Owned by the Mob Boss Read online

  Then he reaches around and cups one of my breasts. Briefly I think about slapping his hand away. But his fingers busy themselves at my nipples, stroking, pinching lightly. Euphoric tingles erupt between my legs and in my nipples. I’m burning up, building up, higher and hotter and more and more.

  He can read me so easily, picking up the pace even more when I let out a strangled breath. He is pummeling me into the bed, utterly in control. It’s the control that does it, the pressure consuming my pussy.

  Everything is about to explode.

  “Erik,” I whisper, muffled by the sheets. “Erik, Erik.”

  “Come for me, Camille,” he says sternly. A command.

  “I … fuck, I am, I am!”

  The whole bed seems to shake as the orgasm tears through me like a tidal wave. It washes over my whole body as I gouge my fingernails down the sheets, biting down as my head throbs in time with the pulsating of my sex. He fucks me so fast now I can hardly stand it, the walls of my pussy grinding with hot friction.

  Then he lets out a guttural growl. I crane my neck and watch him through sweat-stinging eyes as his face twists in the release, his eyes searing into me as though I am the only woman in the world. It magnifies the ecstasy boiling through me.

  Both of us finish, panting, his cock wilting as he comes inside of me.

  He collapses on top of me, his lips pressed against my neck, his breath caressing me.

  The moment is almost tender. For one brief, blissful second.

  But then he rolls aside and immediately sits up, reaching down for his shirt. I do the same, collecting my clothes, the atmosphere almost frigid now.

  I wonder if I’ll ever get a real read on Erik, or if we’ll always be like this: rocking endlessly between hot and cold.

  Then I remind myself I don’t give a damn what this asshole thinks about me. He can be as cold as ice for all I care.

  This is nothing more than business. Well. Business plus a baby. Dammit.

  8

  Erik

  Two days pass, during which I juggle Camille and the Bratva, attempting to root out those men who were loyal to Damir. The three who discussed assassinating me have been dealt with. But in this business, naivety means death, and I will not make the mistake of presuming that I have flushed out all the traitors.

  Sometimes at night I wake with a start, either from a dream about Camille or a nightmare where hooded men come crashing into my mansion, intent on murder. It takes a lot of effort—too much effort—to banish these dreams to the back of my mind and move on with my day.

  A boss must never appear weak. I learned that from my father.

  I walk through the mansion to get ready for my meeting with Fyodor. The pretense is that he will keep me apprised of the disloyal ones who must be handled, but since his name could easily appear on that list, I will take what he says with skepticism.

  I pause at the door when his voice drifts over to me, intermingled with Camille’s laugh.

  “My mother was a nurse,” he is saying. “I know a thing or two about the horror it entails.”

  “Horror?” she laughs again. I clench my fist. It is one thing to come between me and my men, but quite another to come between me and my … what? My charge? She is not my woman, surely. Yet the anger moves through me with liquid force as if she were. “All jobs have bad parts, sure, but horror’s going a little far.”

  “I stand by the statement!” Fyodor laughs. “You will find out soon enough.”

  “Maybe I’m tougher than your mom, huh?”

  “A brave assertion,” Fyodor says, far too at ease. “But looking at you, I will not refute it … ah, Erik.”

  I walk around the corner, hoping I am masking my rage. I take Camille by the arm and nod shortly at Fyodor. “We will have to speak later,” I tell him tersely. “Camille is late for her nursing class.”

  He bows, a caricature of respect. I wonder what is going on behind that ambiguous smile. “Of course,” he mutters. He bows again at Camille. “Until next time.”

  I lead Camille outside as Fyodor takes his leave. She shrugs her arm free. “I do night classes, in case you’ve forgotten.” She eyes me closely, and then glances down the long driveway to Fyodor climbing into his car. “Ah I see. Typical male. I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

  “Jealous?” I laugh. “I want to make something clear. You are not to talk with other men while under my employment.”

