Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) by Nicole Fox (fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

to do it,” he grunts. “Two hundred thousand, sis. You know what I could do with that sort of money? It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. Now get up!”

“You think this lieutenant, whoever the hell he is, is going to keep you around once you’ve served your purpose? Wake up!”

I nod matter-of-factly to myself. So it was Rob who set me up, and one of my men who spurred him on. My mind immediately goes to Fyodor, but it is impossible to know. He could have used a proxy.

“If you don’t move—”

“Do it, then!” Camille snaps. “If this is really how low you’ve sunk, I don’t give a damn anymore.”

“Don’t make me do this. Shit, shit, I can’t leave you here. You’ll go running to him. And then he’ll hunt me down and fuckin’ kill me and burn my body and … I’ve heard of all the shit they do. I can’t let you tell him!”

Would he truly shoot his sister? I clench my fists hard, rage boiling through me. All I know is I cannot let him hurt my baby or my woman.

I will die before I allow that to happen.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” I say, pushing the door open.

Rob swings the gun to me, fidgeting like a trapped rat.

“Stay right there!” he cries. “I mean it.”

I spread my hands, walking in front of Camille. When she tries to move around me—perhaps she thinks my safety is more important than her own—I reach a hand back and hold her firmly in place.

“If you are going to shoot anybody, shoot me,” I say. “The lieutenant will want me out of the way for far longer than those bricks would ensure. Make it permanent.”

“Erik,” Camille whispers urgently. “Don’t.”

I take a few steps toward him.

“But, first, tell me: have you ever shot anybody, Rob? There is lots of blood, far more than you would ever guess. It goes everywhere. Pools of blood will fill this room. You will see them in your nightmares for the rest of your life.”

“Stop it!” he hisses, backing away to the wall, biting his lip, and shooting Camille a look. “Make him stop!”

“You do not want to know what a man smells like when he is dying,” I tell him, almost close enough to dive for the gun now. Once I am within distance, it will be a simple thing.

But even weak men are dangerous with a gun in their hand.

“You do not want—”

“Back the fuck off!” Rob roars.

“No!” Camille squeals, springing up and trying to jump between us.

I shove her aside and throw myself at Rob.

The gunshot explodes in a bright blaze of light, my ears ringing. A hot flash of something scorches through my abdomen, but I don’t feel the pain, not yet.

He makes to fire again, but I am on him. I grab his wrist and wrench it upward.

He drops the pistol.

All three of us dive on it, lost in a tangle of chaos and limbs and the scent of blood. Rob backhands me across the face. I take the blow and headbutt him so hard he thuds against the wall.

Then I grab the pistol and go to aim it at him, but he moves fast, head ducked low, sprinting for the door.

Still, I have the shot. I could end him right now.

But Camille grabs my hand fiercely, her stark blue eyes swimming with emotion.

“Please,” she gasps. “No, Erik.”

I have never hesitated like this before. If there is a threat, I deal with it. It is different with Camille.

I cannot bring myself to pull the trigger.

That is all it takes—a moment of forgetting what is necessary—and Rob is gone, running deeper into the mansion.

I run after him, blood dripping down my bare stomach into my boxer shorts, streaking down my legs. I collapse against the wall, heaving in breaths as I track Rob’s movements: footsteps pounding up the stairs, the click of a door closing.

Camille glances at me like a nurse on the ward analyzing a sick patient. Then she takes out her cell phone.

“What are you doing?” I growl.

“What do you think?” she snaps. “We need to call an ambulance.”

I snatch her phone out of her hand and toss it across the room.

“What the fuck, Erik? You’re bleeding out!”

“We can’t risk the police,” I tell her. “We need to go after him. Who knows what he’s doing?”

“Why didn’t he just run?” Camille mutters between the deep breaths of a woman trying to keep herself calm. For the hundredth time, I think about what a capable mother she is going to be. “Outside, I mean?”

I shake my head, pushing away from the wall with a snarl that, if it were coming from another man, I would judge as a death-ushering noise. But I cannot think about that. I have lost blood before and I will do so again.

It is just part of the life.

“You saw him. He probably does not even remember where he is. Fuck—”

I wince as my steps falter.

“Erik, please …”

She grabs my arm and supports me as best she can.

I check to make sure the pistol’s loaded and then walk into the hallway and toward the stairs. Once I am moving the wound does not feel anywhere near as bad. I am glad the pistol is low caliber. Otherwise the bullet would’ve hit my gut and I would be in serious trouble.

“I have fought with worse,” I bark, as much to bolster myself as Camille. “Come on.”

Camille clutches onto my elbow as we walk up the stairs.

I can feel her fear over my injury, emanating from her like a pheromone. I kill my concern, quickly, and do not allow myself to think about what would happen if I were to bleed out and leave her and the child alone.

This is a time of war.

There is no place for weakness.

“I never thought I’d complain about how big this place is,” she laughs bitterly, but there is little humor in it. “He could be anywhere.”

“Be quiet,” I whisper, listening.