The Monster: A Mafia Romance (Boston Belles Book 3)

My phone started ringing in my skirt’s pocket while I hugged Mrs. Martinez goodbye at the clinic door. Tugging it out, I was surprised to see Sam’s name flashing on the screen. I had saved his number that time he came in with his injured soldiers just in case but never expected him to call me. I drew a firm line between optimism and stupidity, and that seemed like the threshold for it.

What did he want?

“Everything okay?” Mrs. Martinez’s face clouded as she drank in my expression. Her hair had begun to grow again, fluffy and strewn about her head like little clouds now that she’d stopped her chemotherapy treatments. She was feeling better. Sometimes it worked that way after chemo. She opted to stop because her doctor had told her there was no hope for remission. But we now had new hope. She was taking an experimental drug that was supposed to shrink the tumor on her pancreas.

I was feeling hopeful she could live a comfortable life for months, maybe even a couple years.

“Yeah.” I smiled brightly, nodding as I all but pushed her out the door. “Sorry. I just had a moment there. Everything is fine.”

“You know …” She stopped, digging her heels into the floor, grinning. “I never asked you if you are married. Are you, Dr. F?”

I hadn’t given any of my patients my real full name. I needed to take safety measures to ensure my tracks were covered in case things went south.

“Not even remotely.” My fingers tightened around my phone, which kept buzzing. “I’m morbidly single, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. “There is nothing morbid about your situation, dear. You will be married soon.” Mrs. Martinez winked. “I know about things like that.”

“You do?” I asked, my smile thin and distracted.

Please, lady, let me answer this.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Absolutely. I was a fortuneteller my whole life before I retired. Traveled around with Aquila Carnival. Do you know it? They stop every summer just outside the city.”

Aquila Festival was where the most monumental part of my life had happened. Where I met Sam.

“I predicted I’d get cancer, all the royal weddings and divorces, and the exact order of Kate and William’s babies by gender…” her chest puffed proudly “…and let me tell you, my sweet, you will get married and soon. Maybe even to the person who tried to call you right now.” She jerked her chin to the phone I was clutching.

I dropped my eyes to it and realized I missed the call.

“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Martinez rose on her tiptoes, kissing my cheek. “He’ll call again. He has something important to tell you. Goodbye.”

I closed the door after her, frowning at my phone, willing it to ring again.

Sure enough, it did.

He has something important to tell you.

Swiping a finger across the screen, I received the call.

“What do you want?” I put on the most bored tone I could find in my arsenal of voices.

“You, spread eagle on my bed, wearing nothing but whipped cream and my favorite please-fuck-me-Sam expression,” he said darkly.

I did not reply. Responding to his banter would suggest I’d forgiven him.

“I need your help,” he said after a beat.

“You need help … I can agree with that. But it won’t be mine, Sam. I’m done handing you favors just to watch how you screw me over.” I ambled back into my office, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder as I scrubbed my hands clean in the sink.

“Actually, you seem to have a dog in this fight. Remember that Russian kid from the night we stayed at the cabin?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. Of course I remembered him. He haunted me in my dreams. The liquid fear in his eyes. The way he shook and begged for his life. The pain Sam had inflicted on him when he shot his arm.

“Well, he is right here with me, suffering from a chest wound. Shallow, I think. Things went a little sideways with the Russians, and he got caught in the middle of it.” Sam delivered the information blandly, like he was reading me food options from a menu.

“Bring him over,” I ordered.

“We’re just pulling up in front of your clinic,” he said and hung up.

I prepared the examination table for the new patient as I mulled over how odd Sam was. He’d promised he would court me on Christmas, and I suppose he did, in his own way. He sent me flowers yesterday with a simple unsigned note bearing his name, and a piece of jewelry, I suppose as a late Christmas gift.

But he didn’t cower or beg. Didn’t come knocking on my door.

He wasn’t exactly chasing me. More like speed-walking while taking frequent water breaks. He still had a long way to go. But he was still in training.

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it, finding Sam and the Russian kid leaning against the gigantic man I hated to love.

I slanted my head toward my office. Sam followed me, dragging the tall, scrawny boy along. I tried to ignore the acute beauty of my favorite monster. How tall and strong and corded with muscles he was. The deep tan of his skin and those full-moon eyes that always looked tranquil and cold, like a crisp December night. There was something else about him I found attractive today, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Something had changed, even if it was subtle.

Sam unloaded the gangly kid onto the examination table, and I took scissors to the boy’s shirt and started cutting it off of his chest.

“What’s your name?” I smiled at the boy.

