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Trapped with the Mob Boss
Nicole Fox
Published by Nicole Fox, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TRAPPED WITH THE MOB BOSS
First edition. June 11, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Nicole Fox.
Written by Nicole Fox.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Nicole Fox
TRAPPED WITH THE MOB BOSS: A Mafia Romance (Petrov Bratva)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sneak Preview of VIN: A Mafia Romance
About the Author
Also By Nicole Fox
Vin: A Mafia Romance
TRAPPED WITH THE MOB BOSS: A Mafia Romance (Petrov Bratva)
By Nicole Fox
I kidnapped her to break her. Now, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.
YURI
In this business, you cannot afford to lose control.
No emotions. No weakness.
I’ve worked too f**king hard building my mob empire to let one feisty little girl ruin everything.
But Bella refuses to fall in line.
I’ve pushed my prisoner to her limits, and yet she will. Not. Break.
She takes every savage kiss...
Every cruel touch...
And asks me if that’s all I have to offer.
Breaking her down will require breaking a rule of my own:
Never, ever fall in love.
But when Bella’s senator father doesn’t follow orders like we expect, things get more complicated.
I’ll need her help to take my rightful place on the throne of the city.
And more time with her by my side means unleashing something inside me that cannot be contained again.
As our fates become entwined, betrayal barrels towards us.
I’m forced to make an impossible choice:
Do I follow my destiny to become the mob boss I was raised to be?
Or do I sacrifice everything to save the woman who has stolen my heart?
Chapter One
Bella
Every paparazzi picture ever taken and printed of me shows me standing in front of luxury shoe stores or high-end clothing brands. Those are the pictures that sell. The ones the public likes to see. Regular people enjoy feeling like the upper class is far beyond their reach. As though we’re another species entirely. Alien. Remote. Untouchable. No one wants to see a senator’s daughter walking past Clip ’N Trim Haircutters on her way to a comic book store.
But that’s what I’m doing, and there’s no one around to document it. And surprisingly, no security, either. They often give me a wide berth when I’m in less occupied areas of town, but not being able to see them lurking behind me like muscular shadows is unusual, although I’m not complaining. I like feeling like a normal person. A person who hasn’t been on the cover of magazines and newspapers since she was a small girl, standing next to her smiling, suited father, an American flag pinned to his lapel. Without the hulks with headsets lingering around me, I could be anyone. Just a normal twenty-five-year-old girl.
Too bad that’s never going to happen.
But no matter how bad I wish I was normal, old habits die hard. I look over my shoulder for security and see a man walking behind me. He’s still a long way off, but even from a distance, I can tell he’s handsome. Devastatingly so. Toned body visible even under a hoodie, wide shoulders, well-groomed stubble covering a strong jaw. I’m considering slowing my pace to let him catch up, seeing how long I can keep up this “regular girl” routine before my security steps in to intervene, when my phone goes off.
My eyes bulge as intense rap music with lyrics about pounding women and licking private parts blares out of my purse. I scramble to grab my phone.
“Ivy.” I sound like a frustrated mother scolding her child.
She only laughs. “You like my new ringer? I set it last night. Family-friendly, don’t you think?”
“You are so lucky I’m alone,” I say, managing to hold in my laugh. I don’t want to encourage this behavior. The last time she called I was with my grandma, and she didn’t find my heavy metal ringtone to be “suitable for a woman of my ilk.”
“Oh good, you’re alone. Come over.”
“Over where?”
“The club,” she says, as though it’s obvious. Ivy is always at the club. She spent her early and late teen years despising every second she had to spend there with the wealthy and privileged, but as a young single woman, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear she sleeps on the golf course. “Lots of eligible men here today. There’s a charity golf tournament going on. Do you realize how short golf shorts are? Muscular man thighs, everywhere you look. Yum.”
“‘Man thighs,’” I grimace, shaking my head. “No, thank you. I prefer my men covered. Preferably in jeans and leather.”
She sighs. “When are you going to let go of that particular preference, Bella? Nice boys don’t wear leather.”
“Who says I want a nice boy?” I ask. “Also, you sound like my grandma.”
“Then be a good girl and listen to your granny. Come to the club. The men are all out on the course, and I need someone to drink with me until they get back. Day drinking alone makes me look sad.”
“As much as I wish I could help you get day drunk, I’m busy right now,” I say, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and leaning against a concrete planter box. As a well-groomed female in a dress and heels, I’ll get enough weird looks inside the comic book store without also being on my phone and disrupting everyone inside.
“You said you were alone,” she argues.
“And busy,” I add. “I have plans, but I’ll let you know if my schedule clears up.”
I look back down the sidewalk and don’t see the handsome man from before. Surely he didn’t go into the Clip ’N Trim. From what little I saw of him, there was no way he was only paying ten dollars for his haircuts. Either way, he’s gone, and I’m more than a little disappointed.
Being
