Unprotected with the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Alekseiev Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  I look away from the dead bodies. Imagining Lev, his skin turning gray and his heart beating one last time, a panic is set loose in my chest. He’s chaos and brutality, but I need him—for those things, but also for his control and his compassion.

  For his love.

  I try to slide my wrists out of the cable ties for the hundredth time. They only cut into the heel of my hand more. I try to pull the bed forward, using my weight, but it doesn’t budge.

  My eyes flick up as the doorknob turns. I wait.

  It’s not the kidnapper. This man is younger, smaller, with a swollen nose, a black eye, and contusions splattered across his face.

  He walks behind me, crouching down. There’s a faint snapping noise and the cable ties are gone. He grabs under my arm and jerks me up onto my feet.

  “It’s time for you to play your part,” he mutters. “And you better not fuck it up.”

  He shoves me toward the door. I stumble and let myself fall. He sighs, leaning down to grab me again. I lunge my elbow back, but I can’t move far with my restraints. It barely grazes him. He grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me as close to his face as possible. I stomp at his feet, but he only pulls me up further, so my toes barely touch the ground.

  He hurls me against the doorway. The corner of it jabs into my back. I fall back onto the floor.

  “Get up,” he snaps. “If you try something like that again, I’ll kill you and your boyfriend.”

  Hope surges within me. Lev is still alive.

  I get onto my knees, then my feet. The man points me forward, directing me down a pair of stairs. I walk sideways to avoid falling down. My eyes watch my feet, so when I reach the bottom of the stairs, the first thing I notice is the blood spatter all over the floor.

  When I raise my head, I see Lev.

  I only have this man’s assurance that Lev is alive, but it’s hard to imagine considering how messed up his face is. His whole face is one mottled bruise. His eyes are closed, his head lolled on his shoulder. Blood ripples across the front of his shirt like a macabre necklace.

  I start walking more quickly, knocking down a chair as I sprint toward him. I land on my knees in front of him. I lean forward to press my lips against his cheek. His eyes open—the smallest blessing. His lips curl up the slightest bit, followed by a grimace. He mouths my name. I cover his mouth with mine, tasting blood.

  Hands grab my arms, yanking me away. I scream, the gag barely dulling the sound now. The man forces me to sit on the chair I knocked down. When he tries to put cable ties around my wrists again, I stomp at his feet before standing up again.

  He pulls a gun out of his waistband, pointing it at me. “Sit the fuck down and don’t move or I’m going to shoot you in the fucking head.”

  I sit down. He straps my left to the armrest, leaving my right hand free. He moves behind me, one of his hands on my shoulder, and puts his gun in my right hand. His gun directed at Lev prevents me from shooting him outright. I don’t know that he won’t pull the trigger the second I try to pull mine.

  “Good, Miss Harrington,” he says. “Now, shoot Mr. Alekseiev.”

  I shake my head.

  “Miss Harrington, your father is the chief of police. I’m sure he’s killed criminals. This shouldn’t be a problem for you. Mr. Alekseiev killed my father—a man he barely knows—and he killed his own father, a man he trusted. Now it’s his turn to be killed by someone he barely knows and someone he trusts. You.”

  I shake my head again.

  “You shoot him or I will slowly kill you both,” he threatens, his grip on my shoulder getting tighter.

  I shake my head for the third time. He snatches the gun from my hand, aims it, and shoots Lev in the leg. Lev screams. It barely lasts two seconds, but the sound pierces through me like a thousand bullets.

  The man puts the gun back in my hand, carefully wrapping my fingers around the grip.

  “Shoot him or I shoot the other leg, then each of his arms, and we can both thoroughly enjoy the view of him bleeding out. Then, it will be your turn.”

  “Do it, Ally,” Lev growls, barely audible, his teeth gritted. “For me. I’d rather have you … I’d rather have you kill me than anyone else.”

  I wait for some indication that he has some trick up his sleeve, but he only grips his thigh, blood seeping through his fingers.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Shoot him,” the man repeats. I take a deep breath and look straight at Lev. What a way for both of us to go out.

