Knocked Up by the Mob Boss - A Mafia Romance

d old structure is that no one wants to go near it. Anyone who doesn't have business there will naturally do their best to pretend it doesn't exist, which makes it t

ing himself for such a possibility. Know your exit.

s a black truck barely visible beyond the corner of

are there to welcome whoever arrives after you, and it ensures no traps or tricks

be the difference between life and a bullet to the head. Though, I'm not expecting much from Cyrus. We've met with him before. As a longtime partner of our family, he relies on us

above our heads, filling the room with an electrical hum. Cyrus is standing at the far end of the warehouse, arms crossed over his chest. He is a small man in every way and th

Mikhail?" Cyrus asks, chin lifted.

were friends, you'd kn

aning forward to study me as thoug

-lost triplet I didn'

rless. "Even if there was a third, I'd still p

heard that," Boris says mostly under h

thcoming as I am," Cyrus says. "They wouldn't wa

. I don't want to encourage whatever joke he was telling, but the thought that he is having a

t royalty, but our business associates usually conduct themselves with a level of respect. Professionalism, at le

I only allow Mikhail to use. "You know your brother b

lize that one day soon he will be the boss of the Levushka family? Mikhail will be the man in char

"Everyone likes Mikhail. He is a good guy. Last time he was in town, we-" Cyrus' voice

They got high together

hail told Cyrus not to say anything. Clearly, Cyrus doesn't know when to shut his mou

continues. "He lets things slide. Things that benefit me. I me

ver his chest, his stomach protruding out in a

He turns to me, head finally bowed low. "It is just that

ility to marshal my anger. To keep my feelings close to my chest and focus on the logistics. On strictly what is necess

n pale-perhaps he'd have a different opinion of him. All Cyrus remembers is

from him. Boris lets out a low growl and Cyrus snaps his eyes back to me. He should

. The one with boundaries. Standards. I've heard more than a few people suggest you should inherit the

re almost shoulder-to-shoulder and shak

t stop me from rearing back and dri

s right about one thing at least: I am the one with boundaries. Mikhail would have had a knife to Cyrus' neck the moment he even breathe

. His knees crack against the concrete, and

ce if I were you," Boris says,

umpled on the ground. I grab his sweat-stained gray sweatshirt by the collar and haul him to his feet. If it weren't for the wrinkles around his mouth a