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

by Nicole Fox

  He might admit that he only came here to make sure I’m alright, but he can’t get over the fact that I’m pregnant with his brother’s child. He might tell me that the wonderful, fleeting thing between us is over. And as weak as I am right now, news like that might kill me.

  He lowers his head, looking down at the floor, and then lays his eyes on me again. They are the palest blue I’ve ever seen. “What happened with Mikhail?”

  Another wave of panic washes over me. This one milder than the last, but I still feel my heart pick up speed. My fingers fidget with the edge of the scratchy hospital blanket.

  What if he doesn’t believe me?

  What if he thinks I’m lying to protect my reputation? To keep myself from looking like the kind of woman who would sleep with two brothers? Twins, no less?

  “I know I didn’t let you explain before,” he says. “I’m sorry about that, but you can tell me the whole truth now. I’m listening.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask.

  He pauses to think, really weighing whether he is ready for whatever I might say, and then he nods. “I’m ready for the truth.”

  So, I tell him.

  Thankfully, there isn’t much to tell since my memory of that night is mostly a blank, but I tell him what little bit I can. I explain that I was out drinking by myself and then ended up back in my bed in the morning, sticky and sore.

  I tell him what his mother told me she saw. About Mikhail helping me out of his car and walking me into the estate late in the evening.

  “Why didn’t she stop him?” he asks, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it. “Why didn’t she do something?”

  “She would have,” I say quickly. “She didn’t know, Aleksandr. She couldn’t know.”

  I sit quietly while he processes, not wanting to burden him with too many details at once.

  “So, when I told you I knew the baby was Mikhail’s?” he asks, looking up at me from beneath lowered brows. “You didn’t even know he was the father yet?”

  I twist my lips to the corner of my mouth and shake my head. “I didn’t have any clue.”

  He groans and lays his face in his hands. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Zoya.”

  “It’s fine. You didn’t know.” I rub a circle in the center of his back, massaging the bundles of tense muscles there.

  “I should have asked you about,” he says. “I should have started a conversation about it rather than flinging accusations.”

  “I don’t blame you. Of course, you wouldn’t think your brother could be capable of something like that, so there is no way you could have known.”

  His shoulders stiffen, and he sits up, his hands folded in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m not surprised, Zoya.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I should be shocked by what you are telling me…but I’m not. I loved my brother, but I am not surprised to hear that he did this to you. Does that make me a bad person?”

  I slide my hand across his shoulder and down his arm, squeezing the corded muscle just above his elbow. “No.”

  “But I knew how he could get when he got drunk,” he says. “I’d seen him make aggressive moves on other women, and I laughed it off. And I knew he needed serious help this last time, but I ignored it because I didn’t want to deal with him on top of everything else. At what point does this become my fault?”

  He hangs his head, and I can’t stand the idea that Aleksandr is beating himself up for his brother’s mistakes. I curl my fingers around his ear and down his neck, twining them through his blonde hair. “No, it does not make you a bad person. The only person responsible for Mikhail’s actions is Mikhail. You do not need to carry his guilt.”

  Aleksandr looks up at me, and I press my palm to his cheek. “You are a good man and that is all that matters.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.

  “You are a good man, Aleksandr Levushka, and I won’t let you feel responsible, okay? You are not responsible and neither am I.”

  His eyes widen. “Of course, you aren’t, Zoya. You didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  We sit in the moment, looking at one another, our hands tangling together, trying to figure out how to move forward.

  “I’ll take care of whatever you need,” Aleksandr finally says. “Anything.”

  “I don’t really need anything—”

  “Therapy,” he says quickly like he is ripping off a bandage. “If you ever need to talk to someone about this—about what happened—I’ll take care of it. Or, even,” he takes a deep breath. “Even if you decided not to have the baby, then that would be your choice, and—”

  “No.” I pull his hand across the railing, clutching his fingers to my chest. “I want the baby. And I know that could complicate things for you, and I understand if you can’t stick around, but I really want this baby.”

  He stares at me blankly for a moment, blinking, and then relief washes over him. Color reenters his cheeks, and his eyes crinkle in a smile. “I do, too, Zoya. So much.”

  “You do?” My throat is so thick with unshed tears that I can hardly get the words out.

  He nods. “Obviously now I realize Boris was just lying to screw with me, but at the time, I trusted him, and when we were leaving the estate he told me he heard you were going to get an abortion, and it devastated me. I know it isn’t my place to make that decision for you, but even if my brother was…a monster, this baby—your baby—”

  “Is the only piece of him you have left,” I finish. “I understand.”

  He nods, glad I understand, and slides his hand from the center of my chest down to my stomach, being careful of my bandages. “I really want this baby.”

  I lay my hand over his and smile. “I’m glad because I want this child to be close to your family.”

  “Don’t you mean our family?” he asks, tipping his head to the side.

  His expression is so sincere and sweet that I start crying immediately. I cup my hands over my face, but immediately, Aleksandr pulls them away and looks into my eyes. “I want you, too.”

