Page 27 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)

Audrey

I sink deeper into the stiff VIP hospital mattress, hands resting on my belly, the paper band still around my wrist whispering every time I shift.

It's a ridiculous room—high ceilings, filtered light, a built-in espresso machine in the corner, and too many flower arrangements already crowding the table.

One bouquet is made entirely of imported peonies, nowhere near possible this time of year.

Another has long, drooping calla lilies, probably flown in from some exotic place.

Nana used to say that lilies were for funerals. The memory makes my body clench in anticipation.

It’s all absurd.

I’m still shaking.

Everything inside me feels broken and raw. Just hours ago, if I’d made a different decision… if I’d insisted that the landlord forward any packages or double checked my order history. Things might’ve turned out differently.

Out in the hallway,Konstantin is getting sewn back together while giving orders like it’s just another Tuesday. I can hear his voice—low, firm, unrelenting—as he speaks toOlena . Seeing her flash by the window earlier like an angel of death, I no longer felt jealousy.

Now I felt shame.

Guilt.

When her eyes flickered in my direction, I knew she saw me as a threat and a weak spot. Someone who could get—almost did get—Konstantin killed.

They’re speaking in Russian. I can’t understand the words, but I know the tone. It’s the sound of war being declared.

It makes my stomach turn.

My hands press down lightly on the swell of my belly. I’ve been cleared. The doctor said everything looks good, only a little nick that they put bacitracin on from when Sal held the knife to my belly.

The baby is fine. I’m fine. No signs of placental abruption, no internal bleeding, no fractures.

I’m fine.

It doesn’t feel like it, though. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I breathe out through my mouth. The nurse in the room glances in my direction with a sweet smile. How much does she know? To her, am I just a rich mother-to-be who’s had a scare?

Or does she understand who the man out in the hallway is?

Does she know how close I came to getting all three of us murdered tonight? Because I’m sure, without a doubt, that Sal would’ve followed through on his word after killing Konstantin.

Something inside me cracked the moment the pipe hit the side of his head. The moment Konstantin shoved me behind him, the moment that thug’s knife flashed. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee it, and the blood pressure machine beeps in warning, the nurse hurrying over to soothe me.

I curl to one side slightly, hugging the pillow. My body remembers the weight of Sal’s hand around my throat in the car, the pressure of fear climbing up and choking out everything else. I’d just gotten used to feeling safe again. Letting myself believe I was protected.

But nothing is safe when you belong to Konstantin Martynov.

And that’s the problem—I do. Whether I like it or not, I do.

My mind flits to the baby again. My baby. I don’t know when I started thinking of the pregnancy that way, but it’s real now. It feels real. It feels like mine. Not a punishment, not a transaction. A little heartbeat under my ribs. A quiet, vulnerable promise I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.

The doctor steps in with a sigh, murmuring to the nurse, “He’s turning down a scan, which is a mistake. Took a nasty hit to the head.” He checks my vitals, the baby’s vitals, and promises a luxury hospital dinner soon.

My stomach churns at the thought of trying to eat. Outside, the city seems to sink in darkness despite all the lights shining in the buildings.

The door creaks open and Olena appears for just long enough to spear me with a glance sharp enough to draw blood.

Her designer coat is folded neatly over one arm, her heels echoing against the tile floor.

She doesn’t speak—just lets her eyes sweep from my bare feet to the machines behind me.

Like she’s cataloging everything that makes me unworthy.

Then she disappears.

I can’t even muster the energy to be embarrassed. I’m too tired. Too angry at myself.

For getting involved in this.

For stealing the money in the first place.

For falling in love with him.

The door clicks open again. And this time, it’s him.

Konstantin enters like a shadow—dressed down now in loose black sweatpants and a bandaged side, no jacket, no tie, just a clean t-shirt stretched tight over blood-stained gauze.

There’s a dark bruise forming on the side of his head, easy to see as it crawls out of his silver hair.

His face looks tired, finally his age, lined with fatigue, pain, and worry.

The man who took a beating for me and didn’t even flinch.

There’s a smear of blood on his shirt and a wiry man with inked forearms is packing up a stitch kit on the hallway floor.

Konstantin walks straight to the chair beside my bed and sits heavily. No dramatic gestures, no charm.

“Is Olena mad?” It comes out as a whisper. His eyes ghost over my face, then look away—I have my answer.

Ignoring the question, he says, “They’re cleaning it now.”

“Cleaning what?”

“My townhouse.They’re quiet. Efficient. We’ll be able to go home soon.”

I think of the blood on the marble floor. The shattered glass. The furniture overturned and the bodies—oh God, the bodies.

Sal is finally gone. Sal is finally gone.

I whisper that sentence, scream it, repeat it in my head, but it still doesn’t seem real.

“Olena had men sweep the country house.” He pauses. “They found Lev.”

“He’s alive?”

Konstantin’s jaw clenches. “Barely. They flew him in. He’s in ICU. Surgeon says it will take time… a lot of time. But he’s a fighter.”

A sob catches in my throat, and I turn my face to the pillow, so he won’t see the guilt.

Lev. Always silent. Always there. Protecting me in ways I never asked for. And now he might die because I brought this storm right into Konstantin’s house. Into his empire.

