Page 1 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

I can feel his eyes on me.

Konstantin Martynov is not a man you want watching you. Even if you fantasize about the things he could do to you right here in his luxury skyrise.

Konstantin Martynov, mafia boss and billionaire, CEO of not one, but seven companies. Globally.

“Are you okay?”

The question is a hiss, and I lick my lips before turning to face Chrissy, my best friend and co-accountant for Martynov Global Holdings.

“You’re…sweating.”

She’s right. My body is reacting to the fact that he’s near, and watching me.

Every. Single. Time his eyes have landed on me in the past year, my body reacts.

I should be afraid. Knees trembling with fear, heart stuttering with anxiety. Instead, a shiver down my spine makes my shoulders roll back, nipples erect and poorly hidden under a satin blouse.

Konstantin Martynov could kill me with a look, but I’m pretty sure he could do other sinful things to me if I ever dared to be alone with him.

“I’m fine, Chris. Just a little warm.”

She cocks an eyebrow, graciously not mentioning my breasts as I hug manila folders tightly. “Mmm. This office is air conditioned, Audrey, and kept at a perfect ambient temperature. Are you sure you aren’t sick or something?”

Oh, I’m sick alright, because no one should regularly fantasize about their literally killer boss. And that’s not even taking into consideration the fact that I have a boyfriend.

The timeless swish of a tempered glass door opening interrupts us.

The man himself steps into the space, eyes sweeping across dark wood and metal desks and high-end electronics. Only the best for a global criminal enterprise.

Mr. Martynov looks like a fallen angel of the worst kind. His silver hair gleams, grizzled jawline perfectly mirrored by a sharp collar and dark bespoke suit. Four bodyguards back him, each a tower of muscle, tattoos, and silence.

His dark eyes find me and land on my parted lips.

“Good morning Mr. Martynov,” the four other accountants murmur demurely, eyes down.

I make the mistake of being unable to look away. All I can hope is that he doesn’t see this as a threat, or a challenge, because I’m already in deep. And not just because my panties are damp.

“Good morning ladies.” The words rumble from his chest, darkened by his thick accent. He strides slowly across the floor; I’m the only thing standing between Konstantin Martynov and his office, down a private hallway and guarded at all times.

Taking a step back, the too-thin heel of my Manolos catches on a dropped pen and I stumble, stifling a cry at the pain searing through my ankle.

A large hand shoots out, catching my upper arm and wrenching me up.

Right into Martynov’s grip.

His other hand presses my body closer to his. “You’re okay?” he asks, voice even and void of emotion as always.

But his eyes flash caramel. I swear the manila folder between us should be bursting into flame with the rush of heat that takes over my body.

“I’m…fine. Thank you, Mr. Martynov.”

My gaze drops to the floor. And the stupid dogtooth-patterned heels that got me in this predicament.

He steps away and it’s as if the whole room is holding their breath; all the accountants, all four guards, and the poor cleaning woman who is on her way to stock the break room.

“Good. Because as always, Miss Wolfe, I expect you in my office promptly at 10 a.m.”

I nod, unable to look up for fear that I’ll do something stupid, like damage my ankle even more by letting it give just so I can fall into his arms again.

In a moment, Mr. Martynov and his men are gone—disappeared down the hallway behind double-thick cement walls and bulletproof glass.

“Shit,” I murmur, hobbling back to my desk and falling into the chair. Chrissy is at my side immediately, concern and suspicion in her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was…awkward,” her narrow eyes suggest that ‘awkward’ isn’t what she’s actually thinking, “but I doubt he’d kill you over tripping over a pen, Aud. Is it just me, or was there some tension between you two?”

I shoot her a glare. That’s a dangerous thing to whisper in this office. And a man like Konstantin Martynov would never give in to fucking the help, I’m sure.

“No, there most definitely was not. And don’t even think about saying that in front of Sal.”

Her features twist briefly, and my stomach drops. I know how Chrissy feels about Sal, even if she’s never told me to my face. It’s easy to see she despises him and can’t figure out why I’m with him.

Too bad I can’t tell her I’ve been doubting that decision lately. There are some things that are safer kept to myself.

Like how often I imagine Mr. Martynov stepping in, claiming me, and scaring my boyfriend off. Ugh.

“You have the reports ready, right?”

I flop the folders onto my desk, giving her a half-hearted smile. She returns to her desk with a curious glance over the shoulder, and my own eyes flick to the clock on the wall.

9:45 a.m.

I have fifteen minutes.

Chrissy is right—Konstantin Martynov, ruthless Russian mob boss, wouldn’t kill me over stumbling into his path.

But he would if I was stupid enough to put myself in his path by doing something reckless.

Like stealing from the company.

Two minutes shy of 10 a.m., I stand and gather my things.

It’s not much, but in the last ten minutes I’ve set myself back to rights: tucked my hair behind my ears, made sure I smell like the spiced vanilla scent I love and not sweat, and wiggled the heel of my right shoe to make sure it won’t snap off.

Chrissy gives me an encouraging smile. Two of the other accountants don’t even glance my way; it’s a consuming job, making sure the books for Martynov Global Holdings reflect only legal transactions. No hint of the safehouses, money laundering, or silent auction income anywhere on the lines.

But Duscha rolls her eyes.

It’s easy to catch, and expected. She doesn’t try to hide her dislike of me.

Duscha has been working for Konstantin Martynov for…

forever, maybe. She’s a Russian immigrant-turned-recent-citizen, and is stunning for a woman of her age.

