Page 25 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

T here’s something… off when the landlord calls. His voice is clipped as he asks, “It’s Aubrey Wolfe, right?”

“Um, Audrey, but… Yes?” Maybe this is just the tone of someone trying to remember which tenant left without giving notice.

I still feel bad about that; it’s something my mother would have done, ditching an apartment and disappearing, like the many times she left me.

It’s something my Nana would’ve given me a disapproving look for.

“There’s… something for you here. At your old place. It looks like a delivery.”

“Oh, is it a package, or--?”

There’s a garbled sound on the other end. Then the call drops. I pull back and stare down at my cell. Strange, but then Konstantin must’ve forgotten to have someone leave a forwarding address.

It must be one of the many baby-related things I’ve been ordering during this bout of insomnia.

I can’t even remember what I’ve added to my cart in the past two weeks, foggy and browsing “Must Haves for New Moms!” articles at 3 a.m. I must have forgotten to change my delivery address on the website.

“Kashmere?” I call out, padding from the sunroom into the kitchen.

It’s late in the day, but her car is still in the driveway.

Ever since the nightmare, Konstantin has asked her to stay over when she can.

If not her, I always know the men are out there…

somewhere. Sometimes I can see them parked down the street, other times there’s just the suggestion of cigarette smoke in the cold air.

The leaves outside rustle and clatter with a breeze. The trees are mostly past turning now, with only a few days of that pretty gold-red-orange coloring before they turn brown.

A shiver goes down my spine.

Then I see Kashmere’s keys on the little entryway table.

If I ask to take her car, I’ll just get us both in trouble again.

But if she doesn’t know I’m taking the car, she’s off the hook, right?

It’s not that long of a drive to the old apartment building on Magnolia, and I’ll just have to pop into the mail room on the first floor. If she’s cleaning upstairs or assembling something in the nursery, chances are she won’t even notice I’m gone.

Frozen with indecision, I stare out the narrow windows on either side of the front door.

There, at the edge of the hedgerow near the drive, is a scuff mark.

Small, maybe nothing, but fresh—the kind that comes from shoes dragged through gravel.

The gravel bed was designed to be uniform, decorative. Someone has disturbed it.

I step closer to the front window.

Then footsteps sound from upstairs, followed by Kashmere’s humming.

I palm the keys, slip into the comfortable house slippers that Konstantin had sent over, and carefully open and close the door.

It’s cold out now that autumn is starting to shift into winter, and even with the heat that this baby is generating, I end up murmuring, “Should’ve grabbed a coat.”

As soon as I slide into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition, my stomach twists with… what? Not morning sickness which, by the way, I wish someone would’ve warned me is not just reserved for mornings.

Guilt for knowing that I shouldn’t be slipping out, alone, like this?

It’s a deeper feeling though, a tremor. Kind of like intuition… before I can pin it down, my eyes catch sight of something on the shed.

A dark maroon smear.

…Blood?

“You’re losing it,” I whisper to myself, fumbling my cell phone. I could call Konstantin right now, or text Lev. But if I do that I definitely won’t be able to run out to the apartment.

And I’ve been feeling so claustrophobic lately—only going back and forth between the house and the satellite office on the edges of the city.

I miss Sottovoce. I miss the cafes, the library.

It suddenly hits me that as much as I love being Konstantin’s, there are people and places from my life before him that I miss, badly.

Squaring my shoulders, I decide to run out. It’ll be quick. And just to be safe—I shoot Chrissy a text: Hey, you didn’t send a package to my old place, did you?

Um, no? she texts back. Those pregnancy memory issues starting to kick in? How can I forget that gorgeous house your mob boss lover got you?

Rolling my eyes, I start the car—thankfully, it’s a hybrid, quiet and sleek—and back out.

In less than half an hour, I reach Magnolia Street and park about a block down, staring at my old building.

I haven’t stepped foot on these sidewalks since the night Sal tried to strangle me.

Since the first time Konstantin made me feel safe.

There’s a little fluttery feeling in my belly, and I press a hand there. It reminds me that I’m not just living for myself anymore. And, yeah, after today I need to set down some ultimatums with Konstantin.

I want to see Chrissy more, go check out a book and chat with Emil—who will be shocked I’m pregnant, ugh—maybe go to my Nana’s grave.

A sadness sweeps over me like the frigid breeze, but it’s gone quick, replaced by determination.

Tonight, I’ll grab my package (what are the chances it’s a “Mafia Nepo Baby” onesie ordered in a state of humorous delirium?), go home and hopefully pass out, get up eight times to pee in the middle of the night, and start fresh tomorrow.

Find meaning outside of being Konstantin Martynov’s surrogate.

Begin reclaiming my life.

Smiling softly to myself, I gather my things. Oversized sweater, a purse that I’d downsized since Konstantin insisted I carry a new security-coded wallet instead of cash. I’m halfway across the street when that uneasy feeling scoops out my belly again.

Frozen, I stare up at the floor I used to live on. It seems so long ago now.

A car honks, and I rush the rest of the way to the front door.

Trying to ward off the strange feeling, I text Chrissy again: Weird to be back on Magnolia.

Her reply comes almost instantly: What? What are you doing there, Aud?

Don’t worry. Just picking up a package.

The building looks the same. Beige paint flaking off siding, cheap evergreens in decorative planters out front.

Inside the atrium is at least blasting heat from an old vent, and the mailbox is still labeled “Wolfe” in faded Sharpie.

There are a few packages piled in the corner, and I bend over as well as I can, shifting them to read the names.

None of which are mine.

I hesitate, phone still in hand, and it buzzes again—like a warning.

