Owned by the Mob Boss (9 page)

I trailed behind him, looking everywhere, soaking in the sights. I felt like I was a tourist, about to walk into a historic home of someone important.

Ivan is important. An important mob boss.

I shuddered. Would I ever forgive myself for agreeing to do this? Yes, it was necessary, and I didn’t have a choice, but it still felt wrong to be paid to have a man’s baby. It was worse than just being a prostitute. This was giving up a child. Giving life to a baby and then abandoning him or her to what kind of a life? His or her father was a mobster!

If I kept thinking like this, I would never be able to go through with it. I had to stay focused. My mom had a nurse staying with her. She was being taken care of, and by doing this, it ensured Mom would be able to continue her treatments even though my health insurance would run out soon.

The bodyguard carried my suitcase for me and opened one of the two massive front doors. I walked inside to a breathtakingly beautiful house. Exquisite artwork lined the walls. The floor was a beautiful black-and-white geometrical design. Every so many feet were small tables with vases on top. No photographs, I noticed.

“Your coat?” the bodyguard asked as he opened a closet.

I shrugged out of it and handed it to him.

“This way.” The bodyguard walked down the hall, and I followed close behind.

To my disappointment, we bypassed several rooms, and I realized he wasn’t going to give me a tour.
Of course not. I’m not important. I’m just a walking uterus. Baby maker. Nothing more.

Still, I was disappointed. The person who did the interior design of this place did a phenomenal job, and I would’ve loved to see how each and every room was laid out.

We climb a massive staircase, and down a low-lit hallway, the bodyguard opened the last door on the left. “Here you go.”

I walked inside a large bedroom. The bed was huge with black stain sheets. There were two windows with similar curtains to the sheets. The curtain reached all the way to the wooden floor. There was a bureau, a dresser, a nightstand, and a desk, all in cherry oak. The walls were a slightly off-white color. Only one piece of art hung on the wall, directly above the bed—a stark red rose, full and beautiful on a black background, a single petal falling down, halfway to joining the sole petal at the bottom.

Curious, I opened and closed each bureau and dresser drawer and then opened the closet. All of it was full of clothes, and most if not all appeared to be in my size.

“Do you need anything?” the bodyguard asked.

I whirled around, feeling guilty. I’d forgotten he was still standing in the doorway.

“I’m…I’m good, I think. Thanks.”

He nodded. “Ivan will attend to you later.”

And he left me all alone.

Ivan

The sight of my house almost made some of my stress go away. I needed a stiff drink or two. Maybe five. That the bastard Vanya Golovkin had dared to send someone to spy on me…he needed to be put into his place—which was buried six feet under without a coffin. Just an unmarked grave. A dump, not a grave.

I was trembling with rage, and I had to relax, to calm myself. Being rash would lead to mistakes, and I never made mistakes. I could handle myself. I would take care of Golovkin. No one would threaten me or mine again. I had raised up from the ashes once. I would not dare allow anyone the chance to burn me to the ground again. My empire would reign for long after my lifetime, and it would reign through my heir, through my blood. And speaking of my blood, not another drop of Kovalsky blood would ever be spilled by a foe.

A plan. I always operated with a plan. Attention to detail kept me alive. I had squared off against other foes in my time since I took over the Kovalsky mob, and I had always won the battle.

But this with Golovkin wasn’t just a battle. It was war.

The outcome, however, would be the same. I would win. I didn’t doubt that for a second.

I always kept an eye on my surroundings, even when I didn’t actively feel threatened, and as I waited at a red light, I checked all of my mirrors. Sometimes I used a chauffeur, but lately, I’d been driving myself, and tonight was no exception. I liked the feel of the gear stick in my hand, of being in complete control. Plus, no one would do a better job of keeping an eye out for my own safety than myself. Tails never could follow me for long. I knew this city and the streets and alleys better than anyone. I knew how to make myself disappear, whether in a car or on foot. I had a lot of friends here.

But right now, friends weren’t enough. I needed my most trusted men. I needed to be sure of who I putting my faith in. Too much was at stake. I didn’t need protection as much as I needed loyalty. In the mob life, it was loyalty or it never had been anything at all.