What would have happened if, instead of leaving the house, I’d locked the door? Called Kashmere from upstairs and texted Konstantin about the blood, the scuff marks?

Why was I so stupid to think that violence couldn’t reach me there?

Because he promised you, a small voice comments in the back of my head. It’s accusatory, bitter, and it takes the edge off of my guilt—but only a little.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Konstantin shifts slightly, glancing at me with a look I can’t decipher. The swelling in his face has gone down, but his expression is pale steel.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

I shake my head quickly, not wanting both of us to waste time or emotions on regret. “You had to, Konstantin. If you hadn’t he would have…”

“He would have killed you. And the child.” His voice is measured, cold. Stating a fact. It chills me to the bone, how matter-of-fact he is about this. “That’s not a line you cross and live.”

“Why… why didn’t they just…? At the country house?”

I can’t seem to put the words together. A pounding headache is creeping in at my temples and suddenly, I’m exhausted. A nurse opens the door, slips in, and sets down a tray of grilled chicken with vegetables. The smell churns my stomach.

Konstantin understands what I’m asking, and his answer makes it clear that he’s all business. This is what it’s like being on the receiving end of Konstantin Martynov’s cold brilliance.

“I was the end goal, not you. He still needed you to get to me Audrey. But if something had gone wrong, if Lev had been there to back me up…”

Then the words spill out, quiet and broken: “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

The events of the last few hours flash before my eyes.

The blood. The pounding of my pulse in my ears. Feeling the baby shift; the fear of not feeling the baby at all.

And Konstantin, on his knees, eyes unfocused.

He doesn’t move.

His eyes go distant. Something closes behind them, like a vault. When he speaks again, it’s with the flat voice of a man who’s already started dying.

“I see.”

I shake my head, fighting back tears. “That’s not—it’s not that I don’t want to—I just?—”

“You’re scared.” He’s still staring at the wall. “You should be.”

“I’m not scared of you.” I pause. “Not like that.”

“Then what are you scared of Audrey?”

I sit up slowly, brushing a hand through my tangled hair. I can feel the tears now, balancing in my lashes, stubborn and hot.

“I’m scared that I’m not going to survive this. That I’ll never be anything more than bait. A weapon someone else uses against you. That someday you’ll get shot and not get back up. That someday our child will watch me die because someone wants to hurt you. I’m scared of losing you.”

That makes him look at me.

His voice is a whisper now. “You think I don’t lie awake every night afraid of the same things?”

I bite my lip, hands tingling with anxiety.

“I didn’t plan this,” he continues. “Didn’t plan to want you. To need you. But I do. You’re the only thing I can’t control. And that terrifies me.”

My heart stutters painfully, and I try to hold onto the resolve I walked in with. When Konstantin carried me out to the waiting car I knew. When my hand slipped in his blood in the back seat, I knew. So why is this so hard?

I try to remember that I was going to end this. That I was going to walk away.

But I can’t.

Because now I see him clearly.

Konstantin Martynov—the man who built an empire out of blood and ash—is broken in front of me. Human.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t realize I was in love with him until this moment. No, I’ve known for a while now. It’s impossible not to love this man with the way he loses himself in me, and the way he makes me feel alive again.

But I have been lying to myself. Telling myself he can keep me safe.

That everything will turn out fine.

That maybe I can stay, and make this work… me, Konstantin, our baby.

He saved me, and he’s powerful, but he doesn’t know how to love softly. Because even when he’s trying not to feel, he feels everything too deeply.

He wouldn’t have to save me if I was never in danger to begin with. And that’s why I have to end this.

I can see the way he looks at me, the way he clings to control because if he lets go, he’ll drown in it. I will be his downfall if I stay.

He’ll burn the world to keep me. And it’ll destroy him.

So, I gather the strength I don’t have and say the words that taste like blood.

“I’m going to leave.”

He stiffens.

“Not yet,” I say quickly. “Not today. But… after the baby’s born. After everything’s safe. I need to go, like we planned...”

When had that plan changed? When did we both start assuming I would stay?

I can see in his face, the way it breaks, that he thought we could make it work. He doesn’t speak or look at me, and it makes my heart cave in.

“I’ll go to the west coast. I think I… I think I should take the baby with me, Konstantin.

They’ll be safe with me.” And not with you.

The words go unspoken, but he flinches, and I rush on: “And you’ll be able to breathe again.

You won’t have to look over your shoulder every time someone gets too close to me. You won’t be vulnerable. ”

His fingers clench on his knee.

The silence between us is deafening. It’s not rejection. It’s surrender.

And that’s almost worse.

A small part of me wanted him to fight, to argue. To demand that I stay.

But he won’t, because he knows I’m right.

“I’ll make sure you have everything you need,” he says at last, voice strangled. “Protection. A place. Money. Anything.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then you’ll get it anyway.”

He stands.

The movement is slow, painful. Blood seeps through the edge of the gauze again. But he doesn’t react to the pain he must be feeling. He just moves toward the door, like something in him has turned off.

“Konstantin—” I start, reaching for him.

He doesn’t turn. The door clicks behind him, and I know that he won’t come back.

I’ll give you everything. That’s what he said to me, once—and Konstantin Martynov doesn’t break promises.