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

I clear my throat. I have an objective, and gawking and drooling over him must stop until I know for sure who I’m gawking at and drooling over. “About tomorrow?”

He glides his tongue over his lower lip. It’s his thinking quirk.

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask for the details, which must mean he trusts me. Must mean he’s comfortable letting me make decisions about Tiana.

I should probably call the whole thing off and just let him have his little meeting at the Baltzley while I stay home watching animated movies with his daughter. If I ruin this job, I could end up worse than unemployed. I could actually end up dead. If that isn’t enough incentive to pull my head out of my butt, there will never be enough. But I smile at him. “Thank you.”

I turn to hurry away. My heart is pounding and my skin is clammy and I’m sweating. I’ve never really told such an enormous lie and my body is revolting against it. I can’t stop trembling, even when he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “I have to go out for a few hours. I’ll be back for dinner.”

It isn’t as if he’s asking my permission, or that he needs it. I’m nothing more than an employee who occasionally ends up moaning his name. “Okay,” I croak.

“And after dinner, we can talk.”

And maybe, tonight, I might get the courage to ask him what exactly he does with Yelisey and Dmitri and Vladimir. Why those scary-looking men show up here. Why I’ve found what may or may not be blood in the dry cleaning.

So, I wait up for him to return. I light candles and open wine. I put perfume on my wrists and behind my ears.

But Kostya never shows up. Never comes home. Doesn’t even call.

Thankfully, I’m only pathetic enough to wait until a little after one before I blow out the candles, recork what’s left of the wine, flick off the lights, and go to bed, more determined than ever to find out about Kostya Zinon and what keeps him out at all hours of the night.

By morning, I’ve concocted about a thousand scenarios that all end with me begging for my life in front of an all-Russian firing squad. Of course, a couple of those weird little dreamlike situations includes orchestra music and Kostya riding in on a white horse, saving me from his evil twin brother, but that’s just par for the course these days.

Even coffee isn’t strong enough to cure whatever ails me. My head is throbbing as if I haven’t slept—which I haven’t. My body aches as if I tossed and turned all night—which I did. And I’m not in the mood to call my mother—which I need to do if there’s any hope for me to follow my boss to his super-secret meeting at the Baltzley Hotel.

Though I remain available throughout the day for the “talk” he promised the night before, I don’t run into Kostya or even catch a whiff of his cologne. He’s absent. Utterly and completely absent.

Until …

“Charlotte.”

I turn because he’s said my name so softly.

When I see him, I suck in a breath because he’s beautiful. Stunning in ways most men aren’t. His black-on-black suit is tailored for his body and the three pieces accentuate all the best parts of him. Long legs. Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. His hair is combed out of its sometimes artfully scruffy style into something sleek and neat.

“Kostya.” I’m almost panting; my breath is so shallow. Either there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, or he’s figured out how to take my breath away by just standing there.

I don’t even bother hiding my lengthy perusal of his body. I’ve seen it without clothes. Pretending I’m not standing in front of him imagining him naked would be ridiculous. Not to mention, far beyond my skill set.

His smile is smug as I clear my throat and when I look up, his tongue is flashing across that lower lip like some kind of Charlotte-tempting beacon. I walk quickly away from him. Honestly, it’s a job, but in my defense, I just gave my boss a naughty once-over and imagined him naked because I have that auto-recall kind of memory.

Also not something I want to be thinking about when my mother arrives, or my face will tell her everything without my mouth ever moving. By morning, she’ll have a church rented and wedding invitations printed.

He closes the distance between us and presses me with his hips against the wall. His scent fills my nostrils, masculine and dark. His hand lingers on my bare arm. My eyes are full of him, only him, like there’s nothing else in the world but Kostya Zinon’s beautiful, symmetrical, straight-out-of-GQ face. And for that moment, it’s totally true.

Then he leans forward to brush his lips against my ear and whisper something that makes my blood run cold.

“I know what you’re planning, Charlotte.”

I gasp and try to run, but it’s too late. I feel a sharp pain as he slides a blade between my ribs. I crumple to the floor as I bleed out. When I look up in my dying moments, all I see is him.

Staring.

I come to with a jolt like I just crashed a car. That is by far the wildest and most vivid daydream I’ve ever had in my entire life. I reach down and pat my ribs just to make sure I’m in one piece.

Jeez Louise. If I’m this much of a psychological wreck before I’ve even left on my covert operation, I might not make it through the night.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t let these questions linger. I can’t let a little girl stay in the clutches of a monster—if that’s what Kostya really is.

I just need to know the truth.

So I clear my mind with a minute of meditation before I pop my eyes