No one was following me. The roads were mostly deserted, but that did little to settle my nerves. A few more twists and turns, a few more miles, and I parked my car inside the garage and entered the house. Just down the hall, I opened the hall closet to put away my coat when I noticed an unfamiliar coat hanging up inside. Damn. I had almost forgotten about my arrangement with Rachel Nevison.

Although I barely knew her, I had done a lot of research on both her and her mother. I hadn’t been about to send Leo over with the contract until I knew enough about her to decide if she was a possible option or not, and what I found more than satisfied me. I knew about her lack of a job outside of our arrangement. I knew about her past boyfriends. I knew she preferred bad boys, and that I would be by far the baddest boy she would ever be with.

I also gathered that despite her taste in guys, she was pretty much an innocent. She had never committed a crime, not even a speeding ticket. She wasn’t meant to be colored by the blackness of my world.

But I needed a woman like that, one I might be able to trust. Not that I could share details about the mob with her, not that I would. But I could trust her to not seek out the media, that she wouldn’t start spending the money foolishly and draw attention to herself. That was all I would ask of her. In exchange, I would keep her safe. Vanya Golovkin would never learn about her. Despite the danger to my person, she would never be threatened. She deserved that much for all she was giving me.

One of the ways I knew immediately that she might make for a good choice was because she didn’t ask for more money. If she had, a red flag would’ve been raised. Maybe she would prove herself to be worth more, and if that was the case, I would be willing to compensate her. I knew why she was doing this—not for me, not for herself, but for her mother. Another reason to not bother to look at other options. Family meant a great deal to her.

I just hoped it didn’t mean too much to her. The child I would impregnate her with would be mine, not hers, not ours. Mine.

After hanging up my coat, I went straight upstairs and quietly opened the door to the guest room I’d left instructions for Leo to put her in. Leo was one of my friends in addition to being one of my guards. He would protect her and watch over her as he would me. She was in good hands with him.

I peeked inside her guest room to find her half asleep in bed. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, and I almost felt wrong for putting her in this position, for involving her in my life, especially when my life was touched by darkness right now. But I needed an heir. I should’ve had one already. It was ironic. When I was on top of the world, being with whatever woman I wanted to be, the idea of settling down never occurred to me. I wasn’t ready to be married, to be tied down. I enjoyed my freedom.

Now that my status at the top was in question, I desperately needed to ensure that my line would not die with me. I wasn’t egotistical enough to believe that death would not come for me. As much as I would do everything in my power to ensure that I did not die at the hands of Vanya Golovkin, it might still happen. An heir was necessary.

And the idea of having a son was one that I couldn’t get out of my mind now. I had built an empire, had expanded on my father’s work, and I had a legacy to leave to him.
Which I’ll give to him after I die from old age.

And Rachel would be the one to give me that son. I entered the room to get a better look at her, and she stirred. Maybe I should have closed the door and left her to sleep for the night, but I didn’t. Selfish.

Rachel sat up, and the sheet fell away. She was rumpled with sleep, and her tank top left little to the imagination. I wanted her. Desired her. Lust, pure and simple. I hadn’t lied when I called her just pretty, but there was something that drew me to her. Maybe because she had come to me for a business arrangement, and she wasn’t falling all over herself to be at my feet. She didn’t want me for my name. She didn’t even want me.

A part of me wanted that to be a challenge. To make her want me, not just my money. Rachel, with her hair tousled from sleep, those doe-like bedroom eyes, her long, slender neck.

Yes, lust would make this arrangement that much more enjoyable, for me at least. And I knew my way around a woman’s body. I would make it that much more enjoyable for her as well.

Before I knew what I was doing, I crossed the room to her bed and took her into my arms. And again, before I knew what I was doing, I was kissing her, and she was kissing back. Already, she was moaning loudly. I loved how responsive she was to me, how she eased her body against mine, how she opened her mouth for me, how she allowed me to move her head to angle it just right. I knew this was just a business transaction, but right now I wasn’t thinking about making babies or the money I would be paying her. I was only thinking about her luscious lips and how much I wanted to fuck her.

I was wearing clothes. How in the hell was I in bed with her when I was still wearing clothes? This simply wasn’t acceptable. I pulled back, breaking off the kiss, but she leaned forward and licked me, licked my jawline, and ended up with her tongue in my mouth. Again.

Holy. Fuck.

