Charlotte Lowe, secretary” feels like a lifetime ago.

This whole mess has me bamboozled. I smile, thinking of the word my dad used to use to describe my mom when she dragged him into one of her hare-brained schemes—like blackmailing Kostya. The smile fades. “Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck.”

Thankfully, Tiana’s ignoring me right now in favor of a Barbie playhouse Kostya brought home one day last week. Fine by me. I’ve got my hands full over here just trying to keep my heart rate from hitting two hundred.

I don’t know how long I sit with my eyes closed before my phone vibrates. But finally, there it is, lighting up with Mom’s name and a picture of us together at a picnic three summers ago.

“Oh, thank God. Where have you been?” Relief makes my voice an octave higher and my eyes an inch wider.

She laughs like I shouldn’t have been worried enough to consider calling the police—which I haven’t, because then I would have to tell them why I was worried about her, which would lead to questions about my boss. Questions they are certainly just waiting to grill someone about.

“I’ve been celebrating.” She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask. We have more important things to go over. Like, oh, let me think … her not blackmailing Kostya. Besides, I don’t need to hear another story about a stroke of good fortune at the casino slot machines.

“Mom, you can’t go to Kostya with the information from the letter,” I blurt before she can explain. I’m mad at her for snooping, for putting me in this position, for being herself when I need her to be responsible and normal. But as mad as I am, I don’t want her to die, and there’s no denying what Kostya is. Especially since he said it to me straight up. Unfiltered. Uninhibited.

“Relax, Charlotte. You worry too much.” She cackles as if she’s been dipping into her bottle of celebration tequila.

“Mother! Kostya isn’t a man who’s going to just roll over and take threats.”

“He’s already agreed.”

My heart drops. There’s such triumph in her voice, such arrogance, that I want to shake her, wake her up to what she’s done. I want her to know the danger she’s put us in. Kostya was already searching for Lila, the prodigal daughter.

It’s not just ironic. It’s something Mom has done my entire life. Her own wants, her own needs, her own crazy schemes—those things were always more important than me and Lila. When she failed, it was everyone else’s fault, and we were left to pick up the broken pieces and glue her back together. It was too much for Dad. Then for Lila.

And now it could cost me my life.

Even if I somehow manage to walk away from this alive, there’s no way I’ll end up with the man I’ve come to care about and the little girl I have grown to love.

She’s finally done