Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva) Page 6

  I’d almost forgotten about Gino for a moment. This is far from over. The man relishes a fight. And whatever his interest is in this girl, I know if he ends up winning, her life will be over. I won’t let her die.

  Besides, I’ve just spoken up in front of a crowd cluttered with the city’s underworld elites. I can’t second-guess myself, can’t show weakness, can’t waver.

  “Two hundred thousand,” I counter, refusing to look Gino’s way.

  Eitan places his hand on my shoulder, his fingers gripping me hard. “Nikita, this isn’t a good idea. Going head to head with Gino is only going to piss him off. And remember, we still have the weapons meeting later. We’ll need his cooperation for that. Let him win the girl.”

  Everyone in the room is murmuring. While Eitan is right, I can’t back down now. Not that I would, anyway. Not to Gino. But with the city’s worst surrounding me, I have to finish out the game I’ve hurled myself into the middle of. If I’m lucky, they’ll think I’m toying with Gino to continue to drive up the price. After all, the fool made a stupid move by offering such an outrageous bid.

  Gino stands up and turns toward me, his face red and his brows pinched. “Two hundred ten thousand.”

  “Two hundred twenty thousand.” The corners of my mouth curl up into a wicked smirk. Watching Gino’s face contort in a fit of anger is quite pleasing. After years of appeasing the asshole, it’s nice to finally strike back in a way.

  The crowd gasps. It’s not every day they see the city’s two most powerful men go head-to-head over something so small and petty as a new slave. But I’m not backing down. A fire has lit inside me. One I’m not about to let die.

  The girl is coming home with me tonight.

  “Mr. Lavrin, are you truly interested in the slave or are you simply looking to pad your pockets with my money?” Gino sneers in his thick Italian accent. He’s careful not to disrespect me too openly. But malice trickles underneath his words. The crowd falls silent as they await my response.

  Eitan clears his throat loud enough for me to hear, a clear warning to be careful. But I know Gino is baiting me, and I need to be careful with my response. “A slave willing to punch a made man could be useful. And a spirit like that would be interesting to break, wouldn’t it?”

  Tension. Silence. I don’t blink. Neither does Gino. His eyes are endless black pits.

  Then, just as suddenly as it began, the moment ends. Gino growls but doesn’t say another word. Instead, he sits down. The auctioneer repeats my bid and asks if anyone is willing to go higher. Gino turns and looks over his shoulder but doesn’t raise his hand.

  “Sold, to Mr. Lavrin,” says the auctioneer.

  And just like that, the girl is mine.

  I’ve bought myself a new slave.

  I can feel Eitan glowering at me. So much for hitting our quota when I’m the one who just wasted a mountain of money. But it’s also a reminder to everyone in the room:

  I’m Nikita Lavrin, and I’m not to be underestimated.

  At least, I hope that’s the message they take away from it. Deep down, I’m nearly trembling. It isn’t often that I lose control like that. I did a stupid thing, and there may yet be consequences for it.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Eitan says, his voice ripe with concern and frustration.

  “I do,” I snap. But when I meet my advisor’s eyes, they’re full of questions. Questions I’m not answering. Still, he knows better than to question me. I stare back, silent and defiant. He just grunts and turns back to his iPad.

  “You know how much that just set us back, right?”

  I wave my hand at him. “I have the money.”

  When Eitan doesn’t press the issue further, I turn my attention back to the beautiful creature on stage. Her body trembles and she bites her lower lip, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. The men around me continue to gawk at her. I can feel anger rise in my chest. How dare they look at what’s mine? They need to respect their boss.

  I turn. “Jimmy, take some of the men and get the girl cleaned up. I want her off the stage as soon as possible. No need to have Gino staring at what he lost. I need him calm for the meeting later.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  But the way Jimmy’s eyes narrow, like a predator focusing on his prey, tells me he’s interpreted the situation wrong. There have been times I’ve purchased a slave or two and turned her over to my men as a treat. A good boss likes to keep his employees happy. And for all their hard work, my men deserve to be rewarded. But the bird on stage isn’t for them.

