Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  We woulda been just fine.

  I didn’t know what to say. How could I? I was a child, a little girl. I didn’t know anything about the world, or why he’d chosen to do the things he did. I was a good girl. I got good grades, I stayed out of trouble, I kept my room clean. But that didn’t matter. I was just a mouth to feed, in his eyes. I was a burden.

  My mother came home soon after that. She had shopping bags full of groceries.

  “Where did you get that shit?” my father asked her.

  She hesitated before she answered. When she did, I knew right away that something bad was going to happen. She did, too, I think. But neither of us could really stop it. We were powerless, or at least we felt that way, and that meant basically the same thing. “There was a ... a market,” she said. Both my father and I knew she was lying.

  “What kind of ‘market’?” he questioned acidly.

  “At the ... at the food bank.” She swallowed hard.

  “The food bank. The fucking food bank.” He plunged the tip of his cigarette into the whiskey as he repeated what she had said in a soft, numb voice. I could hear the sizzle as the flame died.

  Then, in one sudden motion, he stood, turned, and hurled the glass tumbler at my mother’s head. She ducked—thank God she ducked—and it smashed against the kitchen wall behind her. I screamed. She screamed, and fell into a sobbing puddle on top of the bags of food. Apples rolled across the tile floor.

  But my father wasn’t done with her. He marched over and hauled her to her feet.

  Whap. Whap. Two quick backhanded slaps on either side of her face.

  I hadn’t moved since the moment my mother walked in the door. I remember the sound of the hit, the way my mother stumbled and reached out to the counter for balance. I remember the way my father stood over her, greasy bangs falling across his forehead, rage purpling his cheeks. I remember the way he slammed his hand down on the counter over her head and said the next time he’d really light her up for talking back.

  Then he turned to me.

  I don’t remember what he said but I remember his eyes. Dark and lifeless. I sat there shaking. And he walked up to me, put his face right in mine, and called me a little cunt, and that I should take notes and learn how to be respectful. I was so scared I peed.

  Then he walked out the door, and slammed it shut behind him.

  ***

  I’m sitting on a rock at the foot of the mountain when Nikita approaches. He fell behind me, weighed down by the bags full of supplies and weapons. I’m just finishing tightening the bandages on my feet, which are crusty with last night’s blood, when he comes to stand in front of me.

  I stare at him, unable to speak. Even if I could speak, I don’t know what I would say.

  “Annie?”

  Nikita gazes back at me. He says nothing either. The woods around us are silent.

  I don’t have the energy to fight with him anymore. I don’t have the energy for any of this, really. So why does it keep finding its way to me? Why can’t I escape it? I make myself a promise: I’m going to get Nikita to take me home, by any means necessary. Then I’m going to pack my things, and I’m going to leave this city, and I’m never, ever going to come back.

  I look up at him. “You know, I was just thinking about my father.”

  Still, he says nothing.

  “The first time I saw him hit my mother.”

  Silence. Staring.

  “After he slapped her, he came up to me. Do you know what he said to me, Nikita?”

  The soft whine of car engines, far in the distance, where the highway slices through the park, is the only thing I can hear.

  “He called me a little cunt. And he said I should take notes, so that the same thing didn’t happen to me. It scared me. A lot. I peed myself, you know. I was just a little girl. What kind of man says that to an innocent little girl?”

  I break our gaze. I don’t want to look at him anymore. I don’t want to see the blackness again.

  I keep my eyes fixed on the ground while I continue talking. “And do you know what reminded me of him, Nikita? You. You’re a fucking monster. I want you to take me home right now. And then I hope to God I never see you again. Because if I do ... well, I don’t know, actually. I’m not like you. I don’t plan for that kind of thing. But whatever I choose to do, I won’t regret it. Because I will know one thing more than anything: whatever I decide ... you’ll deserve it.”

  Nikita steps back. And then steps back once more. His fingers rake through his hair and his face contorts in a way I haven’t seen before. Not one of anger but of hurt. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times as if he’s searching for something to say.

  But there’s nothing.

  A car pulls up just then. It’s an older model Nissan Rogue. You wouldn’t think twice if you saw it drive past you, which I guess is the whole point. An older man exits the driver’s side and walks over to Nikita.

  I stay seated on the boulder and watch as the driver and Nikita embrace. That must be Eitan. After the two men separate, Eitan looks at me. Nikita does not. They have a quick, whispered conversation, then Eitan comes over and gives me a polite nod.

  Without a word, he takes my bag from me and guides me to the vehicle. Nikita is already in the passenger’s seat. Eitan opens the door, and I climb into the back.

  No one says anything for a long time. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the window, cool to the touch. I feel an urge to cry, and an urge to sleep, but mostly I just feel numb. That’s fine, I suppose. Better than any of the alternatives I can think of.

  The closer we get to the city lights, the slower traffic moves. The familiar cacophony of car horns and impatient taxis takes over the silence. I should be grateful—I’ve grown up with that as a constant background noise—but part of me actually misses the stillness of the mountain as we wind through the city streets

  “Where do you live?” Nikita’s voice comes out gruff and scratchy.

