Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva), Nicole Fox [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

joining me for dinner,” I say, making sure that it’s crystal clear the new slave isn’t for them.

One of the men to my side coughs in surprise. Eitan’s head whips in my direction so fast, I’m momentarily afraid he may have hurt himself. Jimmy glances at me, his mouth pursed. His gaze bounces to Eitan for a second and then back to me. He blinks as if to refocus.

While no one questions me, I do understand where their confusion comes from. Normally, a slave I purchase for myself—like Sophia—is cleaned up and told to wait naked in my bedroom. I’ve never asked for a slave to be prepped to attend dinner with me.

“Am I understood?” I repeat. I let a dangerous coolness creep into my voice.

“Yes, boss,” Jimmy says quickly.

The men straighten and head toward the stage. My attention turns back to Eitan, who’s staring at me like I’ve grown a new head. I can tell he wants to ask just what the fuck I think I’m doing. But he would never dare question me like that.

I don’t give him the chance. “Are we ready for the meeting?” I ask, standing.

“Are we not going to discuss what just happened?”

I pull at the lapels of my jacket. “No explanation needed.”

“Nikita, this is out of character for you.”

“I understand your concern. But I’m the boss, and while it’s your job to advise me, it isn’t your job to question my actions,” I say. “Ever.”

He sighs and stands. I almost feel bad for being harsh with him. He’s been with my family for so long. But the laws of our world must be respected. And that means no one gets to question the boss.

So I turn to Eitan before we leave. “And, Eitan ...” I say. “If you ever challenge me again like that, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself. Is that clear?”

He doesn’t dare to look me in the eye. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

We exit. Time to get everything back under control once more.

Chapter Seven

Annie

Dread owns me, pushing against me like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse my steps backward and as far from the crowd as possible. The fear has my stomach locked up tight, and sets my face stiff like rigor mortis, my teeth locked together. But unless I can turn back time, there’s no escaping the hell I’m in.

Every time I’ve tried to fight back has resulted in failure and if what the foot-licker said is true, I’m stuck in the worst place possible. I know what these people are like. I remember what they did to my family, to my mother and me. I know there’s no escaping them. And I know if I try to fight back anymore, I’ll only get hurt or even killed.

So, I shut up and try to dissociate. I run through some of the problems from my last final, cross-checking the numbers. I run through a checklist of things I need to get done this weekend so that I’m all set for graduation in a couple of months. And I run through the list of bills I need to pay that aren’t set up for autopay. Anything to take my mind away from this nightmare.

But I can’t believe what just happened.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut out the voices from the crowd. Especially as they grew louder. I opened my eyes to the crowd swiveling its attention back and forth between two men in the back. The tension was palpable.

“One hundred seventy thousand dollars.”

Wait, what? Was that a bid for me?

“Two hundred thousand,” a baritone voice from the back of the room called out.

They were warring over me. I knew I should be afraid, and I’m terrified still, but curiosity started to seep in then. My eyes darted between the man in the front and the voice in the back, the voice that rattled my bones—not in fear, but something else, something I couldn’t quite wrap my head around.

The crowd no longer paid attention to me as they, too, focused on the bidding war going on. This must not be normal. Between the muffled whispers and occasional gasps, whatever was going on was far from what was expected.

The man in the front, with his Italian accent, pulled me from my reverie. I missed what he said, but he was pissed, if the scowl he was wearing was any indication. The deep red shade his skin turned was a sharp contrast with his gawdy gold jewelry. Didn’t anyone bother to tell him how tacky he looked?

Still, something about him frightened me. He looked like a man who was way too comfortable with violence.

“Please God, if you can hear me, please don’t let the hideous scarface win.” I whispered the prayer over and over. But when I squinted to focus beyond the lights to find the owner of the baritone voice, I was no longer sure if my prayer was such a good idea.

The man in the back was dressed in a black suit. His expression—what little I could see of it through the spotlight glare and the shadows beyond—was arrogant and cold as ice. But there was something about him I couldn’t put a finger on. I continued to watch as the two men brawled back and forth, but over and over again, I found myself drawn to the mystery man in black. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark and slicked back. His features were sharp and angular. He was ... handsome. Incredibly so.

Christ almighty.

I must’ve still been a bit drunk. How in the hell was I even considering some creep who was bidding on me as a sex slave to be handsome? No, he was a pig. A monster. A devil.

A handsome devil.

Dammit. I bit my lower lip and waited for the bidding to be over. I clenched my fists tightly until my nails dug into the palm. A metallic liquid flowed across my tongue and it took me a second to realize I’d bitten my lip