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

by Nicole Fox

  “Turn myself over to who?”

  “Ah ah,” the voice warns. “That is not the right question, either.”

  I growl, frustration bubbling up. “Enough with the fucking games. What do you want?”

  “You. On your knees.” There is a long pause. I hear what sounds like other voices in the background, but they are all too far away and garbled to make anything specific out. “Be ready to surrender in twenty-four hours. I’ll send you the address.”

  “What if I don’t?” I ask.

  “If you don’t show up, then I’ll kill her and her baby.” There is a low, sadistic chuckle. “See you tomorrow.”

  I stare at the phone even after the line goes dead, hoping for more information. Once I realize I’m not going to get it, I call Zoya. Her phone rings and rings and rings. We got in a fight this morning, but I have to assume she’d still answer my calls. If she isn’t, it means something must be wrong. It means she really has been taken.

  “Who is Zoya?” my father asks.

  “The maid,” I explain, telling him about the attack on her earlier in the week and that she has been staying with me. “They wanted to send me a message by hurting her, so I kept her at Boris’ estate.”

  “Did she leave the property?” he asks. “Because she should have been safe there. No one should have been able to get to her.”

  “I don’t know.” I dial her number again, even though I know she won’t answer. “I don’t think she would leave.”

  But I don’t know for sure. We fought just before I left. Nothing had been determined, but we hadn’t left on good terms. Maybe she was going to bail and run away. Based on the apartment she had in St. Petersburg, she didn’t have many options, but maybe she preferred that shitty place to being with me.

  Or maybe she was leaving to come and find me. To explain things to me since I didn’t listen the first time.

  Either way, I have to help her.

  Whether we are going to be together or not.

  Whether the baby is Mikhail’s or not.

  None of it matters. I can’t let her die.

  My phone buzzes, and I look down, desperately hoping it will be a message from Zoya. It isn’t. It’s a text from a private number with an address. My father looks at my phone.

  “I know that place. It’s in the middle of nowhere. You can’t go.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “What other choice do we have?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “We have the choice where you don’t get slaughtered.”

  “They are going to kill her,” I explain, wondering if he overheard the same conversation I did.

  “Who cares?” he asks, throwing his arms out. “She is some random woman, and you are my heir.”

  I want to tell him that the title means nothing to me, but it seems like a good way to ruin our still very unsteady relationship. So, I try to appeal to his concerns.

  “You heard them say she was pregnant?” I ask. He nods. “Well, the baby is Mikhail’s.”

  My father stops, his face growing serious. “How do you know?”

  “It doesn’t matter how,” I say. “She is carrying a Levushka. The next generation of Levushkas, and if we don’t stop them, they’ll kill her.”

  He shakes his head. “They could kill you. What about that?”

  He doesn’t get it, and I’m frustrated. Frustrated that I left Zoya this morning, that she got captured, and that any of this is happening in the first place. If they had threatened me with almost anything else, I wouldn’t have cared. But Zoya? I can’t let them hurt Zoya.

  “I don’t care,” I admit. “I’ll gladly go and die if it means saving her.”

  “Aleksandr,” he pleads, grabbing my arm. “You aren’t thinking.”

  “I am,” I shout back. “For the first time, I’m thinking perfectly clearly.”

  Just then, Boris walks up, looking back and forth between us, his forehead wrinkled. “What is going on?”

  My father turns to his brother. “Talk some sense into him, Boris. He is losing his head over a woman.”

  “Zoya?” Boris asks.

  “You know who she is?” my father asks. “These rat motherfuckers have her, and they want to exchange her for Aleksandr.”

  Boris opens his mouth to say something, but he has made his feelings about Zoya perfectly clear when we left the estate. Plus, if Zoya is to be believed, he wasn’t kind to her after she returned to the estate, either. His opinion means nothing to me.

  “You aren’t going to change my mind,” I say. “I love her.”

  The reality of the words washes over me as I say them.

  I do love Zoya.

  I love her fire, the way she stands up to me and challenges me. But I also love the tender way she cares for the people she loves. She is loyal—to her family, her friends, her employers. Zoya possesses all of the qualities I most wish I could emulate myself, and the idea of losing her to such senseless violence is impossible to bear. I won’t let it happen.

  “I love her,” I repeat. “And I’ll do whatever I can to save her.”

  Chapter 17

  Zoya

  Waking up feels like fighting my way through a thick curtain. The material presses in on me, warm and suffocating, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t see anything. My eyelids are practically glued together, and forcing them open starts a deep, painful ache at the back of my head.

  I lift my hand to touch my skull and make sure it isn’t split open, but my arm is rubber. Moving it feels like someone is lifting my arm by a puppet string, out of my control. I probe the back of my head with my fingers, running them slowly across my scalp. I don’t feel anything damp or sticky, which means no blood, but there is a massive, tender bump.

  That is when I remember the crack on the back of my head.

  As if electrified, my eyes snap open, and I sit up.

  Immediately, my head swims, but I plant my arms on the floor on either side of myself to stay propped up as I find my bearings.

  The room around me is dark, but there is enough light leaking in from a window across the room that I can make out the fuzzy details.