Her features are sharp, skin pale and clear, eyes cutting and hair pin-straight.

If she wasn’t such a bitch I’d be jealous.

Duscha trained me and hated me as soon as she realized that I not only knew what I was doing, but that I was doing it better than she was.

Taking a deep breath, I start toward the glass door that separates our room from the hallway that leads to Mr. Martynov. It’s only a moment, but Duscha… smiles.

And that worries me.

Mr. Martynov’s favored guard, a young man named Lev, is sitting outside the door with his legs spread wide and a casual posture.

Casual, but I’m pretty sure Lev could tear a man’s spine out with his bare hands.

He’s huge, almost as big as Martynov himself, and also mute.

I give him a small smile, but his face doesn’t change. He’s learned well from his master.

My knock is like music on the high-end glass. Mr. Martynov is standing at the window, staring down at the city. Two fingers on his right-hand twitch, signaling me to enter. I try not to think of how confident that little gesture is, and what else he could use it for.

“Mr. Martynov. I apologize for earlier, and thank you again?—”

“No need to thank me, Miss Wolfe.”

He turns, his eyes dragging down my body. Once more every inch of my skin reacts to just his gaze . It’s amazing I didn’t combust under his hands earlier.

“What can you tell me about Dubai.”

I take my place near his desk and open the top folder, beginning to recite the revenue and expenses of his Dubai projects.

Right now, at surface level, it appears that he’s close to being in the red; after all, he’s building lavish condos that are selling for half what they’re worth.

But once they’re finished, they’ll be used as safehouses for criminals escaping Eastern Europe.

I touch briefly on the low-income properties he just put up in the UK and how the head church in the area is so grateful they are willingly laundering his money via donations. Before I can get to the Black Orchid project, he interrupts.

“Down.”

“I—what?”

“Sit down.”

Hesitantly, I reach out to maneuver a leather chair, but Martynov points at the floor in front of him.

“Not there. Here.”

I swallow, and it feels like a stone is stuck in my throat. This time, a cold sweat comes on and the folder trembles in my hand.

“Put that down. If you make me tell you one more time you won’t stand back up, Miss Wolfe.”

With a quiet gasp, I drop the folder on his desk, take two steps to him, and drop to my knees, biting back the pain as I kneel before him. They’ll be bruised later no matter how thick my pencil skirt is.

Konstantin Martynov towers over me. I stare up, trying hard to ignore the fact that my nose could graze his inner thigh and the slight bulge that always makes my mouth water.

“Miss Wolfe.” He reaches out. His fingers and thumb wrap around my jaw, squeezing just enough for it to be uncomfortable.

“I hired you at the behest of your manager, when my last accountant was unfortunately deemed…dispensable. I can tell you that what she was fired for was nowhere near as grievous as what you’ve been doing, zo?lotse.

So, explain to me why I shouldn’t throw a chair through that window and have your delectable little body follow it to break apart on the street below. ”

The breath catches in my throat. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, and tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

This is it.

But… something catches in the back of my mind.

Did he say ‘delectable’?

Twisting my fingers together to hide their trembling, I try to ignore the pool of desire that rushes to my core. I should not be turned on right now, not when one of the most dangerous men in the world is threatening to kill me. Even if his thumb is stroking reassuringly along my jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words sound brittle, weak. Mr. Martynov smiles. He reaches into the hidden pocket of his suit jacket and removes papers folded in thirds. Before he’s even dropped them in front of me, I know what they are.

“It seems you’ve made an error. Here.”

He nudges the papers with his foot, as if pointing, but it’s performative and he doesn’t have to make his point—I know exactly which line item on the account he’s talking about.

Exactly what error.

Because it isn’t an error.

“And another one.”

Another paper flutters to the ground.

“Last month. And the month before that.”

Despite it all I can’t help the flash of defiance that I know shows in my eyes.

His own narrows when he notices. Was he expecting me to grovel?

I should; I should beg. I should slit my own throat right here, because a man like Konstantin Martynov won’t let anyone get away with this.

“ Vorovka. You think I don’t know that you’ve been stealing from me? That for six months you’ve been cleaning the accounts and covering your tracks?”

I try to turn away, but he tightens his grip, angling my face upwards, his thumb pressing on the seam of my lips. He growled that word, vorovka.

I’ve been working here long enough to pick up on some Russian. To understand that he caught me.

Vorovka means thief.

The pressure from his massive hand forces my mouth open, and my eyes water as he slowly presses two thick fingers inside. They slide over my tongue, rough and salty, seeking deeper and deeper until I gag and whimper.

“You’ve made a mistake, Miss Wolfe. But… I think you’re smart.”

He licks his lips and again my body betrays me. I hate that this is turning me on, that being on my knees with my jaw forced open and the taste of his skin on my tongue does this to me.

For a moment, I absolutely loathe Konstantin Martynov.

It’s just as strong as my lust. And not a new feeling; I’ve hated Martynov ever since I realized just what Sal, my boyfriend, had gotten me into with that accounting job at the construction site.

Only I never thought it would lead here.

He removes his fingers, shoving me back with a push of his knee. I fall onto my heels, sucking in a deep breath, tears trickling down my cheeks and into my mussed hair. They run down my neck and soak into the satin blouse.

“The problem is, if you’re as smart as I think you are, you would never steal from me. Which means you must have a very good reason for doing such a stupid thing. And you’re going to tell me right now.”