  Her mouth gets tight. “That wasn’t part of the deal, Erik.”

  “I need to ensure that the child is mine. You understand.”

  “No!” she snaps. “Actually, I don’t understand. The last time I checked, you couldn’t get pregnant by talking. Unless they skipped that lesson in nursing school.”

  I want to reply, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound stupid.

  “Is that really why we’re out here?” she says when she sees I have nothing to say. “You wanted to make sure your friend didn’t make a move on me?”

  She is enjoying this far too much. “No,” I lie. “I am taking you to visit Anatoly.”

  “It’s nice to know you care, by the way,” she says when I make to turn toward the garage.

  “It is a question of honor,” I reply without so much as glancing in her direction. “It has nothing to do with emotion.”

  “Honor?” she giggles sarcastically. “All right, Mr. Chivalry. Do you want me to start wearing a tiara and a suit of armor, too? Maybe you should build me a castle in the garden.”

  I dart my hand out and grab her wrist, pulling her close to me. Her body stiffens. That alluring mixture of lust and anger enters her blue eyes, as though she is annoyed at how badly she wants me. I can relate.

  “Do you think this is a joke?” I growl. “This is my legacy we are discussing.” Again, it hits me that my legacy will be a living, breathing child. One not only conceived with this maddening woman, but also raised with her.

  She grabs my chest, pulling herself even closer. “I was just talking, asshole. Now let me go.”

  “And if I do not?” I smile.

  She rolls her eyes. “This is bordering on intimate, you know. Remember our deal.”

  “I remember it well enough.”

  I wrap my arms around her and lift her off her feet. She gasps as I kiss her, her lips so tempting that when I begin, I find it difficult to stop. She grinds her body against me, sighing through the kiss. I explore her mouth, our tongues touching, my tongue tracing her teeth. The hunger I have never felt with another woman once again awakens.

  It takes everything I have to put her back on the ground.

  “Meet me at the car,” I growl, striding past her.

  “Maybe!” she calls after me. “Or maybe I’ll keep you waiting! I’m not your toy, you know!”

  I pause, turning. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes wide and lust-filled.

  “At the car,” I repeat.

  “I’m not your dog, Erik!” she snaps. “Why don’t you ask me nicely?”

  I walk away before she can see my smile, knowing she will follow—she has to—and annoyed at myself for revealing how much her loyalty matters to me.

  “Please, come in!” Emily cries.

  Anatoly’s wife always brings hospitality to a whole new level. She gathers us around the table near the balcony window, sunlight shining directly upon the meeting. She has already laid out appetizers and big pots of tea and coffee.

  “Camille, would you like a glass of wine? I know it is early, but …” She is a large, homely woman, but when she smiles, she looks like a little girl with her freckled cheeks.

  “I’m fine with coffee, thank you.”

  Anatoly folds his hands. “Has my nephew been treating you well?” he asks, looking kindhearted despite his scar. He is wearing a sweater with a shirt collar poking from the top. Nobody would ever guess what this man is capable of.

  I grin tightly at my uncle. We have a rule: the only time he can mention our family relationship is in th
e comfort of his own home.

  “Well enough,” Camille smiles. For a second, I am sure she is going to air our dirty laundry, but she just smiles as she takes the mug of coffee. “He really isn’t as much of a beast as he pretends to be.”

  “Beast, ha!” Anatoly laughs. “That is just the right word. More of a little lapdog once you really get to know him, right?”

  Anatoly winks. I scowl.

  “I love how you’ve done your hair,” Emily says a moment later, addressing Camille.

  “Oh, thank you.” She touches it self-consciously, the waves falling to her shoulders. I think about running my hand through that hair, disarmed by how easily they seem to be getting along.

  It shouldn’t matter to me, I remind myself. I just need an heir. Yet I can’t ignore how casual and familial this all feels.

  “Do you curl it?” Emily asks.

  “No, I’m just cursed with the curls.”