  It appears to be a log cabin. The walls are long horizontal planks of wood with no décor or anything that could help me distinguish whose cabin I’m in. There is a sofa and a chair near a fireplace to my right and a small kitchen with an island to the left. A set of stairs behind me leads to a second floor and a door to the left of the fireplace leads to what I expect is a bathroom.

  A lack of sound from outside suggests a remote location, at least far from a road, though, based on the cabin, I suspect a wooded area.

  I’m alone and untied.

  But why?

  My vision swirls as I try to stand, but I don’t want to be caught laying down when whoever brought me here returns. They surprised me once in the hallway back at Boris’ estate, but I won’t let it happen again.

  I pat my pocket for my phone but don’t feel anything. I’m not surprised they’ve taken it, but I curse them for not being quite as dumb as I’d hoped.

  The front door is in the kitchen. There is a fluttery yellow curtain hanging over the single pane of glass in the door, not allowing me any vantage point out unless I pull back the material. But since I’m untied, I have to assume I’m being monitored someway.

  I spin in a circle, looking for a camera, but don’t see anything. Then, I turn back to the door.

  If I don’t try to escape, I’ll never forgive myself. Even if I get caught, it would be better than waiting for my captor to return. So, I reach for the curtain.

  Just before grabbing it, however, I spin back into the kitchen and pull open a few drawers. There are no steak knives or butcher knives, but I find a butter knife and a fork, which will have to do. I hold both utensils in the same hand and move back towards the door.

  Using the tip of the knife, I slide it beneath the curtain and pull it back gently, just a crack. Just enough to see out of.

  I lean forward t
o see who or what might be on the other side, but as soon as the fabric moves an inch, the door handle turns and the door opens inward.

  Rather than launching an attack, I stumble backwards, clutching the cutlery to my chest.

  “You’re awake!” The man in front of me is short, barely taller than I am, and thin. If he’d been in the room with me when I’d woken up, I may have thought he was being held captive, too. He looks gaunt. “Good.”

  I press my back flat against the wall. “Who are you?”

  “Ah, introductions,” he says with a smile. Deep lines form around his mouth and eyes. “My name is Cyrus.”

  I recognize the name but not the face. “Why am I here?”

  He pulls a gun from a holster on his hip and points it at me, using it to gesture to the silverware in my hands. “Drop your…weapons.”

  I know the fork and knife would have done little to protect me, but it still makes me feel vulnerable to lay them down. As soon as I do, Cyrus kicks them away and then seems to relax, his shoulders easing down.

  “You are here because of your connection with the Levushka family.”

  “I was a maid!” I shout, frustrated that no one seems to understand exactly how little of a role I had in the family. “And I was fired, so I’m not even that anymore.”

  “Right,” he agrees. “You are much more than that now. Now, you are Aleksandr Levushka’s girl.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Cyrus frowns and then looks at my belly. “Rumor is you are pregnant with a Levushka. Is that true?”

  I don’t want to be caught in a lie, but I also don’t want to admit the truth. So, I say nothing.

  He snorts. “I thought so. Well, that is why you are here.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” I slide down the wall, further away from him, but before I can move too far, Cyrus steps forward and cuts me off, slamming his hand against the wall next to my head.

  “According to my boss, nothing,” he says, his eyes tracing my face and sliding down my body. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  My heart jolts in my chest. “Who is your boss?”

  I need to remind him of his duty. Of what he stands to lose if he disobeys. That is the only chance I have of not being beaten or worse.

  He shakes his head. “That is none of your business.”

  “Clearly, it isn’t the Levushkas,” I say, my voice shaking. “So, you must work for the rival family that has risen up in St. Petersburg.”

  He is silent, which I take as an admission.

  “That’s what I thought,” I say. “They are ruthless. Violent.”

  He grins. “I’m flattered you’ve heard of us. Two weeks ago, Aleksandr didn’t even know we existed. We’ve come a long way.”

  I furrow my brow. “You know Aleksandr?”

  His smile widens. “For years now.”

  “Do you work for the Levushkas?” I cycle through my memories, trying to figure out where I’ve heard his name before. There was so much business talk happening all the time in Boris’ house that I hardly paid any attention. The less I knew about the details of their work, the better. It meant I wouldn’t be an asset to their enemies. Though, clearly, that plan had failed.

  “I did,” he says. “Aleksandr relished his power over me. He humiliated me for years. Even his fuck-up brother, Mikhail, spoke down to me. I smuggled weapons for their family for the better part of a decade, and they never had a kind word to say about me.”

  Cyrus. The weapons importer. I’d heard Samara mention Boris meeting with him in his office before. She had to make lunch for them. I never saw him face-to-face, though.

  “So, when the opportunity arose for me to take my skills elsewhere, I didn’t hesitate. It happened slowly over the course of almost a year, but finally, we are ready to take control of St. Petersburg.”

  “What does any of that have to do with me?” I ask. “I don’t have any information if that is what you want. I don’t know anything.”

  “You aren’t here for information, sweetheart.” Cyrus steps forward, his bony knee rubbing against the outside of my thigh. The touch sends chills straight to my core. He tilts his face to the side and lifts a hand, hovering just over my skin without touching me. “But with a pretty face like that, you will fetch a high price. Perhaps, even, the life of Vlad Levushka’s only remaining son.”