  She’s mine and mine alone.

  “Jimmy, get her cleaned up and have Sophia pick out a dress. Something ... elegant. She’ll be joining me for dinner,” I say, making sure that it’s crystal clear the new slave isn’t for them.

  One of the men to my side coughs in surprise. Eitan’s head whips in my direction so fast, I’m momentarily afraid he may have hurt himself. Jimmy glances at me, his mouth pursed. His gaze bounces to Eitan for a second and then back to me. He blinks as if to refocus.

  While no one questions me, I do understand where their confusion comes from. Normally, a slave I purchase for myself—like Sophia—is cleaned up and told to wait naked in my bedroom. I’ve never asked for a slave to be prepped to attend dinner with me.

  “Am I understood?” I repeat. I let a dangerous coolness creep into my voice.

  “Yes, boss,” Jimmy says quickly.

  The men straighten and head toward the stage. My attention turns back to Eitan, who’s staring at me like I’ve grown a new head. I can tell he wants to ask just what the fuck I think I’m doing. But he would never dare question me like that.

  I don’t give him the chance. “Are we ready for the meeting?” I ask, standing.

  “Are we not going to discuss what just happened?”

  I pull at the lapels of my jacket. “No explanation needed.”

  “Nikita, this is out of character for you.”

  “I understand your concern. But I’m the boss, and while it’s your job to advise me, it isn’t your job to question my actions,” I say. “Ever.”

  He sighs and stands. I almost feel bad for being harsh with him. He’s been with my family for so long. But the laws of our world must be respected. And that means no one gets to question the boss.

  So I turn to Eitan before we leave. “And, Eitan ...” I say. “If you ever challenge me again like that, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself. Is that clear?”

  He doesn’t dare to look me in the eye. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

  We exit. Time to get everything back under control once more.

  Chapter Seven

  Annie

  Dread owns me, pushing against me like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse my steps backward and as far from the crowd as possible. The fear has my stomach locked up tight, and sets my face stiff like rigor mortis, my teeth locked together. But unless I can turn back time, there’s no escaping the hell I’m in.

  Every time I’ve tried to fight back has resulted in failure and if what the foot-licker said is true, I’m stuck in the worst place possible. I know what these people are like. I remember what they did to my family, to my mother and me. I know there’s no escaping them. And I know if I try to fight back anymore, I’ll only get hurt or even killed.

  So, I shut up and try to dissociate. I run through some of the problems from my last final, cross-checking the numbers. I run through a checklist of things I need to get done this weekend so that I’m all set for graduation in a couple of months. And I run through the list of bills I need to pay that aren’t set up for autopay. Anything to take my mind away from this nightmare.

  But I can’t believe what just happened.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut out the voices from the crowd. Especially as they grew louder. I opened my eyes to the crowd swiveling its attention back and forth between two men in the back. The tension was palpable.

  “One hundred seventy thousand dol
lars.”

  Wait, what? Was that a bid for me?

  “Two hundred thousand,” a baritone voice from the back of the room called out.

  They were warring over me. I knew I should be afraid, and I’m terrified still, but curiosity started to seep in then. My eyes darted between the man in the front and the voice in the back, the voice that rattled my bones—not in fear, but something else, something I couldn’t quite wrap my head around.

  The crowd no longer paid attention to me as they, too, focused on the bidding war going on. This must not be normal. Between the muffled whispers and occasional gasps, whatever was going on was far from what was expected.

  The man in the front, with his Italian accent, pulled me from my reverie. I missed what he said, but he was pissed, if the scowl he was wearing was any indication. The deep red shade his skin turned was a sharp contrast with his gawdy gold jewelry. Didn’t anyone bother to tell him how tacky he looked?

  Still, something about him frightened me. He looked like a man who was way too comfortable with violence.