  “Me?” What a stupid question. He must know where Eitan lives. “Near the college on the north side.”

  “What’s the cross street?”

  “Just drop me off at the campus and I can walk the rest of the way.”

  Eitan looks at Nikita, who nods. I straighten up just as I notice that my palms have begun sweating. I bite my nails the rest of the way, unsure of what to expect.

  Within the hour, Eitan pulls the SUV into visitor parking. Nikita gets out of the car and opens my door. I step out tentatively, watching his every movement. I look around, half expecting to see his bodyguards, but the only people around are other college students walking to and from class.

  “How far are you from here?” Nikita looks off into the distance over my head, refusing to meet my gaze.

  I point. “The building down the street. The brick one with the yellow flowers.”

  Nikita follows where my finger indicates, as if taking in features so he can identify the building at a later date. He shoves his hands in his pockets, still staring at my crummy student housing.

  “You’re free to go.”

  I can think of a million things I want to say. “Fuck you” is extremely high at the top of my list. “Why?” is up there too, for so many reasons. But what I settle on is the same thing I told him the first night at dinner on his terrace. Was that really only a few days ago? It seems like a lifetime.

  I look Nikita in the eyes and say, “My freedom was never yours to give or take away.”

  Nikita opens his mouth to respond, but I don’t wait for an answer. I turn and walk away. I want so badly to look back at him, but I refuse to give the man the satisfaction. As I put distance between him and me, I hear the car door open and slam, then the rev of the engine as Eitan ushers them away.

  Away from here. Away from me. Away from my life for good—I hope.

  I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe a goodbye. Or good luck. Something other than the stoic, stony silence. I went through hell with that man. I slept with him. But like
he said, the sex meant nothing. So why does it hurt so much? Why do I want him to care? To say goodbye like it means something to him?

  I wipe my eyes and adjust my ponytail. I won’t cry for him. I say that out loud, like a promise to myself. “I won’t cry for him.”

  My feet take me in the direction of the apartment, my brain on autopilot. After everything I’ve been through in the past couple of days, I’m not exactly sure how I feel. Confused. Angry. Scared. Alive. All the emotions are jumbled and not one wins.

  “Mizz Thornton?” a familiar voice calls out when I cross the street.

  Henry.

  I turn to find my old friend huddled in the corner. His face is bruised and his lips are cracked from the cold weather. “Henry? What happened to you?”

  “I could ask you da same thing? Haven’t seen ya around. Ya okay?”

  I offer him a sheepish smile. If he only knew what I have gone through. “Henry, are you okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Went to the shelter, like ya said to do. Wasn’t very friendly. Won’t go back.” Henry glances at a passerby and holds up his cup. “Mizz Thornton, ya wouldn’t happen to have any spare change?”

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I lost my bag.”

  “No worries. Ya go head on home before ya catch a chill.”

  I nod and head off down the road. When I get to the building, I head to the bush on the side, hoping the spare key is still there. Nikita never gave me back my stuff. I doubt I’ll ever see those things again.

  I find the key, steady my shaky hands, and put the key in the door. Before I open it, I offer up a quick prayer: please let the house be empty. If I see my friends, I’m going to sob like a baby. I’m not ready for that, or for any human contact, really. I just want a hot shower and a cold, dark room, and maybe to sleep for the rest of my life. If I can get that, I’ll be okay. Now if I can just make it to my room before—

  “Annie!”

  “Where have you been?”

  My roommates rush at me, hugging the bejesus out of me, and I groan, not from the contact, but because my body aches and they’re squeezing way too tight. I should’ve taken a minute to come up with a cover story before I came home.

  The two drag me over to the couch and the three of us collapse onto the soft cushions. Jenna and Wendy stare at me expectantly. And when I don’t respond, Wendy purses her lips. “Annie, we were so worried. Jenna planned on calling the cops if you hadn’t come home today. We were going to file a missing person’s report.”

  “Yeah, especially when we couldn’t reach you. We looked all over the club for you. And then I found your phone on the floor. We haven’t really slept since that night. You better have a good explanation,” Jenna says.

  I bite my lip. It would be so easy to tell them. I could just start at the beginning and tell them about being kidnapped and sold and screwed and shot at and chased and about sprinting up a mountain and falling asleep in Nikita’s arms. Wouldn’t that be easy? Wouldn’t that make me feel better? And once I’d told them, we could go to the police together and I could turn Nikita and his whole crew in, and they’d all be arrested and rot in jail for the rest of their lives.

  Don’t they deserve that fate? Don’t I deserve that closure?

  They do. I do.

  But I can’t.

  I open my mouth to tell the story, starting with Augustin at the club, and it’s like my voice gets stuck in my throat. I can’t tell them, no matter how much I should.

  Because there’s a man in Nikita worth saving.

  He’s a coldhearted bastard and a cold-blooded killer—I know that.

  He’s a ruthless mob boss and a seller of women—I know that, too.

