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

the damage they did to my family was permanent. My father gone, my mother hospitalized with an emotional breakdown, never to recover quite fully. I did what I had to do to avenge them. And in the process, I taught this world one simple rule:

Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.

Knuckles rap against the door again. Not even ten fucking minutes to myself. “What?”

Vinny and Tommy, two of my subordinates, drag in an elderly man and throw him in front of me.

For a moment, my breath catches in my chest. The man is facedown on the expensive rug that spreads from wall to wall. As he struggles to pull himself back to his feet, I have the strongest sense of foreboding.

The man looks exactly like my father.

But then he shows his face to me and the likeness fades away. It leaves a sticky, sour taste in its path, like blood on my tongue. I can feel a bead of sweat on my forehead. The ghosts in my brain are acting up tonight.

Vinny’s voice cuts through the haze and drags me back to reality.

“Boss, he hasn’t paid his protection dues for the past month,” Vinny says, kicking the old man in the thigh.

“Mr. Lavrin, please,” the old man whimpers. “Business has been rough. With the chain supermarket, I don’t have as many customers coming in.”

Fucking Christ. This is the one part of the business I can’t stand. Part of me wants to help the man to his feet, dust off his jacket. He looks like he needs a night off, not a mafioso beating. But you can’t run a business on mercy. The rules must be upheld.

“Not my problem,” I tell him. “You asked for protection, so you pay for what you’ve been given.”

“Please, Mr. Lavrin, I’m begging you.”

I hold up a hand to silence him. “You knew the deal you entered. You have wasted my time and the time of my men who were forced to drag you before me. Bring me my payment by the end of the week—no, double it. A penalty for the frustration you have caused here tonight. Next time, you won’t receive a second chance. If this happens again, your payment will be your life.”

I nod curtly to my soldiers at the door. We are done here. The old man’s eyes bulge and he cries out as Vinny and Thomas each grab an arm and pull him through the door and out of sight. I hear the sharp slap of knuckle on skin and the whimpering stops.

Silence takes over again after they’re gone. The remnants of that haunted feeling still linger in my chest. For a split second, the old man looked just like my father ...

Another rap on the door. “Come in.”

In walks Eitan Aminov, my top advisor. I throw back what’s left of the gin in my glass. When it comes to Eitan, there’s no chance I’ll be enjoying my drink. He’s all business, all the time.

“Nikita, so good to see you,” Eitan shakes my hand and walks over to the chair by my desk. “We have much to discuss.”

It’s been a long night already, and there’s still far more to come. But I just want to fucking go to sleep. Between Krissy and the old man, I’m not sure how much more I can take tonight. How did my father deal with this stress for so long? Everyone wanting things from me, all the time. I’m not even thirty and I’m looking forward to retiring.

“You okay, boss?” Eitan asks.

“Yeah. Krissy gives me a headache.” I plop down into my chair and rub my temples.

Eitan laughs. “Girl’s tough. One day, she might be running the business.”

I snort. “She’s too quick-tempered. She’d do something stupid and have the cops crawling all over the place.”

Eitan nods solemnly in agreement. “Always start with diplomacy,” he intones. My father’s words. “So, to business. We need to discuss the auction.”

The auction. Flesh trafficking. A highlight of the yearly calendar for the criminal elements in the city, and a hefty paycheck for the ones in charge—namely, me. When I was a younger man, I used to look forward to the auctions. So much beauty, all for sale to the highest bidder. But this time, I don’t have the same excitement. This time, it’s nothing more than business.

Opening up the spreadsheet on my computer, I scan through the list of names of those I invited. Those who possess the type of money needed to participate. “Who have you heard from?”

He begins to rattle off names. “Gino, of course. First one to respond. The Mendoninos. They always splurge. A few assorted businessmen of distinct taste,” Eitan says.

I turn the monitor towards him and push the keyboard in his direction. “Just check off everyone you’ve spoken with.”

Eitan taps at the keyboard while I massage away the headache in my temples. When he’s done, I notice over three-quarters of the list have agreed to come. And high rollers as well. This might be the most lucrative year yet. But there’s still too many moving parts that we need to handle.

“What about the venue?”

Eitan leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “Checked it out myself. The downstairs room is very secure, with two emergency exits if we need to get away. Access to the club upstairs. Cops shouldn’t know what’s going on. Staff has been instructed properly; discretion, as always, being the better part of valor. No tolerance for violence on the evening as well.”

“Good,” I say.

Thank God for Eitan. The man has been with the Lavrins for a long time, since my father was a boy. He knows the ins and outs of our business as well as I do.

“What about the girls?”

Eitan blows out a long breath and runs his hand through the thinning salt-and-pepper hair on top of his head. “The Travoras are managing that aspect of the evening’s operations. They assure me there will be no problems. But ...” He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard rumors of some struggles on