  I shake my head, unable to believe this is happening. Certain it has to be a dream.

  “I don’t want to help you raise this baby because it is a part of my brother,” he says. “I want to help you raise it because it is a part of you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I choke out, face wet with tears. “I don’t want you to do this because you feel bad. Or because you are guilty.”

  Aleksandr throws his head back and laughs. “You know, you are responsible for one of the only times in my life I’ve felt guilty. That is why I was at your apartment that night those men showed up. I felt guilty for getting you fired, and I came to see where you were living.”

  “You felt bad?”

  He rolls his eyes and smiles. “Don’t let it go to your head, but yes. I treated you unfairly, and I wanted to fix it.”

  He leans over the bed railing, his eyes on my lips, and I feel my entire body warm. I’m aware of every breath, every movement of my body when he is so close to me. He dips low, his lips hovering over mine, and I try to stretch up to him, but he moves out of the way.

  “Did I?”

  I’m dizzy, overwhelmed by the nearness of him, and I don’t understand his question. “Huh?”

  “Did I fix it?” he asks. “Did I make up for my bad first impression?”

  I smile and wrinkle my nose. “Well, I mean, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  I grab the front of his white t-shirt—it is blood splattered and stained, and I can only imagine what the button-down he had on over it must look like—and pull him close to me. He could overpower me easily if he wanted to, but he lets me direct him.

  “I mean, I love you,” I say with a shrug. “So, I suppose you made up for it.”

  His pale blue eyes widen in surprise, and then his l
ips are on mine.

  The aches and pains that had begun creeping in are washed away in a flood of endorphins as his kiss works its magic on me. Aleksandr curls his fingers in my hair and bites my lower lip. He caresses my cheeks with his thumbs and swirls his tongue with mine.

  The kiss is gentle and hot, and I claw at his shirt, desperate to have his weight over me.

  “Whoa,” he whispers against my lips, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “We should probably hit pause on this until you are healed up.”

  I growl in frustration.

  Aleksandr smiles and kisses the end of my nose. “I love you, Zoya.”

  I grab his shirt again and tug, but he resists this time, shaking his head. I let my head fall back on the pillows and groan. “Fine. I suppose that will have to do for now.”

  “You suppose?” he teases.

  I nod. “I mean, if you wanted to do it in this hospital bed and give those nurses something out there to monitor, that would be fine. But for now, I suppose I love you will do.”

  “Good.” He squeezes my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips. “I love you.”

  Epilogue

  Aleksandr

  Five Years Later

  She smells like vanilla and sugar, and I bury my face in the brown curls spread out on her pillow.

  “I’m sleeping,” she murmurs, her voice soft and thick. It has been five years of waking up next to Zoya, and I’m still not used to the sight of her.

  The morning sun is streaming through our sheer curtains, washing the bed in golden light, and Zoya looks like a fallen angel. The light brings out the red in her tangles, and I pinch them between my finger, admiring the beautiful complexity of something so ordinary.

  “I have a meeting in the city this morning. I won’t be able to come home for lunch.”

  She rolls over, eyes still closed, and frowns. Her full lower lip pouts out, and I can’t stop myself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss to it.

  As soon as my lips are on hers, she arches into me.

  The sheets and comforter are in a tangle between us, and I kick them aside in one deft move to have better access to her body. When my hand lands on the curve of her warm, bare hip, I groan.

  “This is why I’ve stopped wearing pajamas,” she whispers, hooking her leg around mine and drawing me closer.

  “They only get in the way.”

  She giggles. “If you knew how much money I spent on them, you wouldn’t say that. You’d probably make me wear them on our next date night.”

  I wrap an arm around Zoya’s lower back and roll over onto mine, bringing her with me. “Where are you buying pajamas that they cost so much?”

  She sits up, her knees on either side of my body, and I can’t believe how beautiful she is. I would pay double the amount of whatever she spent on her pajamas just to wake up to the sight of her naked body every day.

  There is a scar across her chest where she was shot and another across her lower stomach where they performed the C-section after twenty-seven hours of labor, but she is perfect in my eyes. Utterly perfect.

  I run my hands up her hips and grip her waist, rolling her body over me.

  She circles her hips, taunting me, a wicked smile on her face. “They are less ‘pajamas’ and more…negligee.”

  A particular memory flickers in my head. “You mean the black lacy top from—”

  “From the balcony,” she finishes, biting her lower lip and nodding. “You took me from behind while we looked down on Paris. I paid a pretty penny for that one.”

  “Worth it,” I moan, pulling her closer, desperate for more contact.

  She lifts her hips and leans forward so her soft chest is pressed against mine and kisses my neck, her tongue swirling across my Adam’s apple. “And then there is the red one from—”

  “The limo,” I gasp. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about that.”

  Zoya sucks my earlobe into her mouth and trails her hand down my chest. “The driver had to make three trips around the block so we could finish.”

  I’ve always slept naked, so Zoya has no trouble reaching between us and finding my excitement. My entire body jerks when her warm little hand wraps around me.

