Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (my reading book .TXT) 📕

On the landing at the top, I listen. I need to know which way to go. “Tell me what you know!” I’d know that voice anywhere, even with the accent stronger than normal.

I also recognize the sound of another punch—and someone groaning in pain.

It takes all of my strength but I push the double doors open and look inside. No furniture. Just a lot of wood wall and brass sconces. And Kostya towering over a man curled into a ball on the floor.

He kicks. Once, twice. I gasp.

I shouldn’t be here. I hear it now: his rage. I see the danger in him, the same danger I was hesitant to acknowledge before, as I back out of the room into a hallway, my hip crashing against the edge of a table. A vase teeters before it shatters against the hardwood floor.

There’s only one thing to do: run as if my life depends on it. Which it probably does.

I’m almost at the steps when a body tackles me and hauls me into another empty room. He has his arm around my throat, and he’s squeezing until I struggle against him. I can’t breathe. The world is narrowing to a single pinpoint of light.

In that pinpoint, I see Kostya, stalking through the door, hand rough as he grasps my shoulder and spins me away from my captor and into the opposite wall. I slide down and watch Kostya drive his fist into the man’s stomach, then chokeholds him the same way the man held me. Except when Kostya does it, the man loses consciousness and slumps against him.

Kostya dumps him on the floor, then takes me by the arm, jerking me down the stairs as Yelisey appears from a room beside the steps. Kostya doesn’t even slow as he hauls me toward the front door. “He’s upstairs. See that he stays there.” Over his shoulder, he yells, “No one comes down until I return.”

He makes a left and drags me into a bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub and partitioned shower. He slams the door, shutting me in. Sealing my fate. Oh God. What have I done?

As far as bathrooms go, it’s nice.

As far as places where I’m going to end up taking my last breath, not so much.

“Who was that man?” My voice is weak, and I wish I hadn’t seen anything. I wish I could go back to the blissful ignorance I felt when I sketched his profile earlier. To the happiness of not knowing what I now have an increasingly high confidence in. Kostya might not be Russian Mafia—well, he’s definitely Russian, but only possibly Mafia—but the aura of danger around him is real.

“An acquaintance. This was a business matter. Nothing to warrant any concern from you.” His voice is calm, almost soothing as he washes his hands. It’s such a mundane act for a man who was, literally seconds ago, using those fists to hurt someone.

To my surprise, more than anything else, it irritates me. Irritation, combined with shock and probably some PTSD from having my windpipe nearly crushed by a barbarian, has taken away any inhibition. I don’t give a shit who Kostya is right now. He can be Russian Mafia or whatever in the world is more dangerous than that, and it won’t matter. I want answers and I’m not going away without them.

“A business matter that requires you to bash in his skull with your boot?” I look down at his foot and cross my arms. The blood doesn’t lie. I don’t feel the danger anymore. Fate will do what she does and if I die tonight, I will have died knowing the truth. Or as much of it as he’s willing to tell.

“Also none of your concern.”

“Tiana is my concern. Your daughter.” He narrows his eyes. I might have crossed a line, but I can’t uncross it now, so I keep going. “What if Tiana would’ve seen your business matter?” He dries his hand on a towel then slides his tie from beneath his collar and slips the first button of his shirt free. Then another. “What if … um …” It’s the fourth button that makes it hard to breathe. “What if that guy would’ve grabbed her?”

He’s staring at me and I can’t think, can’t understand what’s happening.

His voice is soft, low, and sexy. Too sexy for a man who’s angry. Too low to pose a threat. “Then after I killed him, I would have to punish you for allowing her to trespass somewhere she isn’t supposed to be.” He yanks the shirt off, tosses it to the side, and suddenly the bathroom isn’t so large. It’s cramped, and I’m so close to his chest, so close to him. He tangles his fingers into my hair and pulls so my head is tilted back. “Do you want to be punished, Charlotte?”

Hell yes, I do. Punished all night long.

“Do you want to punish me, Kostya?” I blurt.

His eyes darken, and his fingers curl tighter in my hair as he uses his other hand to bring my hips closer to his. I can feel his cock, hard and long against my belly. I let my hand fall from his chest to glide along the ridge under his zipper.

“Do I want to punish you?” he echoes. Like he’s considering it.

His smile fades as he lowers his head to bite the side of my throat. The pain is fleeting, replaced by a pleasure I don’t have words to describe. I moan and he bites down again as his fingers knead my hip. “Tell me what you want, Charlotte.”

“I want you.”

The answer is easy. I’m wet and ready. He’s hard and scorching me with his touch. Fucking is the next step. And I don’t care anymore about the man upstairs with Yelisey. I care about Kostya grinding against me, about his hands now pushing up my rib cage, bringing my shirt up so he can pull it