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

And in that instant, I realize I was wrong. The terrified innocence in her eyes says this is as much a nightmare for her as it is for me. She isn’t the one who stabbed me in the back. She’s just another frightened bird, caught in a thorn bush she can’t escape.

The feeling that rushes into my gut almost makes me vomit. It’s shame, the kind of shame I haven’t felt in God knows how long. I lower the gun and turn away before she can see the embarrassment surging in my face.

Her voice trembles. “You were going to shoot me.”

I don’t face her as I reply, “I thought you might have been responsible for this. I see now that I was wrong.”

She says nothing. A few moments pass, pregnant with tension. I wish I could take back my actions. Regret, shame, emotions that are so foreign I don’t even know where to begin with processing them, are clouding my brain. I swallow hard and turn to face her. She hasn’t moved.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

A single tear drips down her cheek.

I cross the room and grip her shoulders between my hands. My gut twists again. I look her in the eyes and say with all the seriousness I can muster. “Annie, no matter what, I promise to keep you safe. I will not let you die. I promise on my father’s name.”

She nods, once, unsure whether or not to believe me. I can hardly blame her, but there is no time for anything else. I stare into her eyes for a second longer, searching for something—forgiveness? Trust? I’m not sure.

I stoop and grab the things she dropped. “Thank you,” I say.

Then we leave, running out the door and racing for our lives.

Chapter Thirteen

Annie

I don’t want to die.

Nikita’s grip on my shoulder is tight as he propels me down the hallway. Every step sends a stabbing pain into the sole of my feet. I’m doing my best to ignore it, but the painful heat is growing step by step. We make it outside, and the concrete steps on my bare skin are the last straw. I can’t suppress the whimper that comes out of my mouth.

Nikita whirls around, keys in hand, to study my face. After a quick once-over, he takes a quick step towards me and hoists me over his shoulder.

I yelp. “Are you for real?”

“You can’t walk and we need to move. This is our only option.”

I just close my eyes and try to ignore the pain. Each step we land on jars my body against his broad shoulder as we round the street corner.

“Where are we going?”

“We need to get to the car,” Nikita says. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Wouldn’t it just be safer to stay here and wait for backup? Or the cops?”

Nikita sighs impatiently and I realize it was a dumb question. Maybe a mob boss calling the cops and having them arrive at the safe house isn’t the best idea. God only knows what Nikita has hidden in there, besides the guns spilling out of his pockets.

For the umpteenth time, I wonder what world I’ve fallen into, what crazy nightmare this has all been. I never even knew that this stuff—mob bosses and turf wars and sex slaves—existed in my city to this horrifying extent. It was right under my nose all along, just out of sight. And when I wasn’t paying close enough attention, it reached out and dragged me down into its depths. I’ve tried to fight it every step of the way, but things have only gotten uglier. I thought being a powerful Bratva boss’ prisoner was bad.

Being his hostage on the run is looking to be much, much worse.

Nikita must be able to tell I’m lost in worried thoughts, because he lowers me gently to the ground, draws a deep breath, and gives me the benefit of an explanation.

“They wouldn’t be the only ones we would have to worry about if I called the police. Every other family would be after our heads. They all have contacts on the force, and they smell blood in the water. It’d be like sending up a flare to let everyone know where we are.”

I furrow my brow. I was always taught to find a cop if you’re in trouble. Coming to grips with the realization that they’re as dirty as the mob is a struggle for me. I cross my arms across my chest, wincing once again at the pain in my feet. Think, Annie, think, I tell myself. I’m smart, and Nikita is the king of the city—or at least, he used to be. We can get out of this.

“Okay, so what’s the plan then? You do have a plan, don’t you?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair and closes his eyes. And just like that, my heart falls. This whole time—from the moment Nikita noticed that the music had stopped on the terrace—I thought that it would be just another test of Nikita’s control over his world, a test he would pass with flying colors. He’s been unstoppable since the second I first laid eyes on him in the club. Unyielding. Like a mountain against the storm.

But this look in his eyes is a sign of something different. It wouldn’t be fair to call it fear. I don’t think a man like Nikita even knows what fear truly is. But it’s something similar, a cousin of fear—desperation, maybe. He wasn’t ready for this. And he knows the stakes of the games he plays. It doesn’t take much for me to understand them, either. We might very well die tonight. Because he doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t know what to do or where to go.

And that’s the scariest thing that’s happened yet.

Seconds tick by and he doesn’t say anything. Maybe I should just run. Maybe I’ll have a better chance of surviving on my own. He’s the target, after all; I’m just an innocent