  Then I open my hand, letting the gun fall between my feet. The man curses, quickly bending over to grab it. I stomp at him as hard as I can. He jerks backward and the rage in his eyes could burn whole cities down. The back of his hand hits me like a baseball bat. The chair topples over, the force of the fall breaking one of the armrests and one of the legs. Briefly, my thoughts turn to the baby that could be within me, and how badly hurt it could be. But it will be hurt even worse if I don’t get out of this. If Lev doesn’t.

  With one arm free, I dive for the gun as best I can, given that my left arm is still strapped to the busted chair. The man lurches forward too, grabbing it before I can. I lunge at his legs. We fall to the floor. I crawl forward, the gun straight in front of me.

  I don’t see the man grab the chair’s leg, but it jabs into my arm. I yank my arm back, cradling it to my chest, as the man swipes the gun.

  “Marco!” Lev growls. “Don’t.”

  The man aims the gun at me.

  “Get up,” he orders. “This was about revenge against your boyfriend. I didn’t have anything against you. But now, you’re going to regret not shooting him for the rest of your life. Do you know how much I can sell you for as a sex slave to the Mexican cartel? Truthfully, not much. But I’m not going to do it for the profit.”

  Lev writhes in his chair, but the bonds hold fast. His right leg is drenched with blood.

  “Marco, don’t be an idiot,” Lev’s voice comes out soft, but the warning is clear in it. “Her father finds out that you did that, there’s nowhere you can hide.”

  “I’ll be so far out of her father’s jurisdiction, he won’t be able to do a goddamn thing,” Marco says.

  “And what about me? You know I’ll track you down, no matter where you go. Let’s just settle this like men. One-on-one this time.”

  “Oh no, see, that’s the beauty of my new plan,” he says. “I won’t have to worry about you or her father because her father is going to be focused on you.”

  Marco pulls out his phone. He taps on the screen three times before raising the phone to his ear. His other hand keeps the gun raised to my head.

  “Oh God,” he says into the phone, his voice drenched in fear. “Oh God, I just came to visit my friends in the old house on Prairie Street—the big white one—and this guy, this violent Russian, he killed my friends. And he was bragging about killing the chief’s daughter. Oh God. Please send help. Please.”

  He hangs up. I stare at him, feeling equally numb and broken.

  “Goodbye, Lev,” he says. The man slices the remaining cable tie free and grabs my arm, dragging me to the entrance door. He gestures for me to open it. I could hit him with the door, I could fight back, but I know he’ll be more prepared for me this time and I need to get him away from Lev.

  After I open the door, I try to look back at Lev, but Marco pushes me forward. In the front yard, a car pulls up. The kidnapper gets out.

  “What’s happening, boss?” the man asks. “I thought you were taking care of both of them.”

  “There’s a change of plans,” Marco says. “You need to release Lev in five minutes.”

  I can’t say there isn’t a flicker of pride in my chest when I see the kidnapper eye the house warily.

  “What if he attacks me? It took two of us last time,” the kidnapper says.

  “That was before I beat him, before I shot him in the leg, and before he started bleeding out,” Marco says. “You’ll be fine.”

  Marco yanks my arm,
dragging me toward the car. I catch one more glimpse of the house as the kidnapper walks toward it.

  For the first time in my life, I hope for a man’s death.

  23

  Lev

  Marco’s accomplice approaches me slowly. He’s a large man, his arms hanging down like dead tree branches. I lean my head back. He’s not going to kill me. It wouldn’t fit into Marco’s plan.

  He circles around me. Blood has drenched my right pant leg. With every breath I take, my ribs vibrate with pain. But it’s all trivial when I need to get to Ally.

  Behind me, the goon’s hands yank my wrists up by the handcuffs. He unlocks the cuffs. My arm falls to the ground. The other cuff falls off.

