Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva) by Fox, Nicole (ebook reader online .txt) 📕

she’s mixed disloyalty with moral bankruptcy, which is a venomous cocktail.

“No. You’re going to stay in your house,” I say.

There’s a soft knock on the door. I walk over to it. Ally is standing on the other side, holding a mug and wearing one of my button-up shirts. It drapes over her thighs and only the button near the center of her chest is fastened. I indicate for her to step in before closing the door again. She sits down on the couch.

“If you’re not going to help me, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything. I’ll tell them about you and—”

“You do that,” I say lazily. I watch Ally set her mug down on the end table and rest her head on the armrest of the couch. My cock stirs. I’ll never be able to look at another couch without thinking about our session last night. “I’d tell you I’ll see you in court, but you know I won’t. It’s in your best interest that, when the police ask later why I called, you tell them I called to give my condolences. It’s up to you whether the condolences are for you or your loved ones.”

I hang up, setting the phone down. I walk back over to Ally and crouch down beside her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoes. “What happens if the police were listening to that phone call?”

I run my hand down her arm, her skin soft and cool. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You just threatened that woman.”

I smirk. “Did I? I don’t recall anything I said that sounded like a threat.”

She nearly rolls her eyes. I give her a quick kiss and she smiles.

“I wasn’t sure where you went,” she mumbles. “I looked around. I thought you’d be in the den.”

“Where did you think I’d go?”

Her shoulder barely lifts and drops. “I don’t know. We were drunk last night. Nothing you said has to mean anything.”

“Everything I say means something,” I say. “I said I’m going to keep you and that means I’m going to keep you.”

She smiles. I kiss her again.

“How long have you been awake?” I ask.

“Um, maybe forty minutes,” she says. “After I looked for you in the den, I went into the kitchen to find something to eat, but your kitchen is nearly empty except for alcohol and the ingredients for the cinnamon chai tea.”

“Mmm. Yes, I don’t keep much around here. Irina isn’t supposed to work today, but I could get her to grab some things if you want to write a grocery list.”

“Nah, I don’t want to inconvenience her.” She sleepily rubs her cheek. “I’ll just go back to my apartment while you work.”

I take her hand in mine, intertwining her fingers in mine. “What if I don’t want you to leave? Do you want to write me a list and I’ll go get it?”

She opens one eye. “Could we both go to the store?”

It hadn’t occurred to me. But the look in her eyes is hopeful, for some reason. I wonder what this means to her—two normal people doing normal-people things in a normal-people place.

“Yes,” I say. “I just need to make a couple of more calls and we’ll go.”

She smiles again, closing both eyes again. “Thank you.”

I raise our clasped hands, kissing her wrist before letting her go. My phone is already vibrating, but I let it go to voice mail. I sit down at my desk, watching her snooze for a few seconds before turning my attention back to work.

* * *

In the grocery store, Ally has a slight limp while she walks. After I put some tomato sauce into the cart, I let my hands slide under her shirt, her soft skin tempting me in the worst way. I almost completely lost control last night. I’m not surprised she isn’t quite walking straight.

I glance around us a few times, my natural vigilance taking over, but it’s easy to forget about Bratva life while I’m with Ally. I could imagine a life where I have some average job, she became my fiancée in a normal way, and we’re just an enamored couple. No different from a thousand others strolling through the city right now.

A few times, she peeks at her phone.

“Do you think I should call my parents?” she asks.

“No. They’ll come around on their own.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But the right thing to do would be to reach out first.”

“Your father insulted you. Repeatedly.”

She takes a can of corn off the shelf and sets it in the cart. “He was angry.”

“He was an asshole.”

She tries to shove me. I let myself sway before we continue walking down the aisle.

“He’s still my father,” she says. “He was a good father. He is a good father.”

“You should never let anyone talk down to you,” I say. “It allows them to think they can walk all over you.”

She crosses the aisle to check the various cans of green beans. I glance at the canned carrots, but it all just reminds me of living in poverty.

As I turn back toward Ally, a man walking down the aisle stumbles into her. He grabs her shoulder, pulling himself back up. Instinctively, I step toward her, my hand tightening into a fist.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, sounding intoxicated, before walking on. I follow his movements until he bumps into somebody’s cart.

“Are you okay?” I ask Ally, resting my hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumps.

“Oh yeah, fine,” she says. She has a can of green beans in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

She didn’t have a grocery list before.

“What is that?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. She sets the can down on the shelf. She unfolds the note. It has one word, handwritten, scrawled on it.

L’osservatore.

“What does this mean?” she asks me. She must see something in my face because I see the concern flood her eyes. “Is this Russian?”

I shake my head. “It’s Italian.”

“Tell me what it means.”

I turn, taking several quick steps to the end