Page 17 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss
“I’m sorry—” I begin appeasingly.
“You’re sacked.”
My chest seizes up. I must have misheard.
“I was clear in my expectations of your work ethic, and you’ve failed,” he continues.
“You can’t do that?” But there’s a tremulous, questioning uplift to the end of that statement.
“I can do whatever I want.”
“But I’ve done everything else you asked!” This is so unfair I can barely believe it. My body is still tingling and languid from Markov’s attentions. From him being inside me, closer than I’ve ever been with anyone before. But my mind is racing.
“I was expecting more from you.”
My shin crawls, and I get it. But I wish I didn’t. All those suggestions, and in particular, he asked me out on Friday.
“Do I need to call security?” he snaps when I don’t move.
“Call Markov.” The request is out of my mouth without thought.
“I’m your boss. What I say goes.”
“Markov Lunacharski,” I insist.
Denis laughs in my face. It’s a cruel, jagged sound.
My neck prickles, but I push back my shoulders. Markov will understand why I didn’t get all my work done this morning, and he’ll make this right. Markov is the Bratva Pakhan, after all. He wouldn’t have to mention that he took my virginity.
“He’ll tell you…” I realise what I’m saying and trail off, dismayed.
Markov doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, the Pakhan will save you?” Denis mocks.
This is being sneered at by the school bully all over again. Just when I thought I’d grown up.
“The silent kingpin—who you don’t even know—willspeakon your behalf?”
But I do know him. I know what makes him smile. I know which scenes will make him lean forwards in his chair and rest his forearms on his thighs as he listens intently. I know he frowns at the bits where the heroine defends someone who has been cruel to her.
And I’m sure that despite everything, I trust Markov Lunacharski more than anyone.
But he’s a Bratva boss, and I’m a girl he fucked and then walked out on. Misery threatens to bubble up, and if I don’t let it, I think it might scald me from the inside out.
This is pointless. I have no clue where Markov’s office is to try to find him, and I’d only humiliate myself more if I tried.
“You’re pathetic.” A bit of Denis’ spit lands on my arm, and I recoil.
Denis is right. There’s nothing I can do, because Markov won’t save me.
Containing my rage and disgust at myself and Denis, I grab up my coat and bag, and rush out. My security pass beeps anerror as I scan it to leave—Denis works fast—and I give it to the bored receptionist without comment or eye contact.
As I duck out of the Mortlake building, it’s raining, and my phone rings.
My heart leaps, and I scramble to find the little device in my bag. Maybe…
I don’t know what I’m hoping for—a miracle I suppose—but with depressing inevitability, it’s “Mum” that pops up on the screen.