I had grown hard the moment I saw her in her state of dishevelment, and I had grown harder during the kiss, but right now, I was so hard I thought I was going to burst. My cock was pressing against my clothes, and I wanted it freed, free to fuck her.

Again, I pulled back. I needed to feel her warm, soft skin pressed against mine. Before I could rip off my shirt, Rachel came at me, kneeling on the bed, her fingers fumbling with my shirt buttons.

Screw that. Too slow. I ripped my shirt open, and buttons flew everywhere. There. Much faster. Much better.

Her eyes widened as she glanced at the nearest button. “Do you make it a habit of ruining shirts?”

“Do you make it a habit of talking when you’re supposed to be kissing?” I countered with a devilish smile.

In response, she pushed aside the two parts of my shirt, leaned forward, and licked my nipple. Damn it all, if I wasn’t the one moaning now. This girl sure knew how to work her tongue. She wasn’t holding back at all. She was either a really hard worker, or she knew her way around a man’s body. Maybe she wasn’t quite as innocent as she appeared.

“Do you like being told what to do?” I asked, wondering just how far she would let me go, how far I could push her, if she would be willing to do whatever I asked of her.

“I like being told…sometimes.” She bit her lower lip but then smiled, her eyes bright.

Rachel didn’t look ill at ease at all. Was she the same nervous, jumpy girl from the bar? Maybe the bar scene wasn’t hers, but the bedroom sure seemed to be her domain. And I appreciated that.

“Only sometimes?” I brushed my fingers lightly up her bare arms to her shoulders and flicked down her tank top straps. Her skin was so soft and smooth. “What about the rest of the time?”

“Sometimes I like to be the one to tell what to do.” She lifted a shoulder, still smiling.

“And if you could tell me what to do, what would you say?” I asked.

I wasn’t promising that I would give it to her—in fact, I probably wouldn’t. I needed to be in control at all times. I needed that in my life. Too much was outside of my control as it was that I needed the assurance that I had power, even here, in the bedroom. Not all women appreciated that, and none have given me quite exactly what I needed. It was too much to hope that Rachel would be the one to deliver that, though.

“I would want…” Her head down, she peered up at me from beneath lowered lashes. God, she was pretty. “I would want us to…”

“To what?” I stared at her, taking in how she was pulling slightly away and how she was biting her lip again. I made her nervous. She did her damnedest to hide it, but I could still tell. Not all nerves were bad, though, right?

Because I wanted this to be good for her, not just for me. We might have to have sex for a little while before she became pregnant, so we might as well pleasure each other while we were at it. And I was all about pleasure in the bedroom. This was the first time I was ever mixing business with pleasure. I never thought that I would pay for sex, but this was different. She wasn’t mine. She wasn’t a whore. She would give me an heir, and I would give her money and pleasure, too, as an added bonus. It wouldn't just be quickies between us. It wouldn’t just be cock into pussy.

She refused to look at me. “I would want us to keep our eyes open,” she said in a rush.

Now that I hadn’t expected at all. Maybe a certain position or for me to lick her pussy, but that? Keeping our eyes open? A simple request. A sweet one.

A tender one.

One I could grant easily.

I nodded and kissed her deeply, keeping my eyes open. At first, hers fluttered close, but then she opened them too, and there was something so incredibly erotic about kissing her with our eyes open that I yanked her toward me, my hands caressing up and down her back in firm strokes beneath her tank top. My fingers dipped down, beneath her small panties, to grip her tight ass, and I ground our pelvises together.

She gasped as I shifted her slightly to ensure we were properly aligned, and I knew then that I had her. Her skin was so soft beneath my fingers, and I was probably bruising her a little, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to touch her, to decrease the space between us, and she wasn’t complaining. If anything, she was bruising me back as she gripped my back under my shirt. Her nail scraped down my back, and I shivered as a shot of pleasure went straight to my cock.

“What are you doing to me?” I might have asked, except we were dueling with our tongues, planting kisses all over our faces and necks. With our heavy breathing, she might not have heard me anyhow.

I couldn’t handle this anymore. How did we still have so many clothes on? Bare skin. I needed to feel all of her, to touch all of her, to see her naked body.

I tried to disentangle ourselves so that I could remove her tank top, but I ended up ripping it. Accidentally. It really was an accident.

She pressed a hand firmly to my chest. Crap. Was she pissed?