  He’s a thief and a crook and a monster and the right thing to do is throw him behind bars so he can never hurt anyone else the way he did me. But beneath all that, there is a good man. A man who is loyal and smart, caring and kind, and who looked at me in a way that I’ve never been looked at before.

  I felt something when he kissed me. Something special. The thing they tell little girls to seek out—the kiss that feels right. There isn’t much that’s made sense since the moment I was dragged into the back hallway at the club, but that’s the only thing I can hang onto, the only truth that fits into my reality.

  I say it to myself for the first time, and I know it to be true: I’m in love with the mob boss.

  I suck in a deep breath and glance between my roommates. “Well, remember that guy I was dancing with?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I ... went home with him.”

  Both of my roommates gasp.

  “Actually, I shouldn’t say home. He had a little cabin we went to a little outside the city. It was very romantic. A nice little getaway. I realized I lost my phone and when I asked to borrow his, we found the reception was out up in the mountains. Must’ve been some interference.” I roll my eyes dramatically and sigh, hoping they buy the crap I’m feeding them. “And, as luck would have it, when we decided to head back into the city, his stupid tire ended up getting stuck in the mud and we had to push the car out. Common sense should’ve dictated not to bring a sports car into a rural area, but what’re you gonna do?”

  Jenna grabs my hand as Wendy giggles. I offer up a tired smile.

  “So yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

  Jenna sucks in a big breath and my two friends look at each other. “All right, time for the big question ...” Jenna says.

  They chime in at the same time.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nikita

  Three weeks. Three fucking weeks.

  My fist crashes into the table. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t figure out a way to wage this war against Gino. Three weeks since I’ve come back to reclaim what’s mine, and I’m still hiding like a fawn in the bushes. How did this fucking happen?

  I stand up and drop my plate into the sink, half-eaten food flopping into the basin. I sneer. This is my life now. This little fucking safe house on the edge of the city and suburbs in a poor middle-class section, so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. My family fought hard for power and wealth. I had it all, and now I’m walking across a fucking linoleum floor in a room with water stains on the ceiling and rats scurrying in the walls.

  I walk back into the living room and drop onto a hideous, decrepit couch. It wheezes under my weight, like it’s every bit as exhausted as I’m. Eitan glances up at me from a map spread over the rickety kitchen table.

  “We don’t have a lot of men left. I think whoever’s here already is all we’re going to get.” His jaw clenches, his fingers drumming against the arm of the velvet chair. “Nikita, I’m not sure how we’re going to get out of this. Even the council has turned its back.”

  The frustration builds and I think I might explode. I want to shout, have a tantrum, and beat my hands on the ground like a toddler. I want to vent, let it out. Above all, I want to wring the life from Gino’s throat.

  Instead I take a deep breath. Acting like a child will get me nowhere. Once, I was on top. All- powerful. I need to become that cruel and calculated person once again, and take back what is mine.

  “Run me through the list of what’s left,” I order, closing my eyes. I need to think.

  “Now that the laundromat on 5th has been burned out, we’re down to the electronics shop on Haven Boulevard, a stolen goods fence working out of the back of his van on Columbus and Rio, and two street gangs on corners in Los Arcos neighborhood, who are moving what little molly and cocaine they manage to scrounge up. We’re running out of resources, Nikita.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I sigh.

  “And even the ones we have left aren’t going to last. The corner kids are getting jumped every other day. They know we can’t protect them anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut and run soon. One of Gino’s lieutenants even killed a runner yesterday. A little kid. Nine years old.”

  Fuck.


  I did everything right—everything—and still this place is a goddamn mess. My father must be rolling in his grave. I lost everything he built, everything he sacrificed for. All because I let my guard down. I should’ve seen it coming. Shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable. My palms rub up and down my face as if I can make the failure disappear. “What about the men? The soldiers, I mean.”

  “Whoever is here are the only ones confirmed alive. A few reports of others who are holed up or left the city, but nothing for certain, and they aren’t likely to come out of their holes anytime soon. You can’t blame them, sir.”

  “What about the other families? Has anything changed there?”

  Eitan leans back and laces his fingers behind his head, exhaling in a slow, soft whistle. I know he’s tired; we’ve been working all hours of the day and night since the moment he picked me up from the mountain. The bags under his eyes are growing. “Most are staying out of it. We just got word today that the Mendoninos took over some territory of ours near the docks, so they’ve made their choice, apparently. The East Side Boys have passed along some useful information, but they’re not going to cross Gino, especially not now that he’s equipped with the remainder of our weapons import left over after he sold the bulk of it to the cartel. We need to face the reality, Nikita: we’re outnumbered, out-armed, and outmaneuvered. I just don’t see a way out, try as I might. You need to consider fleeing.”

  “Don’t ever say that word to me again, Eitan. I’m not running from my city like a fucking coward.”

  Eitan sighs and nods solemnly. “I know, Nikita. I just wish you would.”

  I stand and go over to him. He’s been working his fingers to the bone, all for the sake of my family. “I’m sorry, my friend,” I rasp. “I owe you better than my anger.”