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

While the orgasm was good, it’s not the same as the ones Nikita gave me. My touch doesn’t compare to the way he works my body over. I groan and turn onto my side, closing my eyes and wishing my brain would just shut down. The confusion and frustration make me so tired and, every day, I pray the two emotions will stop haunting me. But tonight, they’re stronger than ever. At least the orgasm tired me out enough and my breathing starts to slow as I drift off.

***

The sun in my face wakes me up. Slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face. I blink, close my eyes, and blink again. Sunbeams sneak through the gaps between the slats in my blinds, aimed straight at my face, like Mother Nature poking me in the eyeballs and telling me to get my ass out of bed.

I groan, roll over, and look at my alarm clock. Holy shit. I slept for way too long. It’s already late in the morning. I can’t even remember the last time I slept fourteen hours straight. I think about the dream and shiver before I sit up, drag my feet off the bed, and rub my knuckles onto my eyes.

The aroma of sweet and salty foods invades my room and I head toward the kitchen where Wendy and Jenna are preparing breakfast. My mouth instantly waters when I spot my favorite treat sitting on the counter. Decadent cinnamon buns from the corner bakery, each one as large as a side plate with gooey cinnamon filling. Cream-cheese icing covers the golden tops so heavily that it’s tough to take a bite without getting an icing moustache. They’re my soul food, and I’d club a baby seal to get my hands on them right now. My stomach rumbles.

“Look who’s finally awake,” Jenna says as she spreads avocado over toast and sprinkles tomato on top. “Your breakfast awaits, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Ha. Ha. Gimme that,” I say with a laugh as I swipe a cinnamon bun from the box and sit down at the table.

Bacon sits on the plate in crispy waves, the fat glistening in the sunlight streaming through the dining room window. I grab a piece and stuff it into my mouth. The salt mixed with the lingering sugar from the bakery bun is perfection.

Jenna and Wendy join me. Both swipe through their phones as they make faces and shove food in their mouths. I snort. Nothing like being so disconnected from human interaction. “You guys gonna put down the phones anytime soon?”

“Sorry, Annie. Just checking my bank account. My dad still hasn’t transferred over the money I asked for,” Wendy says.

“And I’m waiting to see if I got the internship at the publishing house in the fall,” Jenna says.

“You better bring home some new releases before they hit the shelves. I’m dying to read a new fantasy,” I say.

Jenna sticks her tongue out at me. “Not before I read it first.”

Wendy rolls her eyes. She’s not big on reading, and she never misses a chance to call Jenna and me four-eyed bookworms—which, to be fair, we are. She’s more of a cheesy rom-com movie chick. I tried to introduce her to audiobooks, but I think she made it halfway through the first one I gave her before passing out. I remember finding her on the couch, snoring with her mouth wide open, as a baritone-voiced man narrated love scenes into her earbuds loud enough that the sound leaked out and I could hear him. The memory still makes me laugh.

“Ugh, my dad isn’t giving me money until next Tuesday. Supposedly, he’s only sending money once a month—on the fifteenth, like I’m on welfare or something. The man will never use all his money by the time he dies, even if he tries. But nooo. He has to torture me.”

“Woe is you,” Jenna says, laughing. “I mean–”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand, cutting her off. “Next Tuesday is the fifteenth?” Please let her be wrong. Please let her be wrong.

“Yeah, Ms. Sleepyhead. You’ve slept away so many days this week you’re losing track of time,” Jenna says.

No. This can’t be happening. No. No. No.

My period is late.

I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the tile floor. I toss my plate in the sink and head to my room to grab my purse and bolt out the door. I’m not about to explain to my roommates that I might be pregnant. After all, this might just be the stress from everything I went through. I mean, all the events have given me nightmares and affected my sleeping patterns. Yes, no need to freak out. It’s just stress.

I take the long way to the pharmacy to avoid Henry. Time is of the essence—for my sanity, if nothing else—but avoiding people is even more important. If anyone so much as makes eye contact with me right now, I might break into hysterical tears. My feet pound the pavement. I round the corner and see the big red letters of the pharmacy come into view.

I burst through the doors. Racing down the aisle, I grab a handful of pregnancy tests—the more, the better, right? My cheeks are hot and red. I have no idea why I’m embarrassed. I’m not a young teenager. I’m an adult.

An unwed adult who may be carrying a mob boss’s child.

But no one knows that. I make my way to the register, put my items down, and the clerk rings them up. After paying, I grab the bag and race out the door. But instead of heading home, I walk to the campus library. There are numerous bathrooms there and I won’t have to explain to Wendy and Jenna why I suddenly ran out. They’ll be all too curious about what I have in the pharmacy shopping bag.

Luckily, the library isn’t that far, or maybe I’m just walking that quickly. But I bound up the stairs to the second-floor restroom