  Emily tuts. “A blessing, not a curse!”

  “Erik, I trust the club business is proceeding nicely?” Anatoly asks.

  Camille raises her eyebrows. “You know, Erik hasn’t actually told me what he does yet.”

  “He is a proprietor,” Anatoly says easily. “He owns many businesses all throughout the city. And yet, somehow, he has managed to maintain his humility.”

  “I am just following your example, Uncle,” I say with a slight smile.

  “Him, humble!” Emily giggles. “I can only wish!”

  “A proprietor,” Camille echoes, glancing between us. “That sounds fancy.”

  I cannot tell if she buys it, but it does not matter. The mantra in my head repeats itself: This is just business. Yet her searching gaze unsettles me. I wonder if it was a mistake bringing her here, intermingling these worlds.

  “You’ve seen his estate!” Emily croons warmly. “It is very fancy.”

  “More than this little hovel we call home,” Anatoly chimes in.

  Camille shakes her head firmly. “This is a lovely place,” she says, glancing around at their two-bedroom apartment. In truth, Anatoly could afford to live on a much grander scale, but he has always been one to keep a low profile.

  “So,” she goes on, “if you’re Erik’s uncle, you’ll be able to dish all the gossip.”

  “Gossip?” Anatoly arches his eyebrow.

  “Woman talk,” I say dismissively, taking a small sip of coffee.

  “Not woman talk,” Camille corrects. “Like …” She pauses, thinking. “What sort of kid was he?”

  “Oh, don’t get him started!” Emily giggles, buttering a bread roll and offering Camille one with a raise of the eyebrows.

  “He was an industrious boy,” Anatoly says carefully, eyes flickering with light as he smiles at me. The old bastard is enjoying this far too much. “He was always getting into business that did not concern him. But once he was in it, try getting him out! And here is the worst part: he would invariably make whatever he was involved in more successful.”

  “Hmm, like what?”

  I give a subtle shake of my head. He is talking about business, most likely the time I was involved in interrogating an Italian mafioso when I was just fourteen years old.

  “Oh, this and that,” Anatoly says vaguely. “I always knew he would be the most successful man I ever met, though. From day one.” He raises his mug to me. “It is not the first time I have been proven right.”

  “There is his famous humility,” Emily puts in.

  “I would still just be a boy without your help, old man,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “No, you were always destined for greatness.”

  Camille rolls her eyes at Emily. “Are they always this serious? You have to tell me where you got that necklace.”

  Emily smiles as she raises the carved gold links to the light. “Anatoly brought it back from Russia from his last business trip. Isn’t it lovely?”

  “What are they?” Camille peers closer. “Princesses? Carriages?”

  “It is a scene from Peter the Great’s court,” Emily nods. “I studied history in Moscow, you see.”

  “Oh, how interesting!”

  The afternoon wears on, with Emily and Camille growing closer and me studying Camille, studying the whole scene, trying to push down the unbidden thoughts rising like hot air balloons in my mind. Anybody looking on would see a family at ease here, whereas I know the truth: we can never be that.

  If I do, I am in danger of feeling something.

  I refuse to let that happen.

  “Come with me, nephew,” Anatoly says when the girls have gone on a tour of the apartment. He leads me onto the little terrace and offers me a cigar from his pocket. I take it and the lighter he passes me. We lean against the wrought-iron railing and survey the horizon.

  “I must say,” he begins, “I am surprised by how … untarnished she seems to be. She is a delightful girl. You could make a life together, Erik.”

  “I never took you for the sentimental type,” I drawl.

  “A man softens as he ages. Well, most men do. You seem intent on retaining your edge.”

  I throw him a fiery glance. “One doesn’t keep what I have without ‘retaining an edge,’ Uncle.”

  He settles back onto one elbow and takes a thoughtful puff of his cigar. “True enough, and yet I don’t see anyone in this city capable of taking even a morsel from your table. Do you?”

