Page 26 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Konstantin

T he message came in as the light dipped behind the skyline.

Coming over.

From Audrey.

My little wolf.

At first glance, the words seem harmless. But something about the cadence sends a cold prickle over the back of my neck. She never just announces her arrival. She asks, or she shows up; there’s no in between.

This?

This is rushed. Clipped. Off.

I stand in my office, bathed in the last light of day, and stare at the message. There’s another reason I don’t trust this.

Only minutes ago, I received a call from the Operator at the Spire. Someone had used the emergency line asking them to contact me and tell me: “She left the house and she’s at Magnolia.”

That someone was Chrissy, Audrey’s best friend and one of the head accountants. A woman who would definitely not be reaching out to me, after recent events, unless something was wrong. The room feels colder than it had a moment before. My thumb hovers over the keys.

Are you alone?

No response.

I type again.

Is Lev bringing you?

Nothing.

I type out another message, this one to Lev, asking where Audrey is—if he’s with her.

Again, nothing.

My blood begins to shift, heating, flowing faster. My ribs expand with a breath that comes too tightly. Something is wrong. Deeply, sickeningly wrong.

Lev never fails to check in. He’s the best I have, loyal to the bone. Trained like a dog for war.

And he wouldn't leave her. Not unless...

My phone remains dark.

I hit the comm. "Activate perimeter lockdown. No exceptions. Evac protocol one."

The house obeys me.

Steel shutters slide into place with a hush . Internal motion detectors ping to life. The townhouse narrows its gaze like a predator in the grass.

Is it overkill? Maybe. Perhaps Audrey just had a long day or is pissed about something that happened at the office, ready to come after me. Maybe she found out that I’ve insisted she has a six-month maternity leave, fully paid.

Giuseppe’s wry smile swims into my memory; his warnings about the blessings and downfalls of having a family. Is having a child making me paranoid before they’ve even arrived?

I pull my Glock from the drawer beneath the bar, clip it under my jacket, and slide a blade into the sheath hidden in my boot.

Just in time.

The doorbell rings.

Not the side entrance. Not the garage. The front door .

Audrey knows, after last time, that she should come in the side. And Lev would never bring her to the front.

I move silently down the hallway, each step a calculation. My hand rests at my side. The gun is ready. I don’t need backup, not yet. If this is what I fear, calling for more men would truly be overkill.

Or not enough.

I open the door.

And there she is.

Audrey stands shivering in a pale, thick sweater and house slippers, her buttery leggings hugging her curves. Her hair is half-pinned back; half, because it’s fallen. My eyes flicker over her features. Her wide eyes. Her chattering teeth.

“Where’s your coat?”

It’s a stupid thing to ask, but the instinctive, protective side of me kicks in before the logical side does. Her eyes look up into mine and scream what her lips didn’t.

Run.

Stepping to the side, I pull her in with a hand wrapped around her upper arm, her mouth open in a silent shout.

And make the mistake of turning my back.

The first blow slams into the side of my head. Blunt. Hard. Iron. A pipe or a bat. My vision explodes in white.

I go down to one knee, dazed, blinking blood out of my eye. Now Audrey really does scream.

“Konstantin!”

“The study,” I grunt, sensing more than seeing forms enter the house behind me. Pain spiders down my jaw and into my ribs as I try to rise. A boot lands in my lower back, but I catch myself as Audrey makes a run for the stairs.

Standing, I spin, gun raised.

Too late.

A second man is already inside. Then a third.

And behind them, closing the door like he belongs here, is Sal Imperi. Even with the dying light behind him, I recognize his lean frame.

The sight of him in my home drags rage up from my gut like acid.

“If you touched her?—”

One of his men holds up a gun, short and thick, and the action clicks.

Sal smiles like a man who thinks he’s still holding the cards.

"Nice place," he says, cocking his head. "Bit sterile, though."

My body surges forward before thought catches up. I can’t let them get upstairs, get to her. Or the baby.

Desperation, an unfamiliar feeling, makes my skin feel electric. I grab the nearest thug by the throat and slam him into a marble column. Bone cracks. He’s thin, wiry, and falls to the ground like nothing. Sal’s glance flicks to the body in annoyance.

I fire, but the guy with the gun is surprisingly fast for his size.

He manages to duck it and the bullet ricochets somewhere in the foyer.

The house, at my earlier command, has become a den of shadows.

It’s familiar enough to me that I know where to land my feet and brace myself as the bigger thug slams into me, my shoulder buried in his gut.

