Pregnant by the Mob Boss {18+}

12

ROSE

Lev had stayed in New York City. He had extended his visit for two more weeks because he wanted to make sure I stayed safe before he left for Russia, where he lived.

When he told me that he was extending his visit to make sure I stayed safe, butterflies began to flutter in the pit of my stomach.

Nobody really stayed for me, and made sure I was safe.

A week passed since the incident, and I hadn't gone back to Damian's penthouse, he could fuck Marcella how much he wanted, I didn't want to be part of their life.

"How long has it been since the wedding?" Lev asks.

He was sitting in front of me, leaned back on the chair, holding a newspaper, while glancing up at me, his piercing gaze sending a few chills down my spine, the kind of chills that make me want to sit on his lap and be his good girl.

A blush crept over me at the thought, but I replied to his question, "A little over a month. It has sucked being married to him, he's always glued to Marcella's side."

I bit on a strawberry dipped in chocolate because we were eating breakfast at the hotel, since I had stayed with him all this time.

"Do you like him?" Lev asked another question, but now he had his eyes glued to the newspaper in his hands.

"I used to think I loved him, but I don't anymore. He has changed so much, he isn't the person I once knew." I answered as I was more honest than I intended to.

"I'm just waiting for it all to be over and get my trust fund. If I will even have a trust fund, since they enjoy taking money from it like vampires." A sigh escaped my lips, the more I thought about the marriage.

"I hate being married to him, and my sister." I added, and laughed a little bit because Marcella was also 'married' to us.

Lev gave me a nod, and stopped asking questions as I finished eating the strawberries on my plate.

My morning was good, the sun shining over the city, and I was sitting with the person who I had a crush on, but then I caught sight of the same gorgeous woman I had seen at the charity gala.

She had spotted Lev, and was heading towards him in her tight dress and killer heels, getting looks casted at her.

"It has been awhile, handsome." The woman took off her sunglasses, and flirted with him, her eyes roaming him because he was really handsome.

"Clarissa," Lev says, acknowledging her, but his voice void of emotions.

The woman didn't get close to him, she kept her distance unless he wanted her to get closer, like at the charity gala.

"You're still here? I thought you would be back in Russia." She commented, her eyes on him because he was wearing a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled up and one tattoo of a dragon was exposed on his left arm.

It was done beautifully, but the dragon tattoo gave off a terrifying feeling.

"I have unfinished business. I can't leave." Lev explained, his eyes darted in my direction, no judgement or annoyance in them.

The woman, Clarissa, spared me one glance, but scrunched up her nose before looking away, back to Lev.

"If you're staying here for a tad longer, call me, I would like a repeat of last time." She winked at him, putting back her sunglasses and walking away. She swayed her hips, and caught other people's attention.

After all, she wasn't a well-known supermodel for no reason.

I had no obligation to be jealous of her or him, but I was so jealous, there were so many beautiful women in the world, and I was not one of them.

If I was a gorgeous woman like Clarissa, then Lev might have seen me as more than a little girl, or seen me as something more. 

But my insecurities always got the better of me, even if I was beautiful, I didn't feel like it.

That happens when you're always compared to your siblings all your life, it ends up scarring you, and you don't know how to love yourself anymore. 

"Rose Spencer," Lev says my name out loud, not Rose Knight but Rose Spencer, catching my attention that had been somewhere else.

"Yes?"

"Where's your mind drifting, Дорогая?" Lev put the newspaper on the table, his attention was solely on me. (Dear, Love etc.)

I couldn't stop the next words to trail one after the other, "I wish I was loved by someone, even if I don't love myself."

"Why do you want to be loved by someone?" He questions me, his russian accent thick and rich.

"I want someone to tell me how much they love me when I can't say those words to myself." I confessed to a Russian mob boss who had more important matters than listening to a mafia princess vent.

But he was listening to me, patiently, not invalidating my feelings.

I love how mature he was, he aged like fine wine, because some men his age are still immature little boys, but not him.

When he didn't answer for a few minutes, I stood up from the chair and excused myself from the table, because I was really embarrassed.

Goodness, I should really know when to keep my mouth shut.

As I was about to stand up from the chair, and head to the nearest restroom to contemplate what I had said, his voice made me sit down again.

"Tell me more, I see that you need somebody to talk to," Lev says, drinking his black coffee.

He didn't wear a smile nor seemed annoyed. He genuinely wanted to listen to my vents, so I told him a few things, about my insecurities, but not the reason why I was insecure in the first place.

Lev from time to time, placed his hand on mine because I was always fidgeting with the skin around my fingers, digging deep, sometimes it bled a little bit.

But his hand on mine comforted me, he gave me a gentle squeeze whenever he saw that I was embarrassed or sad.

The topic of the conversation changed when I told him about the honeymoon and that I climbed down from the hotel room, how the guards ran after me with a life net.

He grew concerned, but told me to call him next time anything happened, or when I was in need of help.

A sudden call interrupted us, and he glanced at his phone, excusing himself from the breakfast table and heading across the room to take the call because it was a private matter.

Lev had left to attend the phone call, but he would come back once it was over.

After he left, I took a peek at the TV in the corner, the news was showing what was happening lately in the world.

But the TV wasn't muted. I heard and saw two reporters talking about the latest gruesome murder in New York City that had caused an uproar.

Pictures of Marcella's friend showed on the TV screen. The same person who had tried to assault me, and he was shown in a brutal state, pronounced dead.

The guy had been an important politician's son, and he had been brutally murdered a few days ago, his body hung like a sacrifice in his own home.

I stared at the TV screen with a gaping mouth while the two news reporters were explaining a few details of the murder, that Marcella's friend had been castrated, his own dick had been put inside his ass and sewed shut.

The two reporters couldn't reveal too much since it had been a horrific scene according to the experts.

My gaze wandered to Lev, who was talking on the phone with somebody across the room. He was looking at me from far away with his shoulder leaned back on the door frame, never once taking his eyes off me.

I shuddered, turning my attention back to the TV screen, and at that moment I knew that Lev was the one who killed Marcella's friend.

Lev Mikhaylov, a Russian mob boss, who always ends up saving me, even if he has to murder people.