Unprotected With the Mob Boss

by Nicole Fox

  I turn toward her. She’s watching me, her arms crossed over her abdomen, and she seems lost in thought.

  “You need to come back to the mansion,” I say. “It’s for your safety.”

  “I can’t right now,” she says, looking away from me.

  “I know you’re upset because you think your father almost died, but he didn’t. You need to prioritize your own safety now and not focus on some worst-case scenario that didn’t happen.”

  She whips around, fire suddenly in her dark eyes. “God, you are the champion of assholes. It must be difficult to be that self-absorbed. I’m not prioritizing my father right now. I’m prioritizing—I’m figuring something out and I can’t do that when you’re around, messing with my emotions.”

  “Your emotions aren’t a priority right now either,” I say. “Your safety is the priority. You need to get over what you’re feeling and just come with me. I’m not fucking around.”

  Her arms tighten around her abdomen. “I’m usually very responsible. I do everything by the book. I never forget things. But you came into my life and everything turned into a mess.”

  “Yes, I get it. I’m terrible. I’m the worst person on earth. Let’s go.” I grab her arm. She looks down at my hand, then back at my face.

  “I was going to take my birth control pills last night,” she says. “I realized I was two days behind. I missed the night of the gala and the night before.”

  The images clash in my mind. The pills. Sex in the den the night of the gala. The lack of a condom.

  “You should have told me,” I say.

  “I didn’t realize it,” she says. “I didn’t know.”

  Pregnant. I reel with the realization, trying to absorb it and failing completely. Later on, I’ll have to cope with the fact that Allison is pregnant with my child. Her child. Our child. My heir. But right now, I have to focus on the present circumstances. And those circumstances are that Ally is now more in danger than ever, as am I.

  Karma is a mean bitch and she’s coming back to bite me. Since I took Marco’s father, it only makes sense that Marco is going to try to hurt me in the same way—except I killed my father, so Marco can’t do that. The closest Marco could get is killing my fiancée or my child and it’s looking like, while he’s at his most wrathful, he can kill them both in one shot.

  It’s some Old Testament bullshit. I’ve worked too hard to build myself up to be taken down so easily. I’ve taken the ashes that my father left behind, turned them into gold, and a single woman is going to destroy everything because I was foolish enough to allow her into my life outside of the bedroom.

  “How could you forget to take your pills?” I ask. “If I thought you were going to be that irresponsible, I would have done something about it.”

  “I forgot. I’m usually responsible but after we met—”

  “Don’t blame this on me,” I snarl. “You did this on purpose. You wanted to trap me.”

  Her cheeks flush. Tears threaten to fall from her eyes. It almost makes me regret my words. Almost.

  “You’re the one who wanted to marry me,” she retorts. “You’re the one who trapped me. I didn’t need to do anything.”

  I turn away from her as I slam my fist into her kitchen counter. I hear something crack underneath my knuckles, but I don’t check it. I know this is my fear manifesting as rage, but it doesn’t change the racing thoughts and the evolving anger.

  It looks like I have become my father after all. Much as I want to force her to come with me to the mansion, I can’t bring myself to do it. That alone tells me I’m in too deep—the fact that I’m thinking twice about exerting control.

  “Stay away from the windows,” I order. “I’ll keep some men on the building.”

  I leave the apartment, an ache in my hand and a river of fear in my chest. I swallow to keep it down. I know it’s too massive to ignore, but I’ll keep forcing that fear down.

  I have to tame it …

  Before it can drown me.

  18

  Allison

  Shortly after I realized I’d missed two of my birth control pills, Elizabeth called, offering to let me sit in on another criminal case. I agreed, my mind too numb to consider saying no. Now that I’m sitting behind her again, everything reminds me of pregnancy, of Lev’s accusations, of Jeffrey Douglas.

  “Mr. Carlson,” the defense lawyer, Matthew Davis, says as he strides to the witness box. “Your PTSD diagnosis makes it difficult for you to differentiate a threat from something innocuous, correct?”