Why would you send a package to your old apartment, Audrey?

It’s a good question. One that makes my stomach roil again with nerves.

Does Konstantin know you’re there?

I tap the message box, thumb poised to type.

That’s when I see him.

Sal.

He’s leaning against the doorframe like he still belongs there. Like nothing ever changed.

“Audrey.”

His voice is cool, melodic, with that New Yorker accent. It’s no different than it ever was, but now it makes me feel nauseous.

Two men that I don’t recognize flank him. One is wiry and jittery, like he needs a fix. The other looks like he’s just stepped out of Rikers, all muscles and aggression in a wife-beater that strains over his frame.

My feet refuse to move.

Sal smiles, slow and oily. “Hey there, piccola . You look… rounder.”

I flinch. Instinctively, my hand goes to my belly.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, even though it sounds childish the moment it leaves my mouth. “Konstantin—he had the cops put in an order?—”

“Oh?” Sal cocks his head. “But this is where we started. You remember? That shitty futon, the pizza boxes, all those nights I took care of you when you were too sad to do anything else. Crying and crying after the old lady died. Remember when you were almost catatonic after selling her shitty little house?” His grin is feral, cruel.

“I figured we could have a little reunion.”

My pulse screams danger. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up.

“Go to hell.”

“That’s not very polite,” he replies, stepping forward.

My eyes search the tiny mail room, then the hallway behind Sal.

His grin widens. “Oh, no one will come down here, love. There’s another guy watching the elevators.

And, well…” He glances over his shoulder.

I suddenly notice a boot twisted strangely on the ground…

attached to a leg… “Your old landlord, he’s not in any state to help you right now. ”

Oh, God.

The call. The strained tone to the landlord’s voice. It wasn’t annoyance; it was fear. Sal had threatened him into luring me here.

The two men box me in. There’s no door behind me, and the tiny windows in this room are frosted. No one outside will see what happens to me here.

And just like that, I realize what this is.

A trap.

Sal’s eyes drop to my stomach, and something dark flickers there. Jealousy? Possession? I can’t tell anymore. Once, I worried that sleeping with Sal would result in a pregnancy, and I knew that he’d insist I “take care of it.” How far I’ve come, with a man now who would do anything to protect me.

If only he knew where I was.

If only I’d asked Konstantin for a ride or let him know I was heading here.

Sal reaches inside his jacket and pulls out something shiny.

A switchblade.

My breath catches.

“Sal, don’t?—”

“Don’t what? Don’t ask questions? Don’t point out how you sold me out to the Russians after I made you? After I paid for your Nana’s care? After I?—”

“You tried to kill me,” I snap.

“Because you owed me,” he snarls. “And I told you there was a price for crossing me.” His eyes gleam. “But you know the best part of this little homecoming?”

He pulls something from his back pocket. A piece of paper. Crumpled. It lands at my feet.

I stare at it, not moving.

“Your debt’s paid,” he says. “Every damn cent. One of Konstantin’s dogs wired it directly to my people.”

The balance is zero.

That anonymous text I got a few days ago, when Konstantin paid off my debt.

“You’re free,” he says mockingly. “From me. From all of it. Except one thing.”

I look up, wide-eyed.

“You still fucked me over, Audrey. They know I was in the Petrovia files, and I know you had something to do with them finding out. You made me look weak. You think the Italians are gonna let that slide?”

My voice cracks. “I thought… you were trying to take Giuseppe’s place.”

One of the thugs laughs low. Sal looks like I slapped him. Then anger washes over his face.

“Who the fuck told you that?” He strides forward, grabs my chin, his fingers bruising my jaw as he puts pressure on. “Shut your God damn mouth.”

So, it’s true. And he doesn’t want his bosses to know.

“That doesn’t happen,” he hisses, stepping closer, “unless I prove I’ve got balls. Unless I prove I can gut a traitor where she stands.”

The flat of the knife presses against the gentle swell of my belly.

“I’ll make it clean,” he whispers. “You’ll pay your debt. First I’ll cut this bastard out of you. Then, when you watch it suffocate, I’ll let you bleed to death.”

My whole body locks.

I can’t breathe. Can’t move.

“Sal—please,” I plead, barely able to get the words out.

“You’re going to take us to your Russian lover’s fancy house. You’re going to open the doors, let us in, and then you’ll watch him die. You owe me that much.”

Tears blur my vision.

The tiny mail room smells like old carpet, cigarettes, and whatever the tenants of the ground floor cook often. The ghosts of my old life taunted me—those first weeks of grief, then trying to settle into a new place. On my own. Even when Sal was there, I always felt alone.

The tip of Sal’s knife pierces my sweater, and I flinch. I’m going to die here.

My baby is going to die here.

Unless I do something.

A vibration comes from my pocket, followed quickly by another—Chrissy, probably, texting again. I swallow, keeping my eyes locked on Sal’s, and tilt my head slightly.

“You’ll never get past his guards,” I say.

He laughs. “Oh, I already did, sweety. One of his guys—Lev? Big bastard? We made sure he’s out of the picture tonight. Took a few more men than we anticipated, but,” Sal shrugs, “he won’t be interrupting us tonight.”

I gasp.

That blood by the shed.

Lev had been watching the house. Watching me .

He’d bled for me.

Sal doesn’t wait for me to process. “Let’s go.”

He waves the blade, and the other two men flank me like bookends of violence.

“I’ll scream,” I say, voice thin.

“No one’s listening,” Sal promises with a smirk.

But I knew that’s not true.

Not anymore.

Because Konstantin has made sure that someone is always listening.