Page 16 of Sexting My Bratva Boss

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Sal hisses, pacing my small apartment as I bolt the lock again.

I hate that he’s here, but after avoiding him all week, I couldn’t exactly tell him no.

No onetells Sal Imperi no; at least, that’s what he tells me every time he pulls his hand back and threatens to leave me black and blue.

He wouldn’t do it… or… I don’tthinkhe’d do it. Too many people would notice, especially Mr. Martynov, now that I have his attention, and Sal doesn’t like that.

Sal’s scared—probably more scared than I am.

“He’s watching you now, you know that? How the hell am I supposed to get what I need from you if Konstantin Martynov is watching you?”

He stops at the window, peeking down at the street below as if Martynov’s men are down there right now. They aren’t…

Right?

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to lean casually against my kitchen counter and appease him. I just want something solid between us, because Sal ispissed.

“It’s fine!? It’s fine!? You understand that if he’s watching you, it means you can’t get into the operations room?”

“He thinks it’s an accounting error, Sal. That I’m an idiot, that’s all.”

I can see the war happening behind his eyes—hewants nothing more than to believe I’m an idiot, but he knows better. That’s why he picked me. That’s why he chose me to infiltrate Martynov’s Obsidian Spire.

“Maybe if you hadn’t had me steal all that money, he wouldn’t have caught on!”

I can’t help the burst of angry words; I’ve been pent up all week, afraid to touch myself and dying to all at the same time. Turns out being incredibly horny can also make you a real bitch, even if your gangster boyfriend walks around with a Glock on his hip.

Sal marches across the room, knocking over a vase of flowers that I bought myself as he goes. The way it shatters should make me flinch, but this is the fourth vase I’ve bought, and it came from the thrift store. I learned my lesson a few months ago.

“You wouldn’t have had to steal the money if you hadn’t borrowed it in the first place, would you?”

A shiver goes up my spine, but nothing like the shiver that Konstantin gives me. It isn’t a thrill I feel when Sal threatens me. It’s disgust. He sounds like a hyena, voice higher the angrier he gets.

I hate him.

I might hate him more than I hate Konstantin Martynov.

If I hadn’t met Sal, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

If I hadn’t had to pay for Nana’s home hospice care…

“I can get it,” I choke out as he leans over the counter. I’ll say anything to get him to leave. “If he’s keeping me there it’s because I’m important, right? Because I’m…worth something.”

His eyes narrow, and I quickly correct myself: “Because he knows I’m good at what I do—hiding his money.”

Sal turns away, running a hand through his thick hair.

He’s pretty; a classic Italian boy, well-muscled around the shoulders but you can tell he likes food too much. His trousers are pressed, and his button-down shirt is open, flapping against an undershirt stained with sweat despite the autumn weather.

“Sal, I… I can’t keep skimming money.”

His arm sweeps over the counter, sending a water glass, jar of kitchen utensils, and spice rack over. They crash to the floor. I press myself back against the refrigerator, praying for this storm to end.

“Ineedthat money, Audrey,” he hisses, stalking toward me. He reached out and, despite being the same height as I am, wraps a hand around my throat.

Tight.

So tight I immediately can’t get a breath in, and my own hand locks over his wrist.