Knocked Up by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Levushka Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  “She found an apartment,” Agatha says with a shrug. “A studio space just across from the Obvodny Canal. Near a railway station.”

  “She is living in the Gray Belt?”

  Agatha nods, and I can’t believe how relaxed she is. Her daughter has moved out from under her roof for the first time and is now living in the crumbling industrial district of St. Petersburg. The area is the main source of smog and air pollution in the city, not to mention riddled with crime. After living so many years on an estate owned by a crime family, I expect Zoya knows enough to keep herself out of trouble, but that doesn’t mean trouble won’t find her. She is a beautiful, pregnant woman living alone.

  Because of me.

  “Do you have her address?” The words come out clenched and frustrated. I don’t even know why I’m saying this. I have enough going on right now to stay busy for weeks, so why am I making this maid my problem? I don’t know what I’m planning to do. I don’t even know if I’ll try to talk to her, but for reasons I can’t explain, I need to see where she is staying. I need to see for myself what kind of life she and my possible niece or nephew might have.

  Agatha doesn’t ask any questions—either because she doesn’t care or is too afraid to question me—and grabs a notepad and pen from next to the refrigerator and scribbles down the address.

  I stuff it in my pocket with every intention of saving it for the next morning, but as I walk down the hallway towards my room, I feel my pocket for my car keys, and then pass my door and keep on walking. Before I can really think about it, I walk out the side door into the night and get behind the wheel of my car, headed towards the address Agatha wrote down for me.

  I’m going to find Zoya.

  Chapter 10

  Zoya

  I’m exhausted.

  The job at the diner is just as much work as being a maid, if not more. I’m on my feet for eight hours straight with a fifteen-minute break in the middle to eat. My first day wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d packed something to eat. Since I was working at a diner, I assumed there would be plenty of food around, but the boss is a lot stingier than he seemed during my interview. I get one free drink per shift, but the food is full-price, and since I didn’t have any money on me, I just went without.

  I knew if I’d mentioned that I was pregnant, the boss probably would have taken pity on me and given me some food, but I couldn’t drop that bombshell on Day One. Not yet. If Mr. Savin realized I’d accepted the job without disclosing my pregnancy, he’d be upset, and I didn’t know enough about him yet to know what he’d do when he was upset.

  Though, I thought I knew Boris Levushka, but clearly, I’d been wrong. He had fired me for my first-ever offense without even talking to me about it face to face. If someone I’d known my entire life could do that, then I had no idea what Mr. Savin would do.

  Just to be safe, I always called him Mr. Savin. He told me I could call him Robert like the rest of the employees, but since my mother had been right about my lack of professionalism with Boris, I decided not to make the same mistake again.

  My apartment is a train ride and a few blocks walk from the diner, so by the time I get home, it is nearly three in the morning and my feet are killing me. Because I’m the newest waitress on the schedule, I’m stuck picking up whatever shifts were available, which means I have to be at the diner again in seven hours. Just the thought of it makes me want to collapse on the cement.

  When I left the estate, Samara mentioned coming over sometime during my first week to help me decorate, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not only because I didn’t want her to see the exact level of squalor I was living in, but also because there wouldn’t be time. Every minute I wasn’t sleeping, I would be working.

  The Gray Belt isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The area is industrial and, just as the name suggests, rather gray, but it isn’t dangerous. My apartment building is disgusting, but some of the other buildings look okay. I’ve seen parents playing outside with children during the day and young people walking their dogs. It isn’t as nice as the city center, to be sure, but it isn’t the worst area.

  At least, not during the day.

  Walking down the sidewalk at three in the morning, however, highlights a few safety issues. Every other streetlight seems to be burnt out and alleys open up between buildings like black, yawning caves. I rush past these openings, feeling each time like hands are going to reach out and pull me in.

  None of this is helped by the fact I haven’t eaten all day. My legs feel wobbly beneath me and my vision is swimming with every step. The worst part is that I know the only food I have inside is a bag of pretzels and some gummy candy I got from a vending machine when a pregnancy craving hit me. Otherwise, I haven’t been to the store yet.

  I glance around as I walk from the railway station, hoping to see a convenience store open, but the area is all industrial buildings. During the day, smoke spews from the stacks, clouding out the sun, and at night, it goes eerily quiet. I should have bought something before getting on the train, but Mr. Savin let me off a little later than expected, and I had to run as it was to make the train on time.

  Running is probably part of the reason I’m feeling so unsteady. I can’t remember the lats time I ran anywhere.

  By the time I round the corner and see my apartment building rising from the ground like a broken tooth, the gummy candy sounds like a delicacy. My stomach growls at the thought of it. I pick up the pace, hoping to make it inside before I lose the ability to walk, but when I’m halfway down the block, I notice a black car in front of the building.

  I wouldn’t have paid the car any mind except the engine is on. I can hear the low rumble of it in the air.

  Even that wouldn’t be too noteworthy, except the headlights are off.

  I try to casually peek through the windows to see who is inside, but the windows are too darkly tinted to see anything. I grab my apartment key from my purse and hold it between my fingers. I don’t know how I’ll stab an attacker in the eyes with it when simply walking feels like a chore, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

  As every step carries me closer, I hate that one thought keeps rising to the forefront of my mind: Aleksandr Levushka.