  “Please God, if you can hear me, please don’t let the hideous scarface win.” I whispered the prayer over and over. But when I squinted to focus beyond the lights to find the owner of the baritone voice, I was no longer sure if my prayer was such a good idea.

  The man in the back was dressed in a black suit. His expression—what little I could see of it through the spotlight glare and the shadows beyond—was arrogant and cold as ice. But there was something about him I couldn’t put a finger on. I continued to watch as the two men brawled back and forth, but over and over again, I found myself drawn to the mystery man in black. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark and slicked back. His features were sharp and angular. He was ... handsome. Incredibly so.

  Christ almighty.

  I must’ve still been a bit drunk. How in the hell was I even considering some creep who was bidding on me as a sex slave to be handsome? No, he was a pig. A monster. A devil.

  A handsome devil.

  Dammit. I bit my lower lip and waited for the bidding to be over. I clenched my fists tightly until my nails dug into the palm. A metallic liquid flowed across my tongue and it took me a second to realize I’d bitten my lip so badly that it was bleeding.

  Then came the voice. “Sold!” the auctioneer screamed out. And just like that, it was over.

  My thoughts are panicked and confused now. What am I going to do? What are they going to do to me? My breaths become shallow and I know I’m about to panic again, but I don’t know what to do. I’m lost.

  “Who ... who won?” The words leave my lips in barely a whisper.

  The auctioneer turns to me with a smile that’s all business as he points to the man in the back.

  “You’re his now.”

  The crowd claps—hesitant and uncertain, I notice—and the entire demeanor of the room is different than when I first walked in. I glance to the man in the back one more time. He’s just sitting there, straight-faced. But the way everyone is reacting must mean he’s someone important.

  And in this world, that makes him someone to be feared.

  The auctioneer and the man holding the chain attached to my collar start shoving me off the stage and into the back. My skin breaks out into goose bumps from equal parts cold air and panic.

  “Please help me. Let me go. I don’t belong here,” I plead. I turn and look the auctioneer right in the eye. “They kidnapped me. Please let me go. I beg you.”

  But he just uses his forearm to move me out of the way and walks down the hallway and out of my sight. I grab hold of a railing as the goon tries to drag me and hold on for dear life. “Let me go! I swear, I won’t tell anyone anything.”

  No one responds. No one shows any interest, much less any sympathy, though the goon and another man definitely are starting to appear frustrated. The one guy walks over and starts to pry my fingers from the railing. He doesn’t say a word to me nor does he look at me. Truth be told, it’s as if he’s doing his best to avoid looking at any part of me, like I’m firmly off-limits even to his gaze.

  Who the hell is the man who purchased me?

  When I’m no longer gripping the railing, the goon holding the chain yanks me and I fly forward, landing on my knees. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I gingerly push to my feet, my knees aching from colliding with the cement floor. A trickle of blood travels down the length of my calf. I glance around, hoping to find Augustin. Not that the jerk will help, but at least I pray he will give me some answers. Like, why the hell did he pick me? But he’s nowhere to be found.

  The goon stops when we’re a few feet from the back door and turns to the guy behind me. “Give her your jacket. Don’t want the boss gettin’ mad with her being all exposed.”

  The man grunts and shrugs off the black jacket and drapes it around me. While I hate to admit it, the jacket offers some warmth and I slink my arms into the sleeves. This is the first kindness I’ve received all night.

  “Thank you,” I mutter automatically. Neither man responds.

  The goon jerks the chain once more and we head out the door into an alleyway. A lamppost provides a dim light to illuminate the eerily quiet area. Dumpsters line the sides of the small road and most of the windows of the buildings are boarded up. I don’t recognize the area, not that I’ve spent much time exploring.

  The frigid air bites at my skin and I shift from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. “I’m begging you, let me go. I don’t belong here. I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

  Again, neither man replies. The one who gave me his jacket taps his phone screen and huffs. Moments later, an all-black Bentley Continental pulls into the alleyway and stops in front of us. The man behind me opens the door while the goon shoves me into the back and slams the door shut.