  His words hit me like a physical blow, and I have to suck in a breath of air to keep from passing out. “You are going to kill Aleksandr?”

  “That is the plan,” he says, grinning. “He is going to surrender his life to save yours.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, he won’t. He doesn’t want me. We aren’t together.”

  I say the words because I want them to be true, not because I’m convinced they are. Aleksandr might come for me. Even after our fight this morning, he might come for me simply because I am carrying his brother’s child. He has sacrificed every part of himself to keep his family together, so why wouldn’t he sacrifice his life?

  The horrible truth is that he would.

  Cyrus shrugs. “Even if he doesn’t, we still have you. Aleksandr’s treatment of me makes this situation all the better. To have his woman under my control. Even if he doesn’t die, what sweeter justice could there be?”

  My legs are shaking, knees knocking together, and it is a wonder I’m still standing.

  Cyrus raises an eyebrow and appraises me, his gaze hungry. Then, he steps back. “I’ll give you a few minutes to collect your thoughts.”

  He walks out the front door, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, I collapse to the floor.

  Cyrus is gone for an hour, and I’m grateful he gave me the time alone to think.

  I cried for a few minutes before I heard Aleksandr’s voice in my head telling me to get up and do something useful. Crying won’t help, so find something to do that will.

  By the time Cyrus unlocks the door and steps inside, it is dusk, and I have a plan.

  Crickets chirp loudly when he opens the door. I can still hear them when it is closed, but the sound is muffled, far away.

  He drops a duffel bag by the door and then a plastic bag of basic groceries on the table—bread, cheese, and fruit—and tells me to eat if I want.

  I lunge for the food and tear into it immediately, ripping hunks of bread from the loaf before I turn and smile at him. “Thank you for the food.”

  Cyrus stares at me a moment before his suspicion fades away. He lifts his chin and nods. “You’re welcome.”

  The bread is stale and the fruit is soft, but I let small moans escape as I eat, writhing in the kitchen chair like I’m eating the best meal I’ve ever had.

  “Is it good?” he asks, eyes trained on me from across the table.

  I hum. “So good.” I grab a strawberry and hold it out to him. “Do you want a bite?”

  He leans forward slightly, looking tempted, but then shakes his head. “No. You eat it.”

  I smile, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth, and then bring the strawberry to my mouth. As best as I can, I make love to the fruit. My lips wrap around the base of it, pouting out as I bite through it and juice runs over my lower lip. I could be imagining it, but I think I hear Cyrus groan.

  I wipe my hand across my mouth and then giggle, juice dripping down my fingers. “Could I have a napkin?”

  Cyrus looks annoyed, but doesn’t hesitate to stand up and grab a dish towel from next to the sink. As he turns to toss it to me, I see the gun at his right hip. His shirt is tucked in behind the holster, so he can easily access the gun.

  That means I can easily access it, as well.

  I wipe my mouth and push away from the table. “Thank you, Cyrus. That was delicious.”

  He smiles, but his eyes pinch together quickly. I’m laying it on too thick. He is getting suspicious.

  “Can I shower?” I ask, standing up and pointing towards the bathroom.

  Cyrus star
ts to shake his head, but I grab the collar of my shirt and tug it away from my skin, revealing an “accidental” amount of cleavage. “I feel absolutely filthy. It would be incredible to rinse off.”

  I’m not lying. I feel sticky from the lack of air flow in the cabin, and it would be nice to rinse off the dust from laying on the floor so long.

  He narrows his eyes. “You won’t try anything funny?”

  I shake my head innocently. “No.”

  He lets me shower, though insists he stand outside the door to keep watch.

  “No peeking,” I warn as I close the door. Though, I purposefully don’t let the latch catch so the door pops open a tiny bit.

  I pause in front of the sink and take stock of my appearance in the dusty mirror. Dark circles are pressed under my eyes and my hair is in long tangles, but otherwise, I look okay. My breasts have already started filling out because of the pregnancy hormones, which is only helping me in my attempt to seduce and distract Cyrus.

  I’ve only been in the bathroom for a minute, and I can already see his shadow creeping into the crack of the door.

  I stretch my arms up and tip my head back, stretching my spine. “How long have you been working for the rival family?”

  As soon as I start speaking, he darts back from the doorway, which lets me know that no matter what Cyrus says, I am in charge. As my captor, he shouldn’t be afraid of being caught by me.

  “Like I said, almost a year,” he says.

  “Oh, right. And are you still just a weapons importer? That is what you did for the Levushkas, right?”

  “It was an important job,” he says, sounding defensive. “I supplied their army and gave them the ability to defend themselves. That is no small role.”

  “Absolutely not,” I say. “They didn’t appreciate you.”

  “Vlad and his two boys think their shit doesn’t stink, but now I’ll be able to show them what I am really made of. Now, I am a brigadier.”

  “Wow.” I don’t have to pretend to be surprised. The fact that anyone would look at Cyrus and consider him physically or mentally capable of being second to the boss is baffling to me.