Page 7 of Sexting My Bratva Boss (Mafia Silver Foxes #1)
Audrey
“ P lease state your reason for missing your shift today.”
The voice on the other end of the call could almost be a recording. My face heats as I lie, again: “Illness.”
This is the second day in a row I’ve called in sick, needing time to think after the volatile and… frustratingly tempting evening I spent with Mr. Martynov.
Or Konstantin, as he asked me to call him, but that feels forbidden. Like I’m tempting fate if I utter his given name.
“Thank you. Please be aware that eight hours will be removed from your current PTO cache, which stands at four-hundred-and-sixteen hours as of this call.”
A click on the other end signifies that the call is ended. It’s very Martynov Global Holdings: cold, direct, succinct.
I put my phone face-down on the counter and, wrapping the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders, head back to the couch. I almost feel actually sick with how nervous I’ve been since that night.
Mr. Martynov’s—Konstantin’s—words ring in my head: Everyone in the city knows you’re mine.
They’ll be coming after you one way or another.
The curtains are drawn over my windows, but amber, dawn light still spills in. Knees to my chest on the couch, I try to push away the ache of tears coming on. But one glance at Nana’s photo on the shelf makes them spill over.
“What do I do?” I whisper to her.
I’ve always wanted a kid. Or kids, I’d once imagined—what seems like forever ago, when I was fresh into my first year of college and dreaming of my future.
My degree first, and maybe I’d fall in love with some handsome guy from class, and we’d get engaged, and have a small but tasteful wedding.
Nana would have walked me down the aisle. Kids a year or so later. We’d be happy.
Instead, here I am.
Wrapped up on the couch, shaking at the thought of—what?
Of Konstantin Martynov owning me?
Of owing him tens of thousands of dollars?
The morning drags by, and I manage to fall into a lull after a night of not sleeping well. Drifting off, head literally nodding, I’m brought back by the buzz of my phone.
It’s Chrissy: You alright? Out again today?
Yeah, I type back, guilt making me answer quickly. Can you talk sometime today? Maybe stop by later?
I imagine what the office is like: Chrissy, Jeannette, Grace, and Duscha will all be settling in.
The printers humming; computers blinking on.
The guys from Operations, in their dark suits with multiple phones hidden in their pockets, already whispering in other languages as they check in on their territories.
And Konstantin…
Sprawled out in that chair, in his office, where he bent me over the desk. Where he knelt in front of me and almost had me begging.
If I do this, agree to his terms, it releases me from my debt.
If I do this I’m safe. From Sal, at least—who’s to say how long Konstantin will put up with my fresh mouth?
Or what he’ll do with it once I give him the reins?
Taking a deep breath, I confirm with Chrissy that she can swing by for lunch and drop off soup from our favorite café. Then, I dial another number cryptically saved in my phone under Black Echo.
It rings once, and then a voice answers, cold, calculated.
“Operator.”
“My name is Audrey Wolfe, Head Accountant Number 5. Please connect me to Marty.” It’s an inside joke, because the last thing Konstantin is, is a martyr.
This is the test.
If Konstantin is serious about his offer, I’ll be transferred through—to his direct line. As far as I know, no one has access to his direct line except for his seconds-in-command.
“One moment.”
There’s a click, and the line goes silent for so long that I think they’ve hung up. A flush of embarrassment erupts on my cheeks, hot and tingling, making me hide my face in the blanket.
I’m just about to hang up when the line clicks again. There’s breathing on the other end; slow, steady, like a predator waiting in a dark cave.
And I’m the prey willingly walking into the shadows.
“Konstantin?”
“ Malen'kiy volk .”
My nose scrunches, but now isn’t the time to ask what the strange nickname means. I could just google it, but I’m half-afraid to.
“I… I’ve thought about your offer. I have some terms of my own.”
There’s a harsh laugh, different from the throaty, sexy chuckle he’s let loose a few times—only when he has me mindless, knees spread.
This laugh reminds me of who he really is, a murderer who killed his way to the top of the ladder. Who has no problem being drenched in blood or wearing a perfectly tailored suit.
When he doesn’t speak, I swallow and continue: “I’ll be your surrogate. And I… understand your preference for how we… go about the task.” That earns me an appreciative hum, one I imagine him making between my legs someday. I squirm on the couch, trying to focus.
This is life or death. For me, at least.
“Marriage is off the table.”
The silence echoes. I’ve caught him off guard.
Then I feel like an idiot, though, because why would it have ever been on the table?
Why would a man like Konstantin Martynov want a woman like me?
“And when the baby is born, once I’ve recovered, I want a one-way ticket to the west coast. First class. And I want you to pay for whatever I need to settle there.”
My heart aches at the thought of leaving New York, but I just can’t stay. Especially if the plan is for me to carry a child to term, and then… walk away from it.
I can’t just do it metaphorically. A small, sad part of me knows that no matter how I go about this, even understanding that it’s a business transaction, there’s the danger of getting attached.
“You would leave your child.”
Konstantin’s voice is cold, a different kind of cold than I’ve heard before. It makes me shiver with shame. This could change his mind, a woman so heartless carrying his child.
“Yes,” I answer, unhesitating. “It’s a second chance for me, just as it’s a legacy for you.
You’ll get what you want. I’ll get safety.
You pointed out last night—they know I’m yours now,” the words send a thrill of fear through me.
“They’ll come after me, even if I don’t mean anything to you. Leaving is the only way I’ll be safe.”
I don’t say the other reason I’m seeking safety: Sal.
He promised to come after me and take me down with Konstantin.
I don’t know exactly what his plans are.
As far as I can tell, he’s low on the totem pole when it comes to the Italian mafia.
He was my accidental in, my bankroll when I needed that money to pay for Nana.
And he could be my demise, if I don’t get out of here.
“Where are you.”
The change in conversation surprises me enough that I look around the small apartment.
I remember him here two nights ago—his towering form just inside my doorway, the glint of streetlights on his silver hair.
Never would I have imagined I’d see a man as elegant and threatening as Konstantin Martynov in my home.
“I’m home today. Sick,” I lie, knowing he catches the fib as soon as he lets out a chuckle.
That low, dark sound that goes right to my core. I squeeze my legs together, eyes closed as I try to bring back the sensation of his big hand on my thigh, his fingers delving down.
“You’re missing another day.”
“I… yes.”
“If your accounts are behind, Miss Wolfe, I’ll have to punish you.”
There it is again: the threat to punish me.
I bite my tongue, tempted to call his bluff. Tempted to fudge some of the numbers if it gets me in his hands again.
“I had to think things over.”
“Mmm. And did you think about me, Audrey?”
The question could be harmless, but it’s not; I feel it in the thrum of his voice.
Restless, I’m not sure how to answer, because the truth is I have thought of him.
I’ve relived the night I sent him that text a few times, the way he leaned me over in his office the next day, the sound of his belt coming off.
My pussy pulses, mind going blank at the instinctual need.
“Be outside of your apartment in twenty minutes.”
I sit up straight, almost dropping the blanket. “What?”
“You have twenty minutes. Get dressed. But don’t you dare put panties on, Audrey.”
The pulse turns to a throb of want. I fight it. He might own me for however long it takes for him to fuck me pregnant, but I refuse to let him control every aspect of my life.
“I have plans for lunch?—”
“Cancel them. You’re mine. I’m going to make you feel it.”
My mouth snaps shut.
No matter how badly I want to protest, I know I’ll obey.