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

by Nicole Fox

  I pull back the shower curtain, and then look over my shoulder. Cyrus darts away from the crack of the door quickly, not wanting me to see him watching.

  Quickly, I step inside and pull the shower curtain closed. I slide out of my jeans and throw them over the shower rod. Then, I pull my shirt over my head and throw it over the top, letting it flutter to the floor.

  “It is nice to finally be respected,” Cyrus says, his voice clearer than it was only a minute before. He is in the bathroom with me now.

  “I’m sure,” I say, reluctantly peeling my bra and panties off and reaching around the curtain to drop them on the floor.

  I hear a slight rustling on the other side of the curtain and know without looking that Cyrus has bent down to pick them up. He is growing bolder. More confident.

  Good.

  I turn the shower on and the water comes out freezing cold. I have to bite my lip to keep in a shriek.

  “Maybe you’ll come around and realize those Levushka men have been using you, as well,” Cyrus says. His voice is just outside the curtain now. I can see his shadow creeping up the aging yellow vinyl.

  “Maybe,” I purr. “Crazier things have happened.”

  “That they have.” I see his hand stretch for the edge of the curtain, and I know this is my one and only shot to get the hell out of this cabin.

  Just as his fingers appear at the edge of the curtain, I spring forward with my arms and legs out like a ninja. Cyrus lets out a whoosh of air as the full force of me hits him square in the chest. The curtain is between us, keeping him from clawing at me or fighting as effectively as he normally would, so I use it to my advantage.

  We stumble backward, Cyrus slamming into the bathroom wall, and I grab two handfuls of the vinyl material and wrap it around his round head.

  Immediately, he opens his mouth to inhale and the curtain fills his mouth. Without air, he begins to panic, thrashing around, and I know I won’t be able to hold on much longer. Not long enough to actually suffocate him, anyway. So, I drop my feet to the floor and use the extra leverage to shove him harder against the wall.

  His arms wrap around me, squeezing tight enough that it is hard to inhale properly, but that is okay. Now, I know where his hands are. And they aren’t anywhere near his waist.

  My heart is hammering so hard in my chest I’m sure Cyrus can hear it, but my entire body is thrumming with adrenaline. I feel more in control of myself than I ever have before. My thoughts are clear, and I know what I have to do.

  I count to three slowly in my head and on the final count, I pull the curtain away from his face and let it drop between us at the same time my knee connects with his groin.

  Cyrus’s face is red and purple and splotchy, and his mouth is open in a silent scream of agony. I’m completely naked and dripping wet, clinging to him like my life depends on it. Perhaps if my life didn’t depend on it, I’d be able to laugh at how ridiculous we look.

  He seems stunned by our predicament, as well. Once he can see me, his eyes widen, and he freezes for just a second. Just long enough for me to reach around his arm and grab blindly at the right side of his hip. Cyrus’ face lights up with realization, but by the time he understands what I am doing, it is too late.

  The gun is in my hand, and I push away from him with all of my strength, which is more than enough to overpower his hold on my waist. Naked and dripping wet, I aim the gun at his chest.

  “Sit down.”

  Without hesitation, Cyrus drops to the floor with his hands held over his head. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  “Stop talking,” I bark.

  He pinches his lips together and nods his head quickly, looking more like he is vibrating than anything else.

  I shake the gun in his face. “Move, and I will kill you.”

  He nods again, and I step backwards out of the bathroom and into the living room without ever taking my eyes off of him. I move around the sofa and into the kitchen where the duffel bag he came back with is laying on the floor. With my eyes still on Cyrus, I kick the bag through the house and to the bathroom door.

  I unzip it and am relieved to see it is exactly what I hoped it was.

  A hit bag.

  Rope, zip ties, hand cuffs, a blindfold, and tape. Everything a person could want or need to hold someone hostage with.

  I slide my finger over the trigger and nod to the bag. “Put the handcuffs on.”