  I lunge forward, snatching the broken chair leg, and he knows immediately that he fucked up—badly. He runs at me, trying to grab my arm. I swing the leg, catching the side of his face.

  He recoils, touching the line of blood on his cheek. As I swing at him again, he stoops down to avoid it. The leg swings over his head and I grab him by his hair with my other hand. I yank his head back, so he’s staring up at the ceiling. I lift the leg up and drive it through his eye. The sounds of him dying are sickening.

  When he stops moving, I know he’s dead.

  I let him drop to the floor and wipe some blood off my chin. Adrenaline swells in my veins, anesthetizing some of the pain, but it still ensnares me. I push it away; I need to focus on coming up with a plan to get Ally.

  Steal a car. Speed down the road. Catch up to Marco and kill him.

  I open the house’s front door. I’ve barely taken a step out when I hear the police sirens.

  This is what Marcus wanted.

  He knew I’d kill off his accomplice as soon as I was free. It eliminated one of the people who could testify against him and his accomplice was the only other living person in the house. Three dead people, a missing chief’s daughter, and me.

  I’m fucked.

  Two police cars speed into the driveway. I raise my hands in surrender, the pain in my ribs acting as another reminder that what remains of Ally’s life is going to be torture because of me. I can’t bear to think of what will happen to our child. To even consider it will cause me to lose what’s left of my mind.

  Three policemen pour out of the first cars, their guns raised. They start shouting.

  “Get on the ground!”

  “Lie facedown on the ground!”

  I get onto my knees, keeping my hands up. “I didn’t do this.”

  “Shut the fuck up and get on the ground!”

  I lie facedown on the floor, my legs lying over the threshold of the house. One of the policemen runs up. Her hands hesitate over my wrists. She must see the marks. Nevertheless, she snaps on the handcuffs. The two other officers run into the house.

  “You need to listen to me,” I say to the woman. “This wasn’t me. The police chief’s daughter has been kidnapped. They left five minutes ago. It’s the Colosimos.”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” she starts.

  “No,” I cut her off. “You have to find Allison Harrington. They just left. You need to find them.”

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  The bullet wound in my leg gushes more blood. My head swims with regrets.

  I should have studied medical care.

  I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Ally.

  I should have killed Marco the first time I saw him.

  “Sir? Sir, the EMTs are coming,” the officer says.

  “Three dead bodies,” one of the other officer calls out. “All murdered. Fucking horrific.”

  I hear the sound of another car pulling up. I close my eyes. “Just please find Marco Colosimo,” I tell the female police officer. “He has Allison Harrington.”

  “Get out of the way,” a rough voice demands.

  Peter Harrington.

  He grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me up. His eyes are bloodshot.

  “What have you fucking done with my daughter?” he says, through bared teeth. “I don’t give a fuck who’s here; I will kill you if you don’t tell me where she is.”

  “It’s the Colosimos,” I tell him. His fist comes out of nowhere, knocking me down to my knees. He’s not as strong as Marco, but after all of the previous hits, the pain is the same.

  The female officer tries to push Peter Harrington back, but he shrugs her off. I slowly get to my feet, my hands still locked behind my back.

  “This is why I didn’t want her near you. I knew this would happen. Tell me where she is or I swear to God—”

  “Do you think I blew up my own house?” I snap back. “Do you think I beat myself up? Ask your officer. I was restrained. You think I’d kill three people in my own childhood home? This is the Colosimos. Marco Colosimo took her. They left about eight minutes ago. This is my fault, but I’m not the person who took her. We can’t argue about this right now. I need to get to her.”

  “You’re a lying sack of shit,” Peter says. His eyes dart back and forth as he takes in what I said. “I just want my daughter back.”

  “Then let me go, so I can find her. You know who I am. You know I’ll do what it takes to get her back, but I need to do it on my terms.”

  He stares at me. He’s been my enemy for a long time, but in this moment, I know we’re the same—two people who love Ally, who would do anything to save her life.

  He turns to the female officer.

  “Help the other men secure the scene inside,” he says.