  The car is a similar make to the one I saw him driving earlier in the week. And the tinted windows are standard policy amongst the Levushkas, so it isn’t impossible.

  Except, it is.

  Aleksandr would not come to see me.

  The one time we had a real conversation, we screamed at one another, and I ended up getting fired. Not exactly the basis for a lasting friendship. Clearly, he didn’t care for me, and I’d made it apparent what I thought of him. So, why then am I hoping he is the person waiting inside the car outside my apartment?

  When the door opens, a man ducks out, and for one second I mistake his blonde head for another’s. But then, the man stands tall, and I realize he is too short. It’s not Aleksandr.

  Then, the man looks up at me, and my disappointment quickly fades to fear.

  I could try to run, but if the man isn’t here to see me, I will look crazy. Even if he is here to see me, he parked strategically so he could cut me off on my way to the front door. I won’t make it in time. Not on my already shaky legs. So, weighing those options, I decide to stop walking altogether.

  The man moves around to the front of his car and steps onto the sidewalk, and as he does, the passenger door opens.

  A dark-haired man with a leather jacket and thick-soled boots gets out of the car. I can tell he is meant to be the muscle. I can practically feel the earth vibrate as he walks down the sidewalk towards me.

  I still haven’t moved, and I’m not sure how to anymore. What do these men want with me? I’ve never seen them around Boris’ estate, so I don’t think they are Levushkas. Even if they are, what would any Levushkas want with me? I was a maid. I didn’t have any secrets. Nothing worth getting out of bed at three in the morning for, anyway.

  �
�Are you Zoya?” the short blonde man asks.

  I nod and grip my key tighter between my fingers. It is becoming apparent that it will do little to protect me against two full grown men, but it brings me a small amount of comfort.

  “Can we talk?” The two men are getting closer, crowding me. I want to step away, but there is an alley just behind me and the thought of what could be lurking in there is worse than the reality ahead of me.

  The devil you know, I guess.

  “I’d rather go inside and go to sleep,” I admit. “But I doubt I have much of a choice.”

  The blonde man smiles, a silver crown sparkling in the back of his mouth. “I’m afraid not.”

  “What is this about?”

  The dark-haired man growls at my tone like a dog who has just spotted a squirrel. “We ask the questions.”

  The blonde man holds out a hand to his partner, easing him back. “We know you work for the Levushkas.”

  I shake my head. “I actually don’t.”

  “We know you know the Levushkas,” he amends. “We have a message for Aleksandr.”

  My heart kicks up at the mention of Aleksandr’s name, though I don’t know why. “I’m not friends with Aleksandr. If you have something to say to him, may I recommend a voicemail?”

  The dark-haired man steps forward again to intimidate me, but before he can even plant his large Frankenstein boot on the pavement, the blonde man raises his voice. “Quiet.”

  As if the command was meant for him, the dark-haired man once again steps back in line. I stand tall, hoping I look more confident than I feel.

  “You are testing my patience, bitch.” The blonde man smiles, and it is difficult to connect his tone with his body language. Everything about the man is at ease, relaxed. Yet, the fury in his voice sends goosebumps racing up my arms. “We are not here to be cute. We are here to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what?” I ask. “I don’t have anything to do with the Levushkas. I work at a diner in the city.”

  “Don’t tell me you cut all of your ties with the Levushkas twins in one week,” the blonde man says. He runs a hand across his smooth round chin. “Surely, you can still contact them even if you’ve just been fired.”

  I don’t want to know how these men know I was fired or when it happened. I don’t want to imagine them tailing me for the last week without me even realizing it.

  “I just need you to tell Aleksandr to back off,” he continues.

  “Back off from what?”

  “From our turf,” he says. “The unopposed reign of the Levushkas is over, and the sooner Aleksandr realizes that, the better.”

  So that is why I didn’t recognize these men. They aren’t Levushkas.

  Samara told me she’d heard whispers about another crime family in the area. They were causing disruptions for the Levushkas and the city had seen a spike in criminal activity since their arrival. Beyond that, though, I hadn’t heard much about them.

  “I can try to get your message to him, but I’m not sure he’ll listen to me,” I say. “As you know, I was fired. They probably won’t see me as the most trustworthy source of information.”

  The blonde man smiles at me and then turns to his friends. “Can you think of a way to make the Levushkas listen to her?”

  The dark-haired man lifts an eyebrow and looks down at me. His fists clench at his side. “I can think of something that might catch their eye.”

  Now, dark alley be damned, I take a stumbling step backwards. My heart is pounding in my chest, each thud threatening to knock me off my feet.

  “It’s nothing personal, sweetheart,” the blonde man says as his muscled friend approaches me. “When Aleksandr asks you why this happened, make sure to tell him it was because of him sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I take another step back and find myself pressed against the grimy brick wall. I could scream for help, but I’m afraid it will only make the man angrier. Perhaps, it would be better to stay quiet and just wait for it to be over with. For my baby’s sake, I have to do whatever will cause the least amount of harm.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and can practically feel the man’s body heat radiating into me when I suddenly hear the rumble of an engine and the crunch of tires down the street. I open my eyes, and the dark-haired man has also turned around to see who is driving up on the scene.

