Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox (first color ebook reader txt) 📕

Her ankles tighten behind me. Her hands dig into my skin. Her teeth lock down on my earlobe, enough to draw a growl of half-pain and half-pleasure from me as I speed up again.

I’m going as fast as I can now, fucking into her with all the force I can muster. I hear her begging for more, more, as I push deep into her. She squeezes around my length and holds onto me like she’s riding out a storm.

“I’m almost there, Roman,” she pants. I am, too, coasting right on the edge of unleashing.

Three, two, one more thrust, and then I can’t hold it anymore, and neither can she, and we both go tumbling down over the edge of our orgasms. I let loose inside of her. She lets loose around me. Neither one of us lets go.

The tremors coursing through each of us take a long time to recede. When we’ve finally relaxed, I slide myself out of her with a regretful wince. I put my fingers under her chin, tilting her gaze up to meet mine, then plant a kiss on her. “Breakfast is served,” I say softly.

She laughs. “You aren’t getting out of it that easily, buster. I want real breakfast.” She nips another soft kiss before hopping down and sashaying towards the bathroom to clean herself up. As she disappears down the hallway, I hear her call out over her shoulder.

“Oh – and wipe that counter off, first!”

I can only laugh.

***

One thing I wanted in this new house was a big kitchen. The little one from my safe house back home wasn’t good enough. This one is practically the size of the master bedroom, which is big on its own. Freshly showered and dressed only in my shirt with nothing underneath, Lucy takes a seat at the table and opens her laptop, typing away while I cook. Like always, I find myself singing, only Lucy doesn’t laugh at me this time. She sings too. Much better than I can.

I make pancakes, something easy that I know she’ll love. Half the batch of batter is for regular ones, and the other half is for blueberry pancakes. While I wait for one side to cook, I think back to mornings with my parents.

Mom would always cook breakfast for me, Ivan, and Gedeon. She sang in Russian, but those songs are now just distant memories. I remember helping her clean up after we ate. My brothers ran off to go play with their toys, but I stayed back to help. She would turn to me, cup my face between her hands, and tell me that she appreciated all my help. Then she’d kiss me on the nose and tell me to go play. She had it under control.

The memory is heavy, and normally, I’d think of something else. Today is different. I want to think about those times. Times when I was happy. Before all the shit with my uncles. Before I lost them all. Being with Lucy brings that same kind of happiness in a way that I never thought a woman could.

When I serve her, she closes her computer and perks up, blue eyes growing big. “This looks delicious!” she exclaims. She doesn’t wait for me, either. She dives in, practically scarfing it all down.

“Slow down before you choke,” I warn, laughing at her enthusiasm.

“I’m ravenous,” she says, her mouth full. “Someone made me work extra hard for my breakfast this morning.”

***

Three Months Later

“Roman,” Lucy says, tapping me on the shoulder. It’s early morning. I can see the sun peeking through the slats in the blinds. I’d be asleep, half-mired in a dream that made no sense in the light of day.

“Mm?” I grunt.

“Wake up, I need to tell you something.”

I bolt up and immediately reach for the gun I keep tucked behind my nightstand.

“No, no, no!” she laughs, pushing me in the chest back down to the bed. “It’s nothing like that; relax.” She sees the gun in my hand and frowns. “And we’ll need to talk about that later, mister. You told me you kept all the weapons in the gun safe.”

“It’s – uh,” I babble. I’m still half-asleep. “Nevermind. What do you have to tell me?” I lay back down and let the adrenaline in my veins recede.

“I don’t want you to get mad or anything, so I’ve been putting it off.” She’s nervous, chewing on her fingernails and twirling her hair over and over again. She won’t look me in the eye, either.

This doesn’t sound good. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says carefully. “It’s just ...” Lucy trails off thoughtfully. She has a faraway look on her face.

“Lucy.”

She doesn’t say anything as she pulls something from under the covers. She opens her hand and shows me what’s in her palm. I immediately recognize it as a pregnancy test.

There are two pink lines.

“Is this ...”

She nods. “It is. I’m pregnant.”

I’m at a loss for words.

I want to say something profound, or just something at all, but all I can do is look at the test in her palm. Those two lines. She’s pregnant. It hits me at once. First, the joy. She’s going to have my child. The family she’s always wanted. The family I never thought I would have.

Fear is second. What if I fuck this up? I told myself I would never bring a kid into this world and expose them to the shitty people that inhabit it. Too many people die. School shootings, kidnappings, sex slavery. I could never do that to another person. I could never run that risk.

But then the resolve comes last.

This is what I’ve wanted, deep down. This is it. I told Lucy I would give her anything in the world, and this is what she’s wanted for so long. I push myself up from the pillows and pull her into my arms, spinning her around. When she pulls back to look at me, she’s crying. She’s never been more beautiful.

“Fuck, Lucy,” I