  “None who deserve it,” I mutter. I take a long drag on my own cigar, feeling the smoke rush into my lungs, the woodsy sting of it filling me.

  “Then what do you fear?”

  “The same as always: everything and nothing.”

  He laughs at that. I just scowl. “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, indeed. I do not envy the life you have chosen for yourself.”

  “And what of the one you’ve chosen for yourself?” I say suddenly, surprising even myself. “Does it suit you?”

  He spreads his hands as if to say, Look at my kingdom. “Nephew, I live with the woman I love. I have food enough to satisfy a fat old man’s appetite. I have fine cigars, and if I wake up early enough, I can hear the birds singing in the morning. What more does one need?”

  I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t even know if there is an answer. All I know is that I thought I once knew what I needed, and now everything seems less certain. “According to you, I need an heir.”

  He nods. “An heir would solve some things, yes. You fear that, don’t you?”

  I pull the cigar from the corner of my mouth to grumble, “I’ve killed men for asking less impudent questions.”

  My uncle’s response is to chuckle. “Bah, you would not harm a hair on my head. I’m just a silly old crackpot. Ignoring me is almost certainly your best course of action. And yet …”

  I feel exhausted all of a sudden. Anatoly knows how to worm his way inside my thoughts. “And yet …”

  “And yet, you know that there are questions living in your head. Questions about a child, about that pretty girl inside. Ask me then, Erik. For your own sake if nothing else.”

  He’s right. I do have questions. I’m burning up with them, consuming myself with them, thrusting aside sleep to wrestle with the same questions over and over again:

  How can I be a father? A partner?

  What can I give my son? What can my enemies take from him?

  What can they do to Camille if they get her?

  I try to put my anxieties into words, but I find myself struggling. “I … I want to know that I am making the right choice,” I say carefully. “By bringing a child into this world.”

  Anatoly looks out into the distance once more. I can see a bird winging over the houses far away. The hustle and bustle of the city seems muted from up here, like the volume on the outside world has been turned down almost to nothingness.

  “It is a reckless thing that a parent does. But it is also the most caring. You give the world to your child, and yet you cannot do that without exposing your child to the
world. This is the enigma.”

  His words hit home in a way I had not expected. Maybe that is exactly what I fear. Who am I to bring a life into this world? I have seen the things it contains: pain, death, betrayal from those you love. It is a nasty, violent life. My future child has done nothing to deserve such wickedness.

  But maybe I can forestall those things. Maybe, with the resources I have spent my life accumulating, I can give my child the world they deserve. Free of the things that plague me.

  And maybe I can give Camille that world, too.

  Before I can reply, though, Emily sticks her head through the patio doors. “Boys?” she says. “Dessert time.”

  Anatoly winks at me. “Perhaps dessert will clear your mind.” He walks inside, whistling a happy little jingle.

  “Please, God, no more,” Camille begs, pushing back from the table. “I thought I had enough to eat at dinner the other night with Erik, and now you’re just giving me PTSD flashbacks to that.”

  Emily laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Camille smiles. “As you should. I’m just going to wash my hands real quick. Bathroom is down the hall, right?” She rises and scurries away.

  “And you, Erik, would you like more?” asks Emily.

  “No, thank you,” I decline politely. “Everything was delicious. Your hospitality, as always, is impeccable.”

  “Aren’t you a charmer,” she chuckles. I offer her my plate, but she grabs my hand instead. “Please hold onto this one,” she whispers, looking into my eyes meaningfully. “She is good for you.”

  Anatoly just nods sagely, the old bastard.

  Camille reappears from the bathroom before I can say anything. She eyes the three of us, reading the situation, and grins suspiciously. “Why are my ears on fire right now?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” Emily laughs. “We were singing your praises!”

  We head out to the car. I am about to start the engine when Camille makes a little huffing noise.

  “Is there something you want to say?”

  “Not if you’re going to ask me in that tone.”