  Cyrus grabs them and slips one of his wrists in. When he moves to put in the other, I shake my head. “Behind your back.”

  “Come on, Zoya,” he says as he slides his hands around to his back. “You aren’t a killer. Don’t do this.”

  “Why do you think I’m handcuffing you?” I ask. “I’m not going to kill you. Not if you do exactly what I say.”

  All at once, he seems to relax, and I realize why Cyrus could so easily betray the Levushkas after so many years of working together. Because he only cares about surviving. Loyalty means nothing to him in the face of his own death.

  As soon as his hands are bound behind his back, I order him to zip tie his ankles. Sure to keep the gun out of his reach, I lean down and tighten the zip ties until I’m certain he can’t break free, but he also won’t lose circulation.

  “Turn around,” I order, tired of his bloodshot eyes perusing my naked body. Even in dire straits, he can’t help himself.

  I check the handcuffs, tightening them each another notch, and then step back. For the first time since I walked into the bathroom, I take a deep breath.

  While Cyrus tries to make himself comfortable on the floor, I get dressed one-handed, never putting the gun down. I decide against the bra simply because it would require both hands.

  While I’m buttoning my jeans, Cyrus laughs. “Are you proud of yourself?”

  I shrug. “A bit, yeah.”

  “Well, enjoy it,” he says. “It won’t last.”

  I grab a length of rope from the duffel bag and throw it over my shoulder and a handful of zip ties and shove them in my back pocket.

  “Thanks for the tip.” I salute him as I leave the bathroom.

  “I’m serious,” he calls. “Every road away from this cabin is being monitored. You’ll probably be shot on sight if you try to leave.”

  I don’t know if he is telling the truth, but I know one thing for certain: if I stay in this cabin, I’ll be killed. Better a probable death than a certain one.

  I slip through the door in the kitchen and into the dark of night, leaving the cabin and the traitor far, far behind.

  Chapter 18

  Aleksandr

  I spend all night and the next day plotting with me father on how to get Zoya back. Boris is in and out all day, helping the plans when he can, but mostly he deals with clean up from the warehouse explosion and organizes for additional men to be brought in from nearby towns to help. The more unfamiliar faces we can have in our operation, the better.

  “I’m not sure you need to surrender yourself at all,” my father says for what feels like the hundredth time. “It seems like an unnecessary risk.”

  “Doing anything to deviate from their demands is a risk,” I argue. “At this point, we have no reason to believe they aren’t going to do exactly what they say. And right now, they say they will hand over Zoya if I turn myself over.”

  “Bullshit,” my father barks. “Absolute bullshit. They carried out an unprovoked attack on one of our warehouses. We are no longer operating within the bounds of good faith. We can’t trust them.”

  “And we won’t.”

  “Damn right we won’t,” Boris says, shoving his phone in his pocket and taking a seat at our round table. His estate has become our home base. Even my father left the usual comforts of his house to plan with us here. An attack like this on our family, especially on our own turf, is unprecedented. It has to be dealt with immediately.

  Everyone in the house has been nervous since Zoya was taken. No one saw what happened to her, so there are too many questions le
ft unanswered for anyone to relax. Samara has been baking nonstop all night, and Zoya’s mother has paced the distance between her cottage and the main estate so many times I’m surprised there isn’t a path worn in the grass.

  Boris grabs a muffin from the batch Samara made for breakfast and eats it in two bites, crumbs spilling down the front of his shirt. “We are going to have men backing you up on every side, Aleksandr.”

  “You have reinforcements?” my father asks.

  My uncle nods. “People are coming in from all over the place to help. We will have a small army here by lunch, and they’ll be ready to move by this afternoon.”

  “I have to be at the address they gave me by mid-afternoon.” I check my watch. Only four hours to go. “Will they be ready by then?”

  “They’ll be ready,” he assures me. Then, he leans in, one eyebrow raised. “But are we sure this bitch is worth the trouble?”

