Page 11 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

Emil stands before a small pile of books, cataloging the new arrivals with gloved hands. They will go into the archives, a climate-controlled room, to be accessed by those who will respect and worship them.

“Audrey! Are you okay? I was starting to get worried.”

He looks, somehow, even older since the last time I saw him—only weeks ago.

“Yes, I’m sorry Emil. I’m fine. It’s just been so busy—at work.” I try to fight down the heat of the lie, even though it isn’t completely a lie. Today, Thursday, is my first day back after several days off. After settling into the house that my boss purchased for me.

Which will be mine, if I carry his child.

My stomach twists with nerves. It has to be just nerves, right? Surely it’s too early to actually be pregnant, to feel anything…

Emil’s eyes, young and sharp despite his age, narrow. “You’re sure you’ve been alright?” When I give him a flat look, he apologizes: “You know your grandmother would never forgive me if I didn’t look out for you, Audrey.”

His smile is sad, but in it I see just how much he loved Nana.

In secret, or… maybe not. It was obvious to everyone but her that Emil was infatuated with her.

When she got sick, he was there almost every day, reading to her or bringing by boxes of protein shakes.

Filling the living room with her favorite flowers and playing music, they used to dance to when she was healthy.

“I know,” I murmur, reaching out to touch his wrinkled hand. “Thank you. I really am fine, Emil, I’ve just been overwhelmed lately. I promise I’ll stop by more often. Do you have…?”

With a sigh, he ambles off to find the stack of books that I requested about a month ago. I trade him another, finished stack, praising him as the best person I know. He rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know how you find the time to finish all these, Audrey. It makes me worry—you should be out and about in the city! You’re still young!”

I bite my lip, suddenly wanting to tell Emil everything.

He’s been a part of my life for so long that it almost comes spilling out of me.

Instead, I bite back the truth and tell a half-lie.

“I’m—actually seeing someone right now. Kind of.

” Before he can get too excited, his eyes lighting up at the news, I add, “I’m not sure it’ll work out. ”

“Really? Why not?”

“I don’t know. He’s just so…”

How do I explain Konstantin Martynov without giving away who he is? He’s infamous in New York; if I utter his name, Emil will know exactly how much danger I’m in and would probably call the cops right now.

“He’s secure. A little older,” I explain nervously, thinking of Konstantin’s glittering silver hair and sharp eyes. A coil of anxiety and excitement settles in my belly.

“That’s not always a bad thing,” Emil muses. “As long as he can take care of you.”

The words are reassuring, probably because I know that no matter how crazy all this is, Konstantin can take care of me.

Especially if I’m the mother of his child.

I reach out to take Emil’s hand again, promising to stop by sooner and stay in touch. Then I heft the pile of books and start off toward work.

“Honestly, I thought they’d just offed you and were telling everyone you were sick to cover their tracks.”

I roll my eyes at Chrissy, trying to focus on reconciling the last week’s income through the shell companies. If you’d told me, during my years in college, that one day I’d be a money laundering aficionado, I would’ve thought you were crazy. But here I am.

“I really was just sick, Chris. It’s not that serious.”

“Still. Things were definitely weird around here,” she drops her voice to a murmur, glancing over in the direction of the other pair of cubicles. “Duscha has been walking around like she’s queen of the city. It’s good to see that smile wiped off her face today, when you walked in.”

I try to hide my own smile, dipping my chin down.

Duscha’s expression when I stepped off the elevator was one of disbelief. She’s the one who picked up on my “errors” and told Konstantin; he made that clear. So, she must be wondering what the hell I’m doing back at work and not floating in several different pieces down the Hudson.

A shadow looms over our desks.

My breath catches. Chrissy’s chair rolls away.

Standing between us is…

Lev.

He’s completely silent, staring down at me with a blank expression. Most people—especially Jeanette—find it disconcerting, how he never talks. But I swear there’s something more to him. He can’t just be a mindless soldier, or Konstantin wouldn’t have picked him to lead the soldiers.

He holds out a folded over piece of paper.

I take it.

Then he disappears, boots silent on the tiled floor.

“What the hell,” Chrissy whispers. I shoot her a warning look; better not to draw attention to how completely weird that interaction just was.

Slipping my finger between the paper, I unfold it and read, in flawless script: There will be a car waiting out front at 5 p.m. Get in it.

