Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) Page 4

  A hand goes up.

  “Three thousand. Do I hear four thousand?”

  Another hand goes up.

  The auctioneer and the bidders continue their dance until the Hispanic woman is sold for twenty-five thousand to the wife of the Dinotto family. Finally, we’ve hit one hundred thousand in revenue. But to make this night a success, I want about three times that. I pull at my jacket and watch as the next girl is auctioned off, trying to avoid looking at the beautiful creature Augustin managed to drag in.

  Eitan continues to keep track of the winning bids on his tablet. My lieutenants bounce between their security patrols and gawking at the woman on stage. At least they’re behaving professionally. Nothing I hate more than one of my men acting like an uneducated prick. They represent me, and I don’t tolerate people making me look bad. There are no second chances and they know it.

  “Damn, what I wouldn’t give to run a train on that brunette bitch.”

  Of course, one of the newest lieutenants has decided to open his fucking mouth. My blood boils in an instant and I turn around and grab the lapels of the man’s jacket. “Shut the fuck up before I put a bullet in your head.”

  My nostrils flare as each breath comes out rushed. When the man doesn’t respond, I inch my face closer to his, my eyes unblinking. “Acknowledge.”

  “Sorry, boss.” The man ducks his head and slinks backwards.

  I turn back around to face the stage but can see the rest of my men staring at me. What the hell did I just do? The kid spoke quietly enough that none of the other families could have heard. And his comment was hardly the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard. But the moment he completed his sentence, an image of his vile fingers violating that beauty flashed in my head.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself. When I open them, my men are facing forward, spines straight, and they’re back on alert. They know better than to fuck with me, or question me.

  My father was a kinder man. Eitan reminds me of that every day. He’d probably have laughed with my lieutenant, or even high-fived the kid. But that kindness got him killed, and I won’t allow anyone to take advantage of me.

  I grind my molars together as memories of my father swirl around in my head.

  ***

  Years ago

  “Sure is hot today,” Dad said.

  I grunted and trekked up the small hill. “Hot doesn’t even cover it. I thought the trees were supposed to keep things cool.”

  My father chuckled. “Blame it on global warming.”

  I took in all the air my lungs could hold and expelled it slowly. The air was rich with the fragrance of leaves and loam. The path twisted in front of us, snaking around the trees. The roots crisscrossed, gnarled and uneven. These hikes with my father were like a trip out of my everyday life. It was the only time all year I got to spend time with him by myself.

  The ground was smooth under our shoes and the light of the sun filtered through the tree foliage on each side of the trail. We were barely a third of the way into a three-hour hike and I was already drenched in sweat.

  “So, your mom told me you came home late a couple of times this week. Or, I should say, she claimed you came in during the early hours of the morning.” Dad quirked his brow at me as he waited for my response.

  “Went out with my friends.”

  “You know, you’re graduating soon. I need you to be more responsible.” Dad grabbed a tree branch and hoisted himself over a fallen log. “I need you ready to take over the business. I need you to take things more seriously instead of running around nailing every girl you come across.”

  “I said I was partying, not fucking.” I cringe instantly. Sometimes I forgot to curb my vocabulary when speaking to my father. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to curse.”

  “At least a certain level of maturity is present,” he sighed. “But son, you aren’t a child anymore. It’s time to grow up and be responsible. You can’t just go running around doing whatever you want.”

  I stopped and turned toward the old man. “I help out at the office, I help with the books, I lie to the cops. I’m not even twenty yet.”

  “And yet there are some younger than you who are lieutenants running parts of the family businesses. I need you to step up your game.”

  I felt my temper rising in my chest. “What’s next? Are you going to tell me I’m not a man yet?” My feet stomped into the dirt trail and I kicked a stone. This was supposed to be our annual bonding time, not a lecture.

  My dad took a deep breath and shook his head. “There’s more to being a man than age. Maturity and responsibility have a lot to do with it. But so does experience. And so does looking at the bigger picture, and seeing the areas of gray that exist. Son, you still see only in black and white. Right or wrong. You beat someone up for looking at you the wrong way without ever questioning why they looked at you in the first place.”