  You wanted to trap me, Lev’s voice echoes through my thoughts.

  “Yes,” Timothy Carlson nods furiously. “My three children, my babies—they know not to jump or scare me. And I did this all for them. I wouldn’t have taken anything if it weren’t for them. I wouldn’t risk prison unless I thought I needed to do it.”

  I wouldn’t have risked prison if my life hadn’t been in danger. I wouldn’t have done any of this if it weren’t for my father’s career being on the line. Now, I’m probably having a baby, complicating all of my choices.

  “Thank you,” the defense attorney says, sitting back down.

  Elizabeth shoots out of her seat. She strolls around the table.

  “Mr. Carlson, you claim that you wouldn’t have taken anything if it weren’t for your children. Would you have also not killed your neighbor if it weren’t for your children?”

  “What? I mean, I guess. They were why I was in his house—”

  “You blame your children for why you murdered a man?”

  “It wasn’t murder. It was self-defense. I needed money. I needed to feed my family.”

  It was self-defense. I didn’t mean to kill Jeffrey Douglas. I needed to hide his murder to protect my family.

  “But this isn’t even your first crime. You have a long criminal record. You’ve been caught breaking and entering three times. There are plenty of veteran organizations that will help you get a job. Have you tried to get ahold of any of them?”

  After Douglas’ death, I watched Lev kill a man. I didn’t report it. I didn’t do anything. I learned he was the leader of the Bratva and it didn’t even occur to me to turn him in.

  “I’ve—I’ve considered it,” Mr. Carlson says. “You don’t understand. The tension in my head. It’s like a rubber band. I can’t handle it.”

  “There must have been plenty of tension while you were breaking into Mr. Cruz’s house and you managed it just fine,” Elizabeth retorts.

  “It’s different.” Mr. Carlson shakes his head. “It’s all different. It’s not my fault. I had to—my kids. I had to do it for my kids.”

  I can’t turn into this kind of person. I can’t go on justifying crimes, hiding behind excuses, blaming other people. I put myself into this mess. I didn’t trap Lev, but I allowed him to sway my moral compass. That’s my responsibility.

  And if I’m not going to be justifying crimes, I can’t marry Lev.

  Elizabeth winks at me before she sits back down. She asked to have lunch with me again after court was dismissed. After everything that’s happened since the last lunch, it feels strange to return to how it used to be.

  It feels like it’s my court trial, and I don’t see a jury ever returning with a verdict that exonerates me.

  Last time, Welkin’s was alluring, reminding me of what my future could look like. I saw the grayish-blue walls and thought it was the color of the sky before dawn. Now it reminds me of a guillotine’s blade.

  “You seem worried,” Elizabeth says after our waitress serves us wine. “Don’t be. We’ve got the stronger jury members on our side and they’ll sway the weaker ones.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” I fiddle with my napkin. “I’m not worried about anything.”

  “Good,” she says. “Because I want you to have a clear head when I ask you something.”

  I unravel my napkin, letting the silverware fall out. “Shoot.”

  “Do you want to take an internship in the d
istrict attorney’s office?”

  “What?” I ask, sitting up. She smiles at me, knowing the gift she’s just offered me.

  “You’d be able to continue to attend trials, assist in investigations, prepare documents, and do legal research,” she says. “It’d also look great on a JD program application. Any law school would put you at the top of its list.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hide my smile. This is more than I could have dreamed. Just the chance to work side-by-side with the DA employees is too good to believe.

  “Allison?” she asks.

  “I’d love to do that,” I blurt out. “Do I need to sign something?”

  “You will, yes,” she says. “But there is one stipulation.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Whatever you want.”

  “You have to break it off with Lev Alekseiev.”

  I open my mouth, waiting for the right words to come. I expected her to say I needed to put off going to law school for another year. I expected her to say that I need to not talk about my work with anyone else. I didn’t expect this.

  “How … how do you even know about that?” I ask.