  My father gestures for my uncle to hold his tongue, but the low growl that rumbles from my chest is enough for Boris to raise his hands in surrender and back down.

  “Fine. Fine. I’m just making sure,” he says. “If we are going to lose good men today, I want to make sure it is for a good reason.”

  “We aren’t going to lose anyone.” I ripped a map of St. Petersburg from an atlas in the library and used it to mark our plans. I pull it towards me and point to the two biggest ports of entry for criminal goods into the city. “We are going to attack here and here. There are trustworthy sources saying that this is where some outspoken enemies have been making deals. If they are right, then we’ll cut their numbers into thirds. They will be so busy dealing with the attacks that they won’t be able to defend the home base.”

  “And if you’re wrong?” Boris asks.

  “Then I’ll die,” I say simply.

  My father clenches his fist and pounds it on the table. “That can’t be the only alternative.”

  “It has to be unless we want innocent men to die instead,” I say.

  “You are an innocent man,” he argues, reaching out to grab my forearm. “There has to be a way to negotiate with them that doesn’t put you in direct risk.”

  I pat my father’s hand, surprised by his gentleness, and shake my head. “There isn’t.”

  “He’s right, Vlad.” Boris pulls the map closer and studies it, his eyes memorizing the movements of our men. “The rivals want Aleksandr, and they won’t talk unless he shows his face.”

  “And like Boris said, I won’t be alone,” I say. “It will look like I am, but there will be men ready and waiting in the trees all around the meeting location. As soon as Zoya is handed over, they’ll attack, and I’ll get her out of there.”

  I can still see the hesitation in my father’s face. Even in the height of his leadership, he never involved himself much with the planning of missions. He had always seen himself as the figurehead, but Boris was the brains. So, as much as he wants to continue to protest, he knows any plan put together by Boris is the best option.

  Just like Boris said, the reinforcements arrive shortly after lunch. They call Boris to confirm their placement near the meeting site and inform him they await his command. And thirty minutes before the scheduled meeting, Boris orders the men to take position and then slaps a hand on my back.

  “Take care of yourself, nephew.”

  “You too, uncle.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Thank you for your help. We needed you today.”

  “Of course,” he says. “You know it has always been my pleasure to work in the background.”

  When my father appears in the driveway, hands folded politely behind his back, Boris slips back into the house to give us a moment.

  I don’t have any plans of dying today, but for some strange reason, standing in front of my father feels like saying goodbye.

  “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I say lightly, shrugging off the dread that seems to be pressing down on me.

  “I know you will,” my father says. “You always come back when you say you will. You are dependable that way.”

  I smile, hearing all of the words he left unspoken. The years of feeling unseen and unappreciated. He is acknowledging them and trying to do better, and it is all I could ever ask of him.

  When I make it to the end of the long driveway, I look in the rearview mirror, and he is still standing there in the gravel, watching me go.

  The address I was sent is east of the city, deep in a pocket of trees that seem to crowd the narrow road more and more the further I drive. The sun should be just west of the highest point in the sky, but I can’t see it through the heavy foliage. Only the car’s headlights allow me to cut through the murky shadows and see the road.

  Finally, there is a turn in the road and the trees begin to thin. Dappled light covers the dirt road, and if I wasn’t heading towards such a daunting meeting, it may have been pretty.

  Instead, the beautiful day feels like a taunt.

  I haven’t heard a word from the people who have Zoya since the call yesterday morning, and I am desperate to see her. To see that she is okay and safe.

  I study the trees as I pass, hoping to see a flash of movement that would signal the presence of the reinforcements Boris called, but I see nothing. I know that means they are staying hidden and doing their jobs, but it would make me feel better to know I’m not heading into this situation alone.

  The tree line falls away all at once without warning, and I’m driving through the middle of a large circular opening, surrounded on all sides by forest. I’m exposed.