  Again, with this. I’d barely hurt the guy. Some blood, some broken bones. He was fine. And he shouldn’t have looked at me like that, anyways. He started it, if you asked me. My temper ratcheted up another notch.

  “What? I’m supposed to let some punk disrespect me? You weren’t there.” My voice rose and my temples throbbed as I thought back on the incident my father was referring to. Sure, I’d lost my temper and put some kid in the hospital. But my father, of all people, should have understood, especially with who he was. Hell, he had had people killed for not respecting him.

  “The dumb kid made fun of you.” My father turned to face me, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tight. “He was a dumb kid. You should’ve let it go. He didn’t threaten you. He didn’t pull a gun on you. He was some insignificant kid. Nikita, part of being a man—part of maturity—is learning to choose your battles.”

  I raked my fingers through my hair and sighed. This argument had gone on for two weeks now and no matter what I said, he just wouldn’t drop it. “Dad, I apologized to you. Hell, I even dropped an envelope of cash off at the kid’s house. What more do you want from me?”

  But before he could respond, the sound of crunching leaves caught our attention. My fists balled immediately as a burst of chirps filled the air and a nearby bush shook. My father inched toward the bush, crouching low to peer between the branches. “A bird is stuck.”

  I could see it now, a little bluebird hooked on thorns at the base of the shrub. The closer my father got to the bush, the more the bird frantically flapped its wings. But there was nowhere to go. Every flap only drew more blood and got it entangled further. My father swung his backpack over his shoulder and placed it on the ground. He unzipped the bag, reached inside, and pulled out a pair of gloves. “Nikita, come help.”

  I dropped my own backpack to the ground and walked over to my father. It seemed hopeless to me. Even if we got the sucker out, it looked like one or both wings were broken. The thing was a goner. “Dad, there are tons of thorns. You’re going to get all cut up. Leave the bird.”

  “Son, the poor creature needs help. We’re not leaving it to die.” He stepped toward the bush with a small knife in hand and started cutting branches out of the way.

  I watched the frightened bird as its tweets and chirps became hysterical. Its wings beat as if attempting to fly away with the bush in tow. My father whispered to it as he kept working. Slice by slice, the thorny whirls fell away, until finally there was a clear path to the bird. My father reached in and took gentle hold of the small creature, pulling the bird from its thorny prison.

  He stood and pivoted towards me, keeping the bird cupped in his hand as he inspected it. I was wrong about the broken wing. Free of the bush, it looked relatively intact, if a bit bloodied and ruffled. It seemed content to sit in my father’s hands for now. “Little guy got off easy. No real cuts, nothing broken.” He smiled and slowly opened his hand further. The bird flapped its wings once, twice, as if testing to make sure it was okay. Then it flew off through a gap in the branches overhead. We watched it go.

  My fath
er turned to look at me. “Nikita, being a man sometimes means putting yourself in harm’s way to do the right thing.”

  ***

  Someone coughs and pulls me from my thoughts. My eyes are wet. I grit my teeth, shake my head, and compose myself again.

  I look back to the stage. There are only three girls left, including the beautiful woman who first caught my attention. My brows pinch together as I watch her head swivel from side to side. She yanks at her restraints. Her chest rises and falls at a rapid rate.

  Just like a bird caught in thorns.

  But when she turns to face the crowd once more, she’s anything but the bird from my memory. Instead of fear, her eyes are hot with an angry blaze.

  I turn my gaze from her and focus on my hands, my thoughts shifting once again to my father. The man was too kind and good, and that’s what got him killed. He gave people too many opportunities, trusted too easily. And that’s all the traitor needed.

  Anger boils deep in my body, as hot as lava. It churns within, hungry for destruction, and I know it’s too much for me to handle. I allowed the darkness to swallow me whole the moment I thought about my father. My fists clench so hard my knuckles turn white. But it’s all I can do to keep from losing control in front of everyone.