  “I know a lot of people in law enforcement,” she says. “We work closely with the police, Allison. I work closely enough with them that they told me that you two were at the gala together and it’s a well-known fact in the police department that Lev Alekseiev’s father was a leader of the Bratva. It’s believed that Lev is still connected to them. I can’t have anyone in my office connected to the Bratva in any form. I know it must seem cruel for me to give you this ultimatum but it’s an issue of ethics. If we get any case where there’s even a slight potential of the Bratva being involved, there will be accusations that we didn’t pursue the case hard enough because one of our own was dating a man that profits from them.”

  I nod and swallow hard. “That makes sense.”

  Elizabeth takes a sip of her wine. This should be easy. I never got rid of the evidence that Lev offered me, but I can’t imagine him using it against me now. I could see him doing many terrible, violent things, but I can’t picture him throwing me to the wolves.

  Though I’ve been wrong about a lot of things already.

  “It’s fine that you’re conflicted,” Elizabeth says. “I can give you a week to decide, but after that, I’ll need to give the internship to my assistant district attorney’s son.”

  I nod again. “Thank you.”

  “I have to say I’m surprised, Allison. I didn’t think you’d be the type to get in bed with someone like Alekseiev.”

  “Oh well …” I shrug. “I didn’t know he was rumored to be associated with the Bratva.”

  Elizabeth tilts her head. “Interesting. Your father told me that he told you about Alekseiev’s Bratva connections.”

  My cheeks burn hot. I grab my wine, taking a long swig of it. Right after the district attorney offered me a dream internship, she caught me in a stupid lie about the Bratva. Even with her stone-cold poker face, I’m certain she’s second-guessing the offer. If I lied about this, I could easily lie about anything that comes into the DA office.

  I’m falling apart from the inside out. I’ve got a sickness, and I breathed it in when Lev and I kissed.

  19

  Lev

  A week later

  When Ilya calls to tell me there’s been an issue reported at the hardware store, I’m halfway grateful for the distraction. Being alone in my office, thinking of Ally, who I haven’t seen in a week after our big fight, is driving me insane. Then there’s the probable baby now in the equation who keeps popping up in my thoughts. Me. A father. I can’t begin to get my head wrapped around that, so I mostly ignore it for the time being.

  Entering the hardware store, three customers are milling around. I signal to Ilya and Petrov to tell them to leave. Daniil and another one of my lieutenants, Novikov, move up closer behind me as I walk up to the register.

  I see the movement—the cashier’s hand dips down too fast to be subtle. I grab Novikov’s shirt, yanking him back against the shelves with me as I rip my Glock out of its holster.

  Novikov and I back up as a shot goes off. I whip around in its wake and pull my trigger twice in quick succession. The cashier’s body jerks back as Novikov and I manage to get behind the shelf.

  I check Daniil. It looks like his shoulder is bleeding, but he’s managed to get behind one of the other shelves. I check behind me. I can’t see Ilya or Petrov, but that likely means they’re both safe.

  Another gunshot goes off.

  I peer around the corner. The cashier is definitely dead or mortally wounded. Someone else is shooting.

  Tracking stolen guns isn’t practical, but with a gun in Sarah Lyle’s face, she told me this was where the Colosimos were storing the weapons they took from us. I hope—for her sake—that she did not forewarn them that we were coming.

  As Daniil tries to look around the shelf he’s hidden behind, nearly letting his whole head protrude out, and several shots go off. His head slams back. He screams, high-pitched enough that Novikov flinches.

  It’s as good of a distraction as any.

  I tilt to the side, seeing the movement of two men. I shoot the taller one as he turns toward me. His body stumbles back. I shoot the second man as he aims at me.

  There’s another shot. A hot, stinging sensation runs down my arm. I lurch backward and check my arm, finding a line of blood. It looks like the bullet only skimmed me. As I’m examining my wound, the oddest thought occurs to me. Not only do I not want to die here—nor do I plan to—but I realize that I can’t die. Allison and the baby need me alive to protect them, whether or not she ever wants to see me again.

