Page 23 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

T hree months in, and I still don’t want to know the gender, even though they’ve offered several times at my appointment the other day. Konstantin hadn’t argued. He didn’t even blink. Just looked up from the page he was signing, nodded, and muttered something like,“Makes no difference. It’s mine.”

The calm in his voice made me pause. I thought a man like him—so focused on legacy—would demand a son. An heir. I thought he’d already picked out a name, a school, a future.

But he didn’t care. He just wanted the baby.

And when, alone in the car, he pressed a strangely chaste kiss to my lips, it made me think he might want me, too.

I hate the Spire.

It’s beautiful, polished, deadly. Every floor is clinically perfect.

But now that I don’t need to be there every day, I can see it for what it is: a warehouse of risk.

Maybe it’s the maternal instinct kicking in, but the last thing I want is to be seen entering those doors.

So, when I step into the elevator this afternoon, stomach tight under the silk blouse I’ll have to forsake soon, I can already feel the pressure climbing up my spine.

Chrissy had offered to run the errand for me—some transfer documents that needed Konstantin’s signature—but I didn’t want her walking into the lion’s den.

Especially not when I’ve seen how Lev watches her.

I’m not sure if something’s there, but… either way, I’d like to keep her off their radar.

She’s the only friend I have, and the only one I can confide in about my situation.

Better if I see him, even if it leaves my heart pounding in my throat and my thighs pressed too tightly together.

The elevator chimes softly on the 28th floor.

I step out.

And I freeze.

Konstantin is standing just outside the glass office doors. Not unusual. He does that sometimes—paces while he’s on the phone, gaze distant, hands in his pockets.

But this time… he’s not alone.

Olena.

There’s something about how they’re standing that feels…

intimate. The cock of her thin hips, hand on her waist, draws attention to how feminine she is under all that intimidation.

Olena is a beautiful woman in a harsh way—I’ve always known that, but now I’m seeing it in a whole different light as she leans into him, speaking quietly.

Konstantin is saying something in Russian.

Too low for me to catch. But whatever it is—it makes her smile in that quiet, intimate way that makes it feel like it’s just the two of them.

There are rumors about Olena, plenty of them, but all of a sudden I’m wondering…

is it possible to work so closely together and not have some kind of deep emotional connection?

Possible to kill together, rely on one another, build an empire together… a knot of jealousy burns in my sternum.

This is different than how I’ve contributed to Martynov Global Holdings for the past year and a half. Olena has literally killed for him. Has he done the same for her?

Is that why she’s so loyal? Or is it something else?

I shouldn’t care.

I have no right to care. After all, I’m just the surrogate.

I watch for another second—maybe two—and then push the glass door open harder than necessary. The sound makes both of them look over.

Olena’s eyes narrow.

Konstantin straightens.

His eyes drag over me slowly—bare legs, rounded belly, blouse too snug, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Miss Wolfe,” he says, his voice all quiet thunder. “How fortunate. We were just speaking of you.”

I arch a brow. “Oh?”

Olena steps back slightly, arms crossing. I can’t tell if she’s uncomfortable or annoyed. I don’t care at the moment, but judging from past interactions, she does not approve of the use that Konstantin has put me to.

“Your file was needed for the Avenue development review,” Konstantin explains. “Olena mentioned you flagged a discrepancy.”

“Oh,” I say lightly. “So that’s what you two were giggling about?”

Giggling. I wince inwardly. I sound like a jealous housewife.

Konstantin’s lip twitches. “Is something wrong, Miss Wolfe?”

“No, nothing.” I step forward, placing the manila folder on the edge of his desk. “Though you might want to wipe the lip print off your shirt.”

Am I losing my mind? Olena’s eyes flash. She’s not wearing lipstick, never does, but I can’t seem to stop myself. There truly is a red smudge, just there.

His brow lifts. “Excuse me?”

“Right there,” I say, pointing to his collar. “Unless that’s blood. I forget—it’s hard to tell with you.”

He chuckles, and Olena’s lips quirk up in a smile. Before he can say more, I pivot toward the door. But he follows.

“Audrey.”

I pause, his breath brushing my neck.

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

He leans in closer. “You are.”

I turn, trying to glare at him but failing. The sight of his smirk—infuriating and smug—makes my stomach flutter and my throat tighten. Olena slips past the two of us, her eyes sliding from one to the other.

“You’re at work,” she reminds him, her accented voice somehow severe and gorgeous all at once. “Keep that in mind, Martynov. Wouldn’t want anyone to see you… vulnerable.”

Then she’s gone. And I’m left to face Konstantin’s accusation.

“It’s the hormones,” I say flatly.

“Of course,” he agrees. “Pregnancy does strange things to women. Makes them territorial. Possessive. Sometimes they want to… claim their mate.”

My face heats. “You’re not a wolf, Konstantin.”

