Page 35 of Sexting My Bratva Boss
I bite my lip, suddenly wanting to tell Emileverything.He’s been a part of my life for so long that it almost comes spilling out of me. Instead, I bite back the truth and tell a half-lie. “I’m—actually seeing someone right now. Kind of.” Before he can get too excited, his eyes lighting up at the news, I add, “I’m not sure it’ll work out.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I don’t know. He’s just so…”
How do I explain Konstantin Martynov without giving away who he is? He’s infamous in New York; if I utter his name, Emil will know exactly how much danger I’m in and would probably call the cops right now.
“He’s secure. A little older,” I explain nervously, thinking of Konstantin’s glittering silver hair and sharp eyes. A coil of anxiety and excitement settles in my belly.
“That’s not always a bad thing,” Emil muses. “As long as he can take care of you.”
The words are reassuring, probably because I know that no matter how crazy all this is, Konstantincantake care of me.
Especially if I’m the mother of his child.
I reach out to take Emil’s hand again, promising to stop by sooner and stay in touch. Then I heft the pile of books and start off toward work.
“Honestly, I thought they’d just offed you and were telling everyone you were sick to cover their tracks.”
I roll my eyes at Chrissy, trying to focus on reconciling the last week’s income through the shell companies. If you’d told me, during my years in college, that one day I’d be a money laundering aficionado, I would’ve thought you were crazy. But here I am.
“I reallywasjust sick, Chris. It’s not that serious.”
“Still. Things were definitely weird around here,” she drops her voice to a murmur, glancing over in the direction of the other pair of cubicles. “Duscha has been walking around like she’s queen of the city. It’s good to see that smile wiped off her face today, when you walked in.”
I try to hide my own smile, dipping my chin down.
Duscha’s expression when I stepped off the elevator was one of disbelief. She’s the one who picked up on my “errors” and told Konstantin; he made that clear. So, she must be wondering what the hell I’m doing back at work and not floating in several different pieces down the Hudson.
A shadow looms over our desks.
My breath catches. Chrissy’s chair rolls away.
Standing between us is…
Lev.
He’s completely silent, staring down at me with a blank expression. Most people—especially Jeanette—find it disconcerting, how he never talks. But I swear there’s somethingmoreto him. He can’t just be a mindless soldier, or Konstantin wouldn’t have picked him to lead the soldiers.
He holds out a folded over piece of paper.
I take it.
Then he disappears, boots silent on the tiled floor.
“What the hell,” Chrissy whispers. I shoot her a warning look; better not to draw attention to howcompletely weirdthat interaction just was.
Slipping my finger between the paper, I unfold it and read, in flawless script:There will be a car waiting out front at 5 p.m. Get in it.
The car is a red Alfa Romeo, and it is definitelynotinconspicuous. A handful of people are leaving or heading into the Spire, and they stare at me as I slip into the backseat nervously.
Chrissy texts me:That’s one of Mr. Martynov’s cars, Audrey. What’s going on?
I should answer her, but I don’t. Because what will I say?
Oh, I just agreed to let him fuck me until I’m knocked up because I was stealing thousands of dollars from him to pay off a debt I owe.
She would never look at me the same way again.