  “Do you want to know my favorite time?” she asks, her lips close to my ear.

  I hum affirmatively, barely able to form words.

  “It was the time I wore the navy-blue lace gown, and you took me against the wall,” she breaths, kissing the neglected skin behind my ear at the same time her hand strokes me.

  “And in the shower,” she says with another stroke. “And bent over the side of the bed.”

  She is polishing my tip, her hand working faster and faster until my breathing is erratic and my hips are bucking upwards.

  “I came three times in a row,” she moans, stroking me until I think my eyes will be permanently crossed.

  Then, suddenly, she stops.

  My eyes snap open, the beast she unlocked searching for her.

  “But,” she says, lifting one of her legs as if there is any universe in which I’ll let her crawl away from me and get out of bed. “You have a meeting, and we don’t have time for that.”

  I growl and grab he arm, yanking her back on top of me. Her smile is mischievous, and I have every intention of pounding it off of her and replacing it with a satisfied one.

  “We’ll make time,” I growl, lifting her hips and positioning myself at her opening.

  I know Zoya was teasing about leaving because she lowers herself onto me eagerly. She is just as ready as I am.

  In two strokes, I’m in to the hilt, and Zoya sits up and rolls her body on top of me. She arches her back, places her hands back on my thighs, and bucks her hips against me until our skin slaps together. Until I can’t do anything other than grip her hips and hang on for the ride. Until the sight and the sensation are too much.

  I sit up, wrapping an arm around her lower back, and press my face between her breasts. Then, in one move, I push her back on the bed and settle between her thighs.

  I alternate deep thrusts with quick, shallow strokes until she is clawing at my shoulders and panting for more. She lifts her hips in time with my movements until we are in perfect sync, grinding together.

  “Yes,” she moans, digging her fingers into my shoulder blade. “Alek, yes.”

  I’ve been close since the moment I woke up and saw her naked in bed next to me, so I just need to make sure she gets there, too.

  I reach down between us and let my thumb circle the rosebud between her legs.

  She gasps, her entire body freezing up for a second, before she stretches up and bites my shoulder.

  We both fall together.

  Zoya curls her legs around mine when we are finished, clinging to me. “That was incredible.”

  I kiss the top of her head and roll onto my side. Her chest is still heaving, and I run my finger across her ribcage. “Another tick in the column against spending money on pajamas, don’t you think?”

  She nods. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll stop buying negligee and maybe use some of that money on toys.”

  “Oh, Zoya,” I growl, nuzzling her neck. “Don’t tease me.”

  She throws her head back and laughs, her hands resting on her stomach. “I didn’t mean toys for us. I meant toys for Maksim.”

  “Oh.” I frown, and then lean over and check the clock by the bed. “He should be getting up soon.”

  Zoya stretches her arms over her head, arching her back and once again testing my dedication to my meeting. I kiss her stomach, pinning her to the bed, and work my way up to her breasts. “I need to get moving. Once he’s awake, I won’t have a moment to myself until I take him to visit his grandmas.”

  I swirl my tongue across her body, loving the way she moans under my touch, and then pull away. “I need to go, too. I’m going to barely make it to my meeting on time as it is.”

  Zoya stretches out to grab me and bring me back to bed, but I’m already out of reach, and she flops back
on the bed with a sigh. “No fair.”

  “Always leave them wanting more,” I say with a two-finger salute before I duck into the bathroom for a shower.

  I’m only a little surprised when Zoya joins me thirty seconds later, dropping down onto her knees while the water washes all of our sins away.

  One of the first decisions I made as the head of my family was to create an official office space.

  My father hid away in his many homes spread across the country, and Boris utilized his estate as well as a smattering of hotel rooms around the city, but there was never a central location for business to be conducted. So, I remedied that by purchasing a loft above a small shoe shop in the city center.

  Dmitry and Fedor are already there when I arrive, going over the contracts for our new weapons importer.

  “Good morning, Mr. Levushka.” Fedor stands tall, his hands behind his back.

  Dmitry, always the more casual of the two, raises a silent hand in greeting and continues going over the paperwork.

  Dmitry and Fedor were the two men who showed up at the hospital to swear me in to the position of boss for the Levushka family, and they’ve been by my side ever since.

  My father always expressed the importance of having a confidante, a person you could trust with your life. But in the end, the person he trusted most abused his power and murdered him in cold blood. So, in an abundance of caution, I’ve opted for two right hand men.

  Dmitry and Fedor both answer to me, and they both answer to each other. It is a system designed to make it more difficult for the same level of betrayal my uncle perpetrated on my father to happen again.

  “Do we have any worries about the negotiations?” I ask, dropping down into the desk chair and folding my hands over my stomach. “I don’t want to be surprised in the meeting.”

  “My only concern is the non-exclusivity clause,” Fedor says.

  “That is everyone’s concern,” Dmitry says. “No one likes it, boss.”

  “If no one is happy, then you know you’ve reached a good compromise.”