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

trying to figure out what sort of clue I can sneak into the ransom video that someone can figure out, but I’m not a spy or a Mafia gangster. And anything I blurt out will either get me killed or get erased before it makes it out of this room.

Shit. Too bad they aren’t live-streaming. That I could work with. The guy who isn’t Jack Whelan stands behind the camera and flicks open a small viewing screen as Jack hands me a paper to read from.

My name is Charlotte Lowe and for the last five years, I have worked for Kostya Zinon. In that time, I have learned much about his illegal activities as Bratva don. From street-level drug sales to importing weapons, Zinon and his men, Vladimir Polkov and Dmitri Vasilyev, run a number of highly lucrative businesses where they launder money from their illegal business interests located throughout the West Coast of the United States …

On and on like that, listing details that even a blind, deaf, mute cop with a brain aneurysm could turn into severe legal outcomes for Kostya’s empire.

I can’t read this. I won’t.

Not because it isn’t true, but because I’m not a traitor. I wouldn’t do this to a stranger on the street, much less a man I care for—once cared for, I correct silently. A man who’s baby I’m carrying.

I shake my head and let the paper fall to the floor.

Jack Whelan squeezes his fingers around the back of my neck and leans in so I can feel his breath on my ear. “You will read it and you will make me believe it or I’ll kill your ma. And while she begs for her life, I’ll let my men have you any way they want. They are not nice men, love.” His brogue is thick, and his breath is sour, but he means business and every clench of his fingers against my skin says it.

But I still don’t speak. I don’t even gasp because I’m strong and unafraid. Or trying to be, anyway.

He chuckles when he sees my clenched jaw and crosses his arms. “Do ya know what my men’ll do to a pretty girl like you?”

He picks up the paper and sets it on my lap again then runs his fingers over the top of my thigh. Of all the days for me to have worn a skirt. His palm skims and my stomach curls but I hold my head up.

“They won’t leave much behind for your boyfriend to claim, but there’ll be enough for you to know that, what you were, you’ll never be again. Every day for the rest of your life, you’ll feel what’s been done to ya and know you’re never out of my reach.” He crouches in front of me and slides his knuckles over my panties. “Tell you what, darlin’. You’re a fine-looking lass. If you do this, read this for me to that camera, I’ll make you my Irish princess. No more fawning over a daughter who isn’t yours. I’ll give you one who is.”

He’s old enough to be my father.

There’s a lot riding on his hand not going higher, because once that line is crossed, he can’t uncross it, and right now I hate him, but I don’t want Kostya to kill him. I don’t want Kostya to kill anyone.

At this point, I’m past denying who and what Kostya is. In this room, there’s no point anyway. No one here is unsure of what Kostya does or who he is. But only one of us is expected to say it out loud for the camera whose video will probably be delivered to every television station and FBI office this side of the Mississippi.

Do I think Jack Whelan will kill my mother? No. She isn’t important enough. But calling his bluff could get me killed. And he would just find someone else to read his message. I have a baby to think of, but I still haven’t answered his question.

He nods to the man behind the camera and that man approaches as he pulls a cell phone from his pocket. He taps the screen, once, twice, more times than I care to count then flips it around for me to see. Tiana is sitting at the kitchen counter, then a woman, younger than me, blonder than me, smiles into the camera and winks as it goes black.

Shit.

It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming or that they’ve discovered my weakness. “Figuring out which agency your boyfriend uses for childcare took me about three minutes. Does that make me smart? Or driven? What would you say, Miss Charlotte Lowe? Daughter of Sam and Lucia Lowe. Sister of Lila.” He laughs. “Lucia, now there’s a beauty. And her daughters. Lovely. Just beautiful. But I have a feeling the one that’s going to get you talking is that little lady right there.” He holds up the phone. “Am I wrong?”

Bastard. And no. He isn’t wrong. Not only because I love Tiana, but because her being hurt will unleash a fury on the world that I don’t think Jack Whelan or anyone else is quite prepared for.

Not Kostya’s fury—mine.

I pick up the paper and hold it in front of my face, making sure the camera will see my handcuffs. Letting him know that the only way I’m reading it is under this duress and that anyone who watches will know it.

I should’ve ducked. Should’ve seen it coming, but the paper was in my way. And for being old enough to be my dad, he’s fast, and his fist strikes me in the face before I think to expect it.

I make my first sound—a gasp, a whimper. The world blackens for a moment. I taste blood, coppery, bitter and I see small droplets splattered on the paper.

This is real, and he’s going to kill me if I don’t cooperate.

I’m not a bargaining chip. I’m the ante in a game and my life is the bet. Jack is going