  He walks toward the passenger side and nods at the driver before turning around to reenter the building. I pull the coat tight against me and press back into the leather seat, curling my legs up until I’m a tight ball. The car is warm and, while this entire experience is terrifying, the quiet hum of the motor relaxes me.

  A click from the door grabs my attention and I realize the car has just been locked. Wait a second. Where the hell are the door handles? I whip my head to the other side of the car and notice that neither door has a handle. Tears stream down my face as the car starts to move. These men are professionals. They know exactly what they’re doing, how to keep me trapped in here.

  And I’m utterly, helplessly theirs.

  The driver pulls out onto a main road. In a couple of minutes, we’re on the on-ramp of a highway. One that I know. Okay, time to pay attention. Maybe I can figure out where I am. We pass exits I’m not familiar with, but the numbers are getting smaller so we’re definitely heading closer to the city.

  I decide to try my luck with the driver. “Sir, I really don’t belong here. I’m a college student. I’m begging you, can you just let me out? I won’t say anything,” I promise.

  The man doesn’t even turn his head.

  “I don’t have a lot of money but I’ll give you whatever I have in the ATM.”

  He still says nothing. He just stares out the windshield and keeps driving deeper into the city.

  I sigh and rest my head against the cool window. My eyes drift up to the skyscrapers, all lit up. The city is beautiful at night. And this could be the last time I get to see it. How could one night of fun end up so bad? Why did this have to happen to me? I’ve suffered enough. And now I’m going to vanish. I’m going to become one of those missing people whose face is on a flier.

  Then I think to myself: No.

  I will not disappear and be forgotten. I’m not going to just vanish off the face of the earth. I’m not going to let some handsome devil in a suit make people forget I ever existed. One way or another, I’m going to get away from these bastards.

  I need to start by figuring out more about my enemies, starting with the man in the back. I lick my lower lip
the instant I think about the man who purchased me. A fancy car like this must cost a lot. More than I would ever make as an accountant.

  So, who is he?

  Who is the man who spent over two hundred thousand dollars to own me?

  Chapter Eight

  Nikita

  The auction is over. The girl is escorted off the stage, Jimmy trailing behind. She fights back, crying out for help, but they lead her into the back without any incident. Everyone’s too smart to get involved, though not smart enough to stop gawking at her exposed chest.

  Gino glowers as his eyes track her every move and I want to hit him. But I won her. He has no claim. And that fact is both satisfying and calming. As the crowd begins to disperse, Eitan and I stand and head to the right toward the meeting room.

  Others are on their way as well, Gino among them. He shoulders past the crowd, not giving a fuck who he slams into. Of course, no one complains. Not after what happened just a few moments ago. And with the intensity of his scowl increasing, most of the patrons are heading toward the nearest exit to escape the Italian’s possible psychotic break.

  I rub my temples.

  Jumping in and outbidding Gino wasn’t a good idea, not with this meeting on the line. Hopefully, the fool will be able to keep calm enough so that business isn’t ruined. I turn to Eitan and tell him, “Text the men. I want extra security in the room and outside the door. No telling how Gino may react tonight.”

  Eitan quirks a brow. I can tell what he’s thinking. Are you finally second-guessing what you pulled back there? But after my warning, he doesn’t dare say it aloud.

  I stare straight ahead, not saying a word. I push open the solid wood door and enter the room. Most of the heads of the various families are there, as well as some of the key biker club presidents. I snort. It’s not every day you see bikers dressed in suits and all cleaned up. But proper appearance is a rule at the auction, and exceptions are made for no one. Rules are what separate us from the animals.

  Besides, it amuses me to see them uncomfortable. They’re in my element, playing my game. And it will take a violent uprising indeed before I relinquish my seat at the head of the table.