  Several shots echo in the store, drawing my focus back to the situation at hand. It’s a storm of noise, occasionally punctuated by screams and yells. I turn to check the register. There are three more men, but they’re barely focused on us as bullets assault them from the west, destroying the cash register, the counter, and the wall behind it.

  I signal to Novikov before I charge out, and he covers me. One of the men is down or hiding, but I take out the man hiding behind a stack of cardboard boxes. There’s a shot behind me as Novikov takes out the Colosimo half hidden in the stockroom.

  I keep my gun raised as I peer behind the counter. Six men. It seems safe to assume they’re not all here earning minimum wage.

  I spin around as I hear movement behind me. Ilya raises his hands with a nervous smile. Petrov is behind him, looking immeasurably more serious.

  “You shouldn’t have wasted so many bullets,” I tell Ilya. “You turn into a maniac during a firefight.”

  “Just backing you up.” He nods to Petrov and Novikov. “Do a sweep in the back.”

  They both nod, jumping over the counter. As they disappear, Daniil groans down the aisle.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I turn back down the aisle, finding him. Blood is gushing from his head, but he’s alert. I crouch down, grabbing his hand away from his face.

  His ear was shot off.

  Not a great scenario, but not the worst either.

  “Get him to our guy,” I say. Ilya nods, getting his phone out. He sends a text out as I find some industrial wipes. I hand them to Daniil. It looks like he was shot in the shoulder as well. Ally would have been more sympathetic, but someone else’s idiocy isn’t my problem.

  Petrov and Novikov return.

  “The guns are back there,” Petrov reports. “Nobody else is here.”

  “Get them to the 73 warehouse,” I tell them. They both nod once before returning to the stockroom.

  “Your arm is bleeding,” Ilya says.

  “It’s fine.” I run my hand over it, the sting twisting all of the way down.

  “You weren’t as sharp as usual,” he says. “Sloppy work from one of the best shooters I’ve ever met. What happened?”

  “There’s a time for you to speak your mind, Ilya,” I growl. “Now is not that time.”

  He nods.
Daniil curls into the fetal position below us, the industrial wipes turning bright red over his ear.

  I wash the blood off in the shower. The wound on my arm stings, but after a while, I don’t feel it at all.

  I look up into the showerhead, letting the water blind me. I imagine Ally in front of me, the water flowing down her curves and her ass pressed up against my groin.

  I run my hand over my cock, imagining her soft hands. I imagine her mouth, her lips tight around the head. I press my hand against the wall of the shower. My fist glides up and down my cock. I close my eyes. Ally on her knees. Her eyes, gazing up at me. The look of need. Her hand raising, cupping my balls.

  As I get closer to my limit, I imagine jerking her around, pressing her up against the wall. I’d bury myself in her, feeling her breathing quicken with my chest against her back. I’d fuck her as her hands tried to grip onto the wall. Her supple ass pushing up against me as she struggled to keep her balance.

  When I come, there’s a flood of pleasure. I lean against the wall. As the seconds pass by, the pleasure is replaced by a hollow solitude.

  I step out of the shower, but Ally’s mirage follows me out. She dances naked in the center of the bathroom. When I get dressed, I see her in the closet from when we picked out her clothes after our first run. When I go down the stairs, I recall her standing in the doorway, prepared to run away from the deal I was giving her. Even her words and her laugh reverberate in the house like ghosts.

  I make myself a drink, hoping to drown the memories out. I check my phone.

  Ilya: I’m coming over with the report. Don’t shoot me.

  He’s worried. It’s annoying as fuck, but as my right-hand man, he’s equally concerned about me as he is about the Bratva. He’s right about how shoddy my marksmanship was today. My father gave me a gun for the first time when I was five and I practiced obsessively when I was a teenager. I should have been able to take out all of those men easily. But my mind was preoccupied.