Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) by Nicole Fox (best e books to read TXT) 📕

now since he has both keys, but maybe there will be an opportunity later in the night. I still have my original plan, to get Nikita drunk enough to make a mistake. But that will take some time, and some acting skills. I need to get my mind right if that route is going to work. That means getting some food in my belly for starters. And honestly, I could do with some fresh, cool air right now. My skin is sizzling and I don’t need my hormones undermining my escape plans.

The terrace is decorated in luxury once again. The spread smells delicious and my mouth waters. One thing I can’t deny is that whatever cooks Nikita employs sure are talented. I’ve never tasted food so good before.

We sit down. A staff member comes to serve us soup and bread. The bread is a whole-wheat focaccia, covered with garlic, olive oil, and generous quantities of rosemary. The inside is stuffed with creamy goat cheese.

A few silent moments go by. I refuse to look into Nikita’s eyes at first, until I remind myself that I need him to relax if I’m going to succeed in getting him drunk. That means I need to be pleasant, on my best behavior.

The server comes back to refill our wine. When he’s gone, Nikita asks, “Where’s Jimmy?”

Despite myself, I snicker as I shove a piece of bread in my mouth. Given Jimmy’s current circumstances, I’m not sure the topic of his whereabouts is proper dinner conversation, but I can’t help myself. “Crapping his brains out,” I snort.

Nikita chokes on his wine, his eyes going wide as he stares at me.

I shoot him a wicked smile. “Gave him a healthy amount of laxative with his coffee. If the jerk thinks I’m his gopher, I sure hope he learned his lesson today.”

To my surprise, Nikita laughs, a full-bellied laugh, slapping the table with his hand. “That’s how you got the keycard?”

“He barely made it down the hall. I wish I had my camera. The way he clenched his butt as he ran would’ve gone viral.”

We both laugh for a long time. It feels strange, but it’s been so long since I laughed or even smiled that I just give in to the feeling. I can hardly catch my breath and I clutch at my stomach to try to calm down.

The staff brings out the next course and I dig in. Nikita is more relaxed tonight. He asks me about my day outside of my chemical attack on his bodyguard and I huff. “Boring. I’m trapped up here. At least the weather was nice enough that I got to sit outside but there’s not even a book for me to read.”

Nikita takes a sip of his wine then places the glass down on the table. “What sort of books would you like to read?”

I swallow my pasta and wipe my mouth with the cloth napkin. “Fantasy. Or sci-fi.”

“Are you a fan of Scalzi?”

My mouth opens and closes but no words come out. Before this moment, I would’ve bet a million dollars that this man had never read any book ever, much less the books of my favorite author of all time. It seems too out of left field to be true. But his smile seems genuine, and the question is innocent enough on the surface.

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing anything more about me, but I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I’m a huge fan.”

Nikita smiles. The conversation that unfolds from there is like something from a different life. In another world, I would’ve thought I was on a first date that was going really well. Nikita is more well-read than I ever would have guessed. We go from topic to topic—sci-fi to robots to the ethics of cloning, on and on. I’m surprised at every turn by his wit, his charm, his panty-melting smile.

Who is this man?

***

It started as acting, but before I know it, nearly four hours have passed and I can’t believe I’m having ... fun. How is that possible?

“I’ll leave the Exforce books for you to look at. I really think you’ll like them.”

I almost thank him. Then, like a spell is suddenly lifted, I look in his eyes and realize who he is. I realize where I am. I realize that none of this is fun, none of this is funny, and I’m not free to leave.

I’m this man’s prisoner.

My gaze falls to the table and I take a deep breath. I know what I want to say. I want to tell this monster that I don’t want his books or his kindness or his maddening, flirtatious charm. I want to tell him that I want to go home, not to his library. I want to tell him that I’m not his slave and I never will be.

But I have to stick to my plan.

For tonight only, I will be the perfect date, the perfect slave. That means swallowing what I really want to say and instead picking up my wineglass, giving Nikita the brightest smile I can muster, and saying, “To Scalzi.”

He doesn’t reciprocate at first, just raises an eyebrow. I wonder if he can see the internal struggle taking place in my brain, this fight between my desire to get the hell away from him and the competing urge to let his perfect lips trace patterns over my body.

Whatever he sees in my face must satisfy him, because then he picks up his glass and clinks it against mine. “To Scalzi,” he echoes.

We both drain our drinks.

Nikita’s server comes and opens another bottle for us, pouring fresh red wine into the glasses. I go to grab mine again, but Nikita waves a hand, cutting off the flow of alcohol.

“Let’s drink,” I urge, smiling.

But Nikita shakes his head. “There will be time for that later.” He turns to the bodyguard who is standing at attention by the terrace doorway. “Luca, turn up the music.” Turning back to