Page 3 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

This is a man who is notoriously silent. Hardly ever speaks. My manager said he hasn’t heard the kingpin’s voice, and Denis iswaymore important than me.

“Please don’t kill me! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” Impose my questionable life choices on you. “The Bluetooth earbuds came unconnected, it wasn’t supposed to be…” Blaring out smutty fantasy romance audiobooks at top-volume first thing in the morning.

He doesn’t respond or even acknowledge that I’ve said anything. With careless elegance, he slides the phone out from under my fingers and towards him.

Crouching slowly, with the sort of control of his thighs that speaks of hours at the gym, he plucks the phone from the floor with one hand and offers me the other.

My breath caught in my throat, I cautiously place my hand in his. His fingers are big and solid, enveloping mine. Strong. Firm. His black tattoos are stark against my pale skin.

My heart vibrates, trying to shake my whole body with its intensity.

I’d like to say I glide to my feet with hardly any effort and regain my composure.

But no, fate isn’t that kind. Unlike Markov, I don’t work on my thigh muscles enough, and I get up with all the grace of a seal on roller-skates.

“Thanks,” I croak once I’m moderately stable and vertical. I swallow, even though my mouth is dry.

He holds onto my hand for a beat longer than strictly necessary, and my poor, stupid heart does a big jump, like my inner seal has ditched the skates and is back in the water and flying through a hoop in hope of a fish.

Or an… Anything, from Markov. When he withdraws, I’d perform tricks and eat raw fish for another touch of his hand.

He has a gun clearly visible, tucked into his waistband, the metal gleaming, and my eyes go there. While I’m at it, my brain notices that his stomach must be very flat, and his waist is narrow, making his shoulders seem even wider.

He’s far hotter in person than in any photo I’ve seen of him, and that’s saying something. He positively smoulders.

“Sorry.” What am I apologising for this time? Just… Existing in my sub-standardness while this man is such perfection? “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m really sorry. This won’t happen again.”

He nods and gestures at my chair.

“Yes, sorry. I’m working now. Really, now.” My words fall over themselves.

His scowl deepens as I grab up the closest notebook.

The silence is intense, made all the stronger by the sudden awareness that we’re probably the only two people in the building. I busy myself fumbling with the notebook and typing the wrong thing.

Repeatedly.

I hardly dare breathe as I peek at Markov Lunacharski from the corner of my eye. He could still kill me. He has a gun, and he makes snap decisions on life and death.

He considers my phone in his hand.

There’s so much dark mischief in his eyes as our gazes meet. Deliberately, he touches his finger to the screen, and taps play, then places it onto my desk.

I spin around to see Rovaj, my arch nemesis, regarding me like I’m a bit of particularly smelly dragon poo.

Heat makes the skin of my cheeks tight as the audiobook continues playing, though he’s adjusted the volume so it’s not echoing off the walls.

“You disgusting creep!” I yell. “You shouldn’t have watched!”

Markov’s lips twitch upwards as he listens.

“He can’t get a girl into bed,” sneers Athdar. “This is probably the closest he’s had to sex, ever.”

“I don’t get girls into bed,” Rovaj replies indifferently. “I wait until they beg, and then I accept.”

“It’s the first book of theGame of Thorns and Dragonsseries,” I say, the compulsion to explain too strong. “It’s really popular. Huge. There’s a television show.”

He tilts his head, then with deliberate movements, leans against a storage cabinet.