  “Nikita, sir?” Eitan frowns as he lays his hand on my forearm. “Is everything okay?”

  But it’s too late and the thoughts take over.

  The traitor.

  The bastard from my father’s inner circle. The one who betrayed my father, kidnapped him, and then sold him to our enemies. Of course, it took days for us to find out what happened. But I knew instantly the first night my father didn’t come home that he would never step foot into the house again.

  I’d wanted to be the one to find my father. I wanted to have a body to bury, to give him the funeral send-off he deserved. And I wanted for all that to happen so my mother didn’t have to be the one to find him. Because if that happened, I knew I’d lose her, too.

  It didn’t take long. Not even a week. One of my father’s lieutenants came across his body strung up in a warehouse that we used to store weapons in. I got the call after midnight and raced over to the place. The men had left him in the position they found him. Seeing my father like that, my father who had set a small bird free, broke my soul.

  I didn’t shed a tear. I felt nothing that night. No pain. No anger. I was just numb as I cut him down and covered him with a sheet. As I stood over his dead body, the same memory from the mountain came to mind.

  My father had told me it was my responsibility to free the bird. But it was the wrong lesson. The lesson was not to free the bird.

  It was to never become the bird.

  Instead, I became the thorny bush, trapping and destroying those who threatened my business and my family. I would never be as weak as he was. No one would ever think to betray me. And I’d never afford them the opportunity either.

  It has been ten years since that night. I’ve clawed my way to the top. Anyone whose loyalty I question is killed—whether by my hand or my command.

  Sparing the life of the old man earlier tonight was the most sympathy I’ve shown in a decade.

  Eitan is the only person I’ve allowed to be close to me. And truth be told, I bugged his house years ago and still listen in.

  Trust is a luxury I can’t enjoy. Especially with the newest weapons shipment coming in.

  “Eitan, is everything set for the meeting later?” My fingers drum against my thighs.

  “Most of the bosses were told to keep a cool head during the auction, that we have important business to discuss. But you know some of them don’t really listen. I expect Dino might be a problem,” Eitan responds.

  I snort. “He always is. I still don’t understand how the man hasn’t been imprisoned yet. The FBI has been on him for years.”

  “He plays the game with them. A great showman. But my gut says they feel he’s low on the pecking order. Too dramatic. Not to be trusted.”

  Eitan’s right, and it’s one of the reasons Dino and the Tratatori family are always on my radar. I’m not one to underestimate him. Hell, I’d love to put a bullet in his head most days, but he’s got a strong network. One I can and have used.

  “We’ll go over the inventory expected, pricing, and narrow down the times. Remember, don’t let the exact time slip. No need for anyone to slip and give the feds the heads-up. Remind our men as well,” I say.

  Eitan nods.

  I breathe in and out slowly. I’ve been working on this deal for a while—been burning the midnight oil to make sure the operation runs smoothly—because this massive weapons shipment will guarantee power and control for a long time to the Lavrin family.

  And to me.

  Chapter Five

  Annie

  My head isn’t throbbing as much and my legs feel steadier. Thank God the alcohol is finally leaving my system. But now I can see more of the predicament I’m in, and just how dangerous this situation is. In front, one of the final women is up for bidding. That leaves just me. Her dark hair is frizzy and curly over bruised mocha skin. Her silver dress sparkles in the lights from the stage. She’s missing one shoe and her knee is bleeding.

  The crowd hoots and hollers, but tears stain the woman’s face. My brows pinch together. She looks younger than me. Do these people go around abducting young woman? How can they get away with this? Families have to be searching for these girls.

  And someone has to be searching for me ... right?

  The woman hangs her head down, her shoulders shuddering as the man holding her chain hoists her dress up to show the crowd her goods and spins her around. Some creep in the front row jumps up and slaps the woman’s ass, cackling like a crazed lunatic. In that instant, the woman looks up and our eyes meet. Her eyes are full of terror and hopelessness. Her mascara mixes with tears, black tracks running down her full cheeks. Her bottom lip is swollen, a trickle of blood running from a split in the middle.

