Page 1 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

EMILY

There are two good things about my new job working for the Mortlake mafia. One, it’s paid enough that I managed to move out of my mother’s house. Finally.

I squint at the notebook I’m copying into a spreadsheet.

I think that’s an eight. But it might be a very scrawled six.

I put in a six, and mentally say you’re welcome, to “Rico”, the author of the notebook, very poor handwriting, and dealer in unspecified but definitely illegal products.

Because if the head of the Mortlake Bratva—Markov Lunacharski—thought he was receiving less than he was owed, I suspect the consequences would be fatal.

Not that I’ve met the big boss himself, but last week he shot someone in the reception hall in broad daylight. He doesn’t ask questions. He says nothing at all, apparently.

I shouldn’t be in the mountain forest , the audiobook whispers in my ear. But I have to get the power enhancer for Athdar .

I tsk to myself aloud. That’s not going to end well.

This is the second good part of my job. For an hour or so every morning I’m in early and I can listen to my latest fantasy romance obsession.

Once the rest of the staff arrives, it’s spoiled.

In particular, my line manager, Denis Petrov.

He’s a middle-aged blond guy with a Russian accent, a gut and no neck, plus a thing about yelling at me for not having cleaned the backlog of notebooks from what he calls Mortlake’s “agents”, and digitised them.

He has a daily quota that assumes I have four arms, two bladders, and am fuelled on air alone.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here, Athdar!” the audiobook continues.

He smiles innocently. “But who would protect you if I wasn’t? The forest has many monsters.”

Once Denis is here, I’ll have to hide away my earbuds and make do with silence punctuated by his farting and wheezing.

Yesterday he leaned over me, and his arm brushed my boob as he pointed out how I should be working faster, which was gross.

But I really, really need this job. They say you should do what you love, then you’ll never work a day in your life.

But since I couldn’t find any openings for listening to fantasy romance audiobooks, eating chocolate, and sipping tea, my only option is actually working.

Especially because I had to move out of home and live , rather than be under my mother’s hypochondriac thumb.

I thought being a librarian would mean reading lots of books, and since I had a degree, I’d be able to find a job. LOL. Face palm. And that’s how I ended up doing what I guess is archiving. Including some things that are almost certainly illegal.

He crowds me against the tree, yellow eyes flashing dangerously. I gasp and reach for his coat, opening my mouth and tilting my head up.

Oh wow. These characters are going to kiss.

I pause, looking at some numbers, unseeing. This isn’t unexpected as a plot direction, but I’m not sure I like it.

He grasps my chin, then his lips hit mine, wet and flexible.

Is that… hot? I guess so.

Athdar is good for Solene. He’s a fae, and they both hate Rovaj. So why am I not cheering for them more?

He’s too nice, and I don’t trust it.

His lean frame digs into my hip, and I moan.

“You’re so pretty, my little human,” he growls, and the narrator sounds more like a pet cat .

I squirm.

My tongue wipes his .

I’m really liking this book overall, but this is a bit cringe. I refocus on my work, but something catches in the corner of my eye.

His kiss is sweet as honey and light as air. I respond, my colt-like legs buckling so he has to catch me.

I look up and all the blood drains from my face, dropping to my stomach where it turns to stone.

There’s a man watching me.

Not just any man.

A tall, dark, handsome man in a charcoal suit. He has tattoos on his hands, and curving up his neck in a seamless pattern of bones and lines and spots like pools of water. Or blood.

This is my boss. The actual boss of Mortlake, not my manager.

The Bratva Pakhan. Russian, deadly, silent.

I scramble to remove my earbuds, but when they pop out, bouncing onto the floor, the audiobook is louder .

“You’re moist down here,” Athdar murmurs.

I realise what’s happened in a flash of nauseating horror. The Bluetooth earbuds have disconnected, but the audiobook continued to play from the phone’s speakers.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I babble.

No wonder I had to turn the volume up. I was having to listen through my earbuds, not from them.

Making a dive for my phone, my fingertips bounce off it, sending it spinning off my desk and crashing down.

I lunge for the phone and my wheely chair slides suddenly back. My chin slams into the edge of the desk, and I topple onto the floor.

“Oh Athdar!” I cry out in passion.

My shoulder hits the tiles with a thud, but I don’t even feel the pain over the mortification. This audiobook might kill me if my boss doesn’t.

The kingpin saunters casually towards me.

He thrusts himself inside me, pumping his hips like a stallion, and I’m helpless to resist as he grunts and kisses me sloppily.

I HAVE to shut that book up before I die.

Tears of humiliation are prickling behind my eyes. If this is the last thing I see—Markov Lunacharski, the hottest, grumpiest man in the whole of London if not the world, looming over me—it can’t be to the soundtrack of a terrible sex scene.

The noise of our lust reverberates around the mountains, until rapidly, Athdar screws up his face and gives one more, deep thrust, lets out a scream, and comes.

Why did it have to be a spicy bit?! And not even good spice!

Getting the earbuds out has disturbed the uneasy equilibrium of my curly hair, which has floofed in front of my face. That’s lucky, because my cheeks are now flaming. I’m surprised it isn’t singeing my hair, I’m blushing that hard.

Rolling onto my belly, I grasp for the phone. And I nearly reach it, slapping my fingers over the screen.

“Is that all you’ve got?” drawls a voice from behind me.

I try again, managing to swipe over the pause button.

And then, sweet, merciful silence falls, and I sag with relief.

Okay, the worst is over.

I’m alive. I’ve halted the most humiliating moment of my life. So far.

Then a black, shiny boot toe comes down hard on the other side of my phone, millimetres from my fingertips, trapping the little device.

Markov Lunacharski’s boot.

The cold of the tiles seeps into me. Easily washable floors down here.

Shaking, I tip my head up and up to look into his face. It’s awkward, because he’s about eight feet tall, and I’m lying on the floor, which isn’t the best use of my height of five-foot-three-inches.

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