  “Sir,” she says, gazing between us. “Are you sure …”

  “Do what I said,” he snarls. She retreats into the house. He takes a key off his utility belt and indicates for me to turn around. He unlocks the cuffs, catching them before they fall to the floor.

  Then he hands me another pair of keys. His car keys.

  “You better kill Marco Colosimo,” he says. “I’m betting my career on you getting my daughter back, so make it worth it.”

  I nod and start toward the car, only to be pulled up short by the chief’s rough hand on my arm. “Wait,” he growls, and yanks off his belt. Next thing I know, he’s tying up my wound and issuing a gruff warning. “You can’t leave that on long, or you’ll lose the leg. But if I don’t tie it off, you’ll be dead before you drive a block. So you better break every speed limit to get to my daughter, Alekseiev.”

  Nodding again, I hobble to his car, lightheadedness starting to sink its claws in me in spite of the tourniquet.

  105 on the speedometer, the police siren blaring, and passing dozens of cars. I should have found Marco or Ally by now. Marco owns a black BMW, but it’s unlikely to be the vehicle he’s driving. The only indication I have for where he’s going is his comment about the Mexican cartel.

  The Bratva doesn’t fuck around with the Mexican cartel. They’re careless, unnecessarily brutal, and they’re involved in human trafficking. It’s not a moral decision. We’re just not stupid enough to get involved in a product that can testify against us.

  However, my father had some deals with them back in the day, so I know they hide in the northern part of the city and there’s only one direct route to it from here.

  I pass two more cars as they pull over to let me by. No Marco. No Ally.

  If he drove at the speed limit, he’d still be on this road. If he didn’t, I’m going to have to improvise once I’m in the city.

  A red sports car. No Marco. No Ally.

  The pain is creeping back as my adrenaline is replaced with frustration. My leg, my ribs, my face—a stream of pain that flickers, twists, stabs, and pulsates.

  White van. No Marco. No Ally.

  Closer to the city, two cars pull out of the way, the siren on top of Peter Harrington’s SUV acting like Moses’ staff, parting the Red Sea.

  As I’m preparing to
pass them, the passenger door from the second car opens. A thin arm and dark hair whip out. Ally gets halfway out before her body is yanked back into the car.

  The car speeds up again, ignoring the siren. I pass the other car. I watch the sedan, waiting to see if Ally can escape again. I stare at the passenger door. He must have restrained her somehow. She wouldn’t give up the fight that easy.

  I could ram into the car, but there’s a decent chance it would kill Ally—even higher if she’s not secured in her seat. But if I don’t get the car to stop, he could kill her himself.

  The sedan speeds up, hitting at least ninety. Marco is fleeing. He could have recognized me or he just knows he can’t get pulled over by a policeman while he has Ally beside him.

  I’m not going to lose him.

  I’m not going to lose her.

  I let the pain consume me for a split second before I stomp on the gas and jerk the wheel, switching lanes. The sedan tries to outspeed me, but I reach close enough to the driver’s side that I can see Marco’s hand on the steering wheel.

  I yank the wheel to the right, slamming into his door. The sedan lifts off the road before crashing down on the roof and rolling off the road.

  Shattered glass surrounds the overturned sedan. I run to the car, stopping on the passenger’s side. Allison is hanging upside down, her seat belt on. Her eyes are wide, but she appears fine. My thoughts race to our baby, but I can’t let the panic overwhelm me. That won’t help them.

  I grab her shoulders before unbuckling her seat belt, guiding her so she doesn’t crash into the ceiling, then lifting her out and carrying her a few feet away from the totaled vehicle.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, helping her to sit on the ground.

  “Fine,” she says, but she’s cradling her arm. I run my hand over it. Blossoms of red are spreading near her elbow and wrist. Broken. She grabs me with her other hand. “You should be in a hospital. Call an ambulance.”

  “I don’t have my phone,” I say. I look down the road. No cars now.

  A flicker of movement.

  I spin around, my leg killing me.