  It is a dark car—almost identical to the one driven by the two rival thugs—and my heart sinks. Reinforcements. More men to watch or, even worse, take part in my beating. Before I can stop it, a sob bursts out of me.

  “Who the fuck—?” the blonde man starts to ask.

  Then, a car door opens. “Zoya?”

  I don’t know how, but I recognize his voice. The moment he says my name, I know it is Aleksandr.

  The man in front of me takes another step back, waiting for orders from his partner on how to proceed, and I can see Aleksandr standing in the gutter. His hand is resting on his hip—on a gun, I realize.

  “Is there a problem here?” he asks coolly, eyes shifting between the two men like a lion sizing up their prey.

  I’m too surprised to be relieved.

  What is Aleksandr doing here? Is he working with these men? Did he know they were coming to harass me?

  “No problem,” the blonde man says, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We were just talking to the lady.”

  Aleksandr looks at me for a minute. His eyes shift away so quickly that I can’t read his expression. “It doesn’t look like the lady wants to talk to you.”

  The man widens his stance and clenches his jaw. “The sidewalk is public property.”

  Before I can even blink, Aleksandr has pulled the gun from his holster and has it aimed directly at the man’s blonde head. “And this gun is my personal property. Would you like to be more intimately acquainted with it?”

  The dark-haired man jolts into action, but Aleksandr spins the gun on him in an instant, stopping him in his tracks. He takes a step back, but it isn’t in retreat, it is strategy. Now, he can easily shift aim between the two men, keeping them both under control.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” the blonde man says, his face split into a tight smile.

  “Then leave,” Aleksandr grits out.

  “We just came to deliver a message—”

  Aleksandr cocks the gun. The sound echoes off the buildings along the quiet street, and he tilts his head to the side. “Message received. Time to go.”

  Sweat has collected on the blonde man’s head, and he nods quickly, his cheeks going red. With a quick nod of his head, he orders the dark-haired man back into the car. Without taking their eyes off of Aleksandr, they sidestep back to the car and get inside.

  Aleksandr doesn’t lower his weapon until the men have driven away and are out of sight. Then, he turns to me.

  “Are you okay?”

  All at once, the day crashes over me.

  Exhaustion from carrying tray after tray of food from the kitchen to the dining room and refilling coffee cups and wiping down tables. Weakness from too many hours passed without food or water. The disappointment of the car outside my apartment not being Aleksandr and then the surprise when he did show up.

  And fear.

  So much fear.

  Every emotion I’ve felt and kept buried for the last twenty-four hours overwhelms me all at once, and I feel my legs begin to give out.

  Before I can hit the ground, I feel a strong arm around my waist.

  “Zoya?” His voice is deep and concerned.

  Aleksandr lowers me gently to the pavement, and I want to say something to ease his worry, but I can’t summon the words. My mouth, much like the rest of my body, is useless. I let my tired eyes flutter closed and welcome the darkness.

  Chapter 11

  Aleksandr

  With Zoya in my arms, I pause for a moment on the sidewalk. I could carry her into her apartment—her key slipped from her hand when she passed out—and try to wake her, but one l
ook up at her apartment building tells me all I need to know.

  The façade has deep cracks running up the brick with haphazard patch jobs trying to hide the decay. Half of the windows are cracked and boarded over and trash overflows from the trashcans along the curb. It isn’t a nice place, and Zoya shouldn’t be there in her current condition. Or any condition.

  Plus, it isn’t safe for her here.

  For whatever reason, our rivals are targeting her. Perhaps they know about her child with Mikhail? Maybe that is why she has a target on her back. Though, I don’t know how anyone would know yet. I just found out a few days ago.

  Either way, they know where she lives, and they won’t stay away. I can’t protect her here long-term. Zoya is lucky I showed up when I did. God knows what they would have done to her.

  My arms tighten around her thin frame as I think about it. I don’t know why I feel such a strong urge to protect her. I don’t even know why I showed up at her apartment in the first place. I’ve never been the kind of guy to believe in fate, so I have to believe it is pure stupid luck.

  And I have a feeling Zoya won’t get this lucky again.

  I need to get her to the hospital. She is pregnant and she just passed out on the sidewalk. She needs to be seen by a doctor. She and the baby both need to be examined.

  I scoop Zoya up easily and adjust her weight in my arms. Her head lulls to the side, her cheek pressing against my chest. Her full lips are parted, and her breathing comes out slow and even.

  She really is beautiful.

  This realization does nothing to ease my confusion, so I push it aside as I open the passenger door and settle her in the seat. I strap the seatbelt across her chest, noticing how flat her stomach still is. If everyone is right and she is pregnant, it is still early.

  Which means she and Mikhail would have been together within the last couple months.

  The thought feels like ice water pouring down my neck, and I roll my shoulders to ease the tension. I don’t know why I should care. I’ve never cared who Mikhail decided to fuck. That was his business.