  “This is some beauty. That ass has enough cushion to take quite a pounding,” the guy from the crowd says.

  “Bidding will begin at six thousand dollars. Do I have six thousand?” The auctioneer starts up his spiel again. “Six thousand. Do I hear seven thousand?”

  My blood begins to boil once again. I’m not going to let anyone bid on me like I’m some piece of meat. And I won’t be sold to some fucking creep just so he can screw me to get his sick rocks off.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  I have to get the hell out of here and now—by any means necessary. Judging by the bloodlust in the eyes of the men in the front row, I’m beginning to think I’d rather have them kill me than be subjected to whatever the winning bidder has in mind once he gets his filthy hands on me.

  The bodyguard to my right is too busy looking at the spectacle going on with the girl’s bidding. He’s tall and broad, like a linebacker. But he’s currently distracted, so I take advantage and I make a break for it. But suddenly, I’m snapped backward and my feet go up in the air as I crash to the ground, landing hard on my backside.

  I forgot about the collar.

  Every eye turns to me. The room breaks out in a cacophony of laughter and claps. One guy turns beet red and slaps his thigh. I’m mortified, frozen to the spot on the ground I landed. I can’t believe this is happening, and that everyone in the crowd finds this amusing. I clench my jaw tight as I take in the cruel laughter, my head beginning to spin once again.

  “When’s she up for bidding?” someone yells, and I want nothing more than to become invisible.

  “Gentlemen, let’s focus on our current bid. We will get to the lovely lady who’s been providing us with an unprecedented level of entertainment in a few minutes,” the auctioneer says.

  I remain seated on the cool floor. Terror sinks its claws deeper into me. There’s no way I’m going to make it out of here, no way I’ll ever see my family again. What did I do to deserve this? Why has my life ended up in this nightmare? I pull my legs up to my
chest, balling myself as tight as I can, wishing I could shrink even smaller and just disappear. Why did I have to go out tonight?

  The crowd gets louder as the bidding continues once again. An argument breaks out, but the auctioneer keeps the two men in control. Finally, the bidding on the woman ends at forty-five thousand dollars. Sweat drenches my skin, my eyes throb uncontrollably, and my heart thumps in my chest like a herd of stampeding horses. My fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into my palms. My breathing is ragged and shallow. Fear churns my stomach in tense cramps.

  I’m next.

  I scurry backwards, as far away from the front of the stage as I can. But a pair of large hands comes from behind to lift me to my feet. I whip my head around to find the linebacker goon with a foul smirk on his face. My legs are shaky and I stumble a bit as I attempt to find my balance. I choke back a sob and close my eyes as I take a deep breath, silently praying for a miracle. Praying for a way out of this nightmare.

  The man’s calloused skin scrapes up my shoulders and pulls me back to my horrific reality. He stops near my neck. Maybe he’s going to unhook my collar. Maybe this is my chance to get away. My miracle.

  Instead, the unmistakable sound of tearing of fabric fills my ears. The front of my shirt falls to my waist, exposing my bra and cleavage.

  “Oops, clumsy me,” the man behind me drawls, the unmistakable hint of humor lining his words.

  The crowd roars in appreciation. Some people stand and applaud. One man waves a handful of cash in the air while another sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Even the auctioneer turns and smiles, his pupils dilating as he focuses on my breasts. His gaze runs the length of me and the tip of his tongue grazes across his crooked teeth.

  I curl my shoulders forward, trying to hide, but it’s no use. My heart aches. My stomach churns. My skin is drenched in cold sweat.

  The goon behind me unclips my collar from the pole and pushes me toward the front of the stage, holding onto the chain as if it were a leash. As if I’m a dog who needs someone to lead me. When I try to hold my ground, the man jabs me in the back, forcing me forward. When I’m where they want me to be, the auctioneer circles around like a shark waiting to feed. His creepy eyes devour me.