  The plan was always to drive straight into the altercation with the rival family. To turn myself over and then fight my way out, but everything about the situation feels wrong now that I’m actually doing it. For the first time, I wonder whether my father wasn’t right.

  Then, I crest a small hill and see a cabin to the right.

  It has to be where Zoya is being held. It is the only manmade structure I’ve seen in almost half an hour. So, I push aside my doubts, turn off of the road, and head towards the house.

  I wait in the car, the engine rumbling, but there is no movement beyond the small windows of the cabin or in the surrounding trees. I slowly turn off the ignition and open the car door. All is quiet, and I wonder whether I’ve come to the wrong place.

  Then, I head a crunch of grass behind me, but before I can turn around, there is a cold press of metal to the back of my neck.

  “Step away from the car.”

  The voice sounds familiar to me, but I am too stunned to place it. I move away from the car, my hands raised in surrender.

  “I’m listening,” I say. “I’m doing what you ask.”

  “Oh, I know you are.” The loud crack of laughter is even more familiar than the voice, and a chill runs through me.

  “Boris?”

  My uncle walks a tight circle around me until we are face to face. He is smiling from ear to ear. “You fucking idiot.”

  My head is trying to make sense of what I’m seeing and hearing, but it is like trying to solve a crossword in another language. There are too many hurdles to jump through, too many questions to answer. So, instead, I just shake my head.

  “You let me plan every part of this surrender,” he says, still laughing. “You might as well have handed me your head on a silver platter.”

  Boris is the same square, meaty man I’ve always known, but he looks different now. Sinister.

  His features are twisted in malice, his top lip curled back.

  “Does my father know?” I ask, trying to understand how deep this conspiracy goes. If Boris has betrayed me, then there is no telling how many people have.

  Zoya?

  The thought crosses my mind. She was a major distraction for me in the last couple of weeks, but she never forced herself on me. I was the one who chased after her.

  No, if Zoya is working for Boris, then she must have brainwashed me because I followed her willingly.

  “Your father?
” Boris asks licking his lips like a dog before a meal. He leans forward, teeth bared. “He knows.”

  I close my eyes, not wanting Boris to see how much this revelation hurts me.

  My own father?

  Over the last two days, we’d become closer than we ever had been. It felt like we were turning a corner together. And now, I realize it was all part of an act. A scheme. I feel sick.

  “Well, he knew,” Boris says, bobbing his head side to side. “He figured it out when I pressed a gun to his head.”

  I snap my eyes open and glare at him. “You killed him?”

  He nods, lips pressed together in a smug smile. “Just after you left the estate. He didn’t see it coming, either.”

  The information is coming at me too quickly, and I can’t keep up. I know that is what Boris wants—to overwhelm me, weaken me until I’m compliant. I have to fight against the urge to shut down. Because somewhere, I hope, Zoya is still waiting for me.

  “Where is Zoya?” I ask, putting all of my energy towards her. I have to channel it; otherwise, the series of losses I’ve suffered in the last two weeks will overwhelm me. First Mikhail, now my father. It’s too much, and if I let it overwhelm me, I’ll be dead, too. “Where is she?”

  Boris rolls his eyes. “God. Can we forget about the bitch for one fucking second? I thought we were having a moment here. Uncle to nephew, you know?”

  He steps forward and lays his meaty hand on my shoulder. I shrug away from his touch, and he shakes the gun in my face, reminding me who is in charge. When he puts his hand on my shoulder a second time, I don’t shift away.

  “Don’t you want to know why I did it?” he whispers conspiratorially. “Aren’t you interested in why I’d turn my back on you and kill my own brother?”

  “Not especially,” I say. Not now, at least. Now, I only care about getting away from him and finding Zoya.

  “Well, I’m going to tell you, anyway,” he sighs. “I’ve been waiting a long, long time to say what I really think, and I’m not quite ready for the moment to be over.”