The car is a red Alfa Romeo, and it is definitely not inconspicuous. A handful of people are leaving or heading into the Spire, and they stare at me as I slip into the backseat nervously.

Chrissy texts me: That’s one of Mr. Martynov’s cars, Audrey. What’s going on?

I should answer her, but I don’t. Because what will I say?

Oh, I just agreed to let him fuck me until I’m knocked up because I was stealing thousands of dollars from him to pay off a debt I owe.

She would never look at me the same way again.

But clearly, Konstantin isn’t worried about keeping this quiet.

I realize quickly that we aren’t going to the cute little country home where I now live. Instead, the driver delves deeper into the city, until we reach a stunning townhouse on a tree-lined street.

It doesn’t look like the leader of the Russian mob would live here, but I suppose that’s the whole point.

The townhouse is painted a dark, almost midnight blue, with wrought iron fencing and window bars. Plants spill from the windowsills and create a kind of walkway to the front door, like stepping into a forest, the large pots ornate and heavy.

I reach the door, turn to look—the car is already gone.

People are walking the street slowly and casually. They obviously live here; there’s no traffic at all, and the passersby are dressed so flawlessly that it feels like I stepped into a Vogue photoshoot.

The knocker is heavy, honey-colored wood, smooth under my already sweating palm. I knock and wait, feeling more nervous, possibly, than the day Konstantin told me in his office that he knew exactly what I had done.

The door opens and there’s a… butler?

Does Konstantin Martynov have a butler?

The man is impeccably dressed. And expecting me, apparently.

“Miss Wolfe.” He bows a little half-bow, and I feel suddenly out of place.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mr…?”

“You can call me Stanely, miss. Mr. Martynov is expecting you. This way, please.”

Stanley leads me into a beautifully paneled, dark wood hallway, and then asks me to wait. He disappears somewhere into the massive townhouse, which must be at least four stories high.

Turning in a slow circle, I take it all in.

It’s gorgeous. Dark. Woody. Smokey. It smells like a man, in a musky, spiced way that makes my blood pressure spike, but before I can peer into the next room he says my name from the top of the stairs.

“Audrey.”

The sight of him, waiting for me, leaves me breathless.

Konstantin stands with his legs spread, hands in his pockets. The dark trousers he wears pull tight against his hips and his tie is undone.

I haven’t seen him all day.

“Come.”

Oh, I almost do, right there, at those words.

Taking a steadying breath, I try to walk up to him gracefully. It takes everything in me not to crawl the last few steps and beg him to use me. I hate how badly I want him, especially knowing that he got all this—this beautiful home, these opulent surroundings—by killing. Stealing.

Threatening.

Instead, I reach him, and he takes my hand, leading me down a hallway to an almost ridiculously large bedroom. It’s the complete opposite of the bedroom in my home, or the home he made for me. Dark, brooding, elegant, but with little personality. I can’t seem to look away from the bed.

Konstantin strips his tie off.

“Take off your clothes.”

I practically jump to obey, toeing off my heels and lifting the simple pleated dress over my head. I could unbutton it, but there are at least fifteen buttons, and I can’t help how badly I want?—

What?

I want him to touch me. I want him to tell me what to do.

And as much as I hate admitting it, I want him to use me, to bury himself deep inside me until my pussy can’t hold anymore of his cum.

“Leave the tights.”

Before I can snap off the stockings from the garter belt, Konstantin’s words make me freeze. He walks around me slowly, fingers ghosting up my back to undo the clasp of my bra effortlessly. It slides down my shoulders, to the floor.

He steps close, running his hands over the textured cut of the garter belt, down the straps to massage my thighs.

“These stockings… they drive me crazy at work. I was thinking about them all day.”

“You were? I didn’t see you… I thought maybe you weren’t there…”

“I was watching, Audrey. I’ve been watching you for a long time.”

The heat of his body is so close I can’t help pressing my ass back toward him, feeling the stiff trousers ghost against my skin before he hooks an arm around my hips and pulls me back.

“You didn’t think you were done with work today, did you, my love?”

The endearment is almost too much, too early, and my chest feels tight. But my pussy throbs at the feel of his cock hardening against my ass.

Konstantin slips his fingers beneath my panties, delicately playing with my clit.

“You’re already so wet.”