“No.” His gaze drops to my belly. “But you are, malen'kiy volk .”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? You’re the one snarling at poor Olena. Who, by the way…” he adds, brushing a thumb under my chin, “prefers women.”

I blink. “She does?”

He nods, and his grin turns downright wicked. “She prefers brunettes , actually. You should be careful.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yes,” he says shortly.

My hand twitches. I want to slap him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

“Don’t you have an empire to run?”

He sighs. “Yes. But you make it very difficult to focus when you come in smelling like citrus and bad intentions. Did you really need to see me, little wolf, or were you just looking for an excuse? Is there something I can…” his fingers drag down my side, “…do for you?”

I ignore that and turn on my heel.

Behind me, I hear him murmur something in Russian again—something amused and low—and I nearly trip as I leave his office, jaw tight, chest full of fury and something else I can’t name.

Possessive. That’s what he said.

He’s not wrong. I hated seeing him close to someone else. I hated the idea that Olena, of all people, could be close to him in ways I can’t. At this moment, in a storm of emotion, I’m both thrilled by his words and very, very aware of the gulf between us.

Konstantin Martynov comes from a different world. He’s unknowable, no matter how many nights he spends by my side. No matter how many times he’s claimed me as his.

Chrissy’s waiting by the elevators.

She gives me a look, eyes bouncing between me and the closed office door. “You okay?”

I lie, embarrassed at the truth. “Fine.”

She hesitates. “You know you don’t have to pretend around me, right? With Mr. Martynov making it obvious that you two are…”

I wait for her to finish, a tired smile on my face, but she grasps for words desperately. Nods at my belly. As awkward as this is, I can tell by the twinkle in her eye that she’s also excited for me.

“I’m not. Pretending, I mean. Sorry Chris—I’m just tired. This,” I gesture at my ever-swelling belly, “is pretty exhausting. Just a warning.”

She tilts her head. “Right. I’m two double shifts away from accidentally laundering a mafia slush fund.”

I stare at her.

She sighs. “That wasn’t a joke.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

Chrissy glances around. The hallway’s quiet. Lev’s nowhere in sight. She grabs my arm and pulls me closer.

“I found something, Aud. Something bad . Someone’s been accessing accounts they shouldn’t be in. High-level stuff—stuff even I don’t have clearance for. It’s subtle, but I noticed a few flags while I was reconciling the Petrovia spreadsheet.”

My skin goes cold.

“Petrovia’s under lock and key,” I whisper.

“Exactly. I’m the only one with access. And trust me, I got a good talking to when they assigned it to me about what would happen if anyone else were to find out about it. Which is why… I’m scared,” she admits, voice dipping into a whisper.

“And this… this couldn’t just be a mistake?”

“No. It’s too clean. Too specific.” Chrissy’s voice lowers. “I think someone’s trying to siphon off top-level numbers. Not skimming, not laundering. Just… looking. Quietly. Trying to map the structure.”

Sal.

God, it has to be Sal.

This is exactly his style—sly, slippery, one step away from implosion.

If he’s already exhausted me for the fifty grand and realized he can’t use me anymore, this is how he’d creep in.

By the end, before Duscha gave me up, he was starting to ask me about the Operations Room.

About whether or not I had access to their files.

I didn’t, but never even got the chance to explain that. If Sal thought that was his way in, he must be digging around another way now. And the Petrovia file might get him there. It’s the one thing that tracks where all of Konstantin’s money related to violence goes.

There’s no other way to put it—every item in that spreadsheet has the potential to end lives. Dozens. Thousands even, if things get that bad.

Another mole. Another point of access.

I rub at my temples. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Chrissy says. “Shit.”

“Okay. I’ll bring it up with him.”

“Who?”

I look up. “Konstantin.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re serious?”

“I said I’d tell him if anything else came up. This counts.” I glance toward the elevator. “Besides, I can tell you’re worried about it. I don’t think he’d do anything to you, but… just to make sure.”

I don’t say it, but the words he’s protecting me now echo quietly in the back of my mind. I wonder how much I could ask of him. I’ll give you everything —that’s what he told me the night he found out I was pregnant. Yes, it was in a post-sex haze, but… did he mean it?

As Chrissy gives me one last squeeze and disappears into the bathroom, I punch the elevator button and step inside when it dings.

The ride down is slow. Nausea twists in my stomach—not from the pregnancy, but from everything else.

I’ll tell him tonight. I have to. He said he’d stop by the house after dinner with some associates. If I’m lucky, he’ll already be in a good mood.

If I’m really lucky, he’ll touch me again.

Maybe kiss me.

Maybe claim me the way I want him to.

I press my hand to the slight swell of my belly.

I’m beginning to realize, as I slip into the car that’ll take me home, that I might just do anything for Konstantin Martynov—leader of the Russian mafia.