Sal cracks something heavy over my back.

There’s a sound of shattering, and I know what it is; an expensive piece of sculpture purchased years ago, a favorite of mine, now in pieces around my feet.

I have one hand gripping the thug’s, wrapped around his and bending the wrist to point the muzzle of his gun down.

There’s a yank and the sound of bullets dropping on the tile.

My gun is gone.

Then a sharp, stinging sensation at my side—familiar. When Sal pulls the knife out, it makes an almost metallic sound. Before he can stick me again I jerk the gun out of his thug’s hand, then barrel toward Sal, pinning his right arm and the knife between us.

Audrey screams.

Her scream is what brings me back.

Not the pain.

Not the blood seeping down my hip.

Her.

Because she’s here, and she’s pregnant. And for the first time in my entire brutal, godless life, I have something to lose.

The future isn’t an abstract thing anymore. It’s real. It’s growing inside her.

Focusing on the bigger man, I drop low, pivot, and drive my elbow into the bastard's ribs. He gasps. I wrench him forward and crack his skull against my knee.

Sal rushes me then, knife drawn.

But he’s underestimated me. I’m not just some slicked-up suit running numbers in a skyscraper. No, what Sal Imperi and the rest of my competition in the city don’t know is that I still walk the streets.

I still do my time with the men. On the ground.

I do my dirty work when it needs doing. And I’m the Bratva. The monster beneath the bed. The nightmare whispered about in backrooms across three continents.

I catch Sal's wrist mid-swing. Squeeze.

He howls.

The blade drops. I kick it across the floor.

Then Audrey shrieks.

The man whose skull I thought I’d at least fractured is on the stairs, a thick arm wrapped around her throat. Her feet dangle an inch in the air, kicking, her eyes huge in the dark. He hauls her up higher, slamming her sideways into the wall hard enough to make the plaster crack.

Audre makes a broken sound.

The world narrows to a pinpoint.

I shove Sal away. Bend just enough to pull the knife out of my boot, and whip it through the air, praying to a God I don’t believe in for the universe to align.

It hits its target, slicing through Audrey’s hair just above her ear and plowing through the thug’s eye. His arm around her throat loosens, and Audrey crumples as his body folds down the stairs next to her.

Striding forward, I tower over Audrey, listening to the sickening sound of her labored breath as I pull the blade from the man’s eye socket.

When I turn around, Sal Imperi is backing up toward the door.

He points at me, panting. "It didn’t have to be like this, Martynov."

"You're right," I say, voice low. "She should have let me kill you months ago."

I jerk my hand back, take aim, and see the glint of the knife as it turns end over end.

It catches Sal in the throat, and he staggers to his knees.

In a flash I’m by his side, slowly wrapping my hands around his throat, ignoring the slice of the blade as it bites my finger.

I squeeze slowly and steadily until the sound and feel of cracking almost echoes in the atrium.

Sal’s eyes bulge, blood vessels breaking as he struggles against my hold, legs kicking out wildly.

It takes a long, long time, suffocating someone.

If you aren’t careful they’ll only pass out.

So, I wait. I tighten my grip.

And Sal Imperi dies in my hands. His pulse slows, then ends against my fingertips.

I turn to Audrey.

She’s trying to sit up. Her hands tremble. Blood trickled from her temple, where the knife left a nick, and one hand is pressed to her throat. Her lips are pale.

“Don’t move,” I say, crouching beside her. “Can you breathe?”

She looks up at me with wide, dazed eyes. Then she whispered something that rips me in half.

"He said he was going to kill the baby."

The rage that follows isn’t fire.

It’s ice.

“You’re bleeding—Konstantin!”

When I turn around, Audrey is trying to stand. I go to her quickly, holding her up and fumbling for my phone with my other hand. Audrey presses her palm to the searing spot just above my hip, the muscle feeling rent and swollen, throbbing. Her hand comes away dark with blood.

“Konstantin—”

“It’s okay. I’m calling for help.”

Olena picks up and doesn’t say anything when I tell her she needs to send men, the Redline, and Ward.

“Wait,” I catch myself, looking down at Audrey. “Not Ward. I’m taking Audrey to the hospital. Meet us there.”

Audrey tries to take a step and stumbles, still in my arms. I put a hand to her throat, thumb pressed to her windpipe and feel her pulse rocketing.

My voice is gravel when I speak.

"You're safe. I've got you."

Her hand moves to her stomach.

"Is the baby--?"

She nods, faintly. "I think so."