“Ruslan,” he breathed, wincing as he spoke, wetting his lips with his tongue. “Ruslan Kozlov.”

“How old are you, Ruslan Kozlov?”

“Fourteen.” His teeth chattered, and a few acne zits were gushing blood, probably from the stress. He was as pale as snow, and I knew he needed a blood transfusion fast.

“Tell me about the wound,” I murmured, keeping calm as I put on latex gloves.

He did. It was one of Sam’s soldiers who had shot him in Bratva territory—or what used to be their territory before Sam butted in. Ruslan was running errands for Vasily Mikhailov, whom I gathered was the local underboss. Sam came in with his entourage to threaten Vasily, and things got out of control.

“So why didn’t Vasily get you medical care?” I frowned. “You are his soldier, not Sam’s.”

The boy smiled. “Yeah. Mikhailov is not like Brennan. He doesn’t care about his soldiers. He is a real monster.”

Something warm flooded my chest. I tried telling myself it meant nothing.

Luckily, Ruslan knew his blood type, so I was able to call a friend of mine from med school who worked at the hospital and sometimes—on the rare occasion I asked him—provided me with blood units for transfusion. I sent Sam to pick it up with a cooler I had stashed in the clinic while I stayed and tended to Ruslan.

When Sam came back with the blood donation, he wanted to hang around in the room, but I barked at him to leave.

After I took care of Ruslan’s wound, I put him on sedatives and took off my gloves, joining Sam in the waiting room. He was sitting on the couch, messing with his phone and hair at the same time. He stood up alertly the minute I appeared.

“He’ll be fine.” I tried smoothing my hair into something that resembled a ponytail. “I’m glad you brought him in, though.”

He stared at me quietly, like he was looking at me for the first time. The heat flooding my cheeks was unbearable.

“Move in with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?” My breath caught in my throat. “What are you talking about? We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

“A date?” He spat out the word like it was dirty. “We don’t need to go on dates. We’ve known each other since before you were allowed to vote. I’m picking up from where we left off after your little cabin stint, Aisling. I’m not starting from scratch.”

“You’re starting from wherever I want you to start or you are not starting at all,” I announced, giving him the stink eye. “And I can’t move in with you.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You want to move out. And you should. You are kissing thirty, Nix. Twenty-seven is no spring chicken. And your parents don’t need a babysitter anymore. They’re sorting their shit out, like they should have done three decades ago. Your mother is going to therapy. Your brothers told me. You’re welcome for that little push, by the way.”

Welcome?

He was now taking credit for the fact my father moved back into Avebury Court Manor and both my parents attended therapy together? Unreal.

I took a step back, staring at him like he was a complete loon.

“First of all, they are attending therapy because you scarred them for life, not pushed them together.”

“To-may-to, to-ma-to.”

“Secondly,” I hissed, “I don’t make any money of my own and can’t afford to pay rent.”

“You paying rent was never on the fucking table,” he quipped. “I own my place.”

“I will not be freeloading.”

“Nothing about this arrangement is free, Aisling. There’s a heavy price to pay when you are shacking up with a man like me.”

“You’re still being a chauvinist pig.” I folded my arms over my chest.

He took a step forward, crowding me as he brushed a fly-away from my cheek. “No, Nix, I’m taking what I want. What’s mine. And what I deserve.”

“You don’t deserve me.”

He smiled. “I used to think that was true, too. Then I found out what you do here in this clinic. We are not so different, you and I. The only thing separating us is semantics.”

I gasped. “Don’t you dare. What I do is—”

“Beautiful. And also illegal. In a saturated population, life is always cheap,” he replied, his breath fanning across my face, making every cell in my body tingle with need and anticipation.

“You’re still being an asshole,” I informed him.

He leaned forward, saying the words as his lips traced mine, speaking into my mouth. “I never promised not to be an asshole. I only promised to be your asshole.”

“What about other women?” I was starting to feel it. The way I liquefied in his arms. “What happens when you grow tired of me?”

“I will never grow tired of you.” His tongue glided between my lips, prying them open as he kissed me deeply. I let him, despite my inhibitions, and my better judgment, and the fact that I knew this was the opposite of what I was trying to do.

I became lax in his arms, enjoying the steadiness of him as his tongue rolled around mine. His fingers dug into my skull, gripping my hair.

“All these years, Nix, I thought about you. Every time I fucked someone else. Every time I brought someone into my office. I’d close my eyes and it was you I’d see. Then I’d remember your family would destroy us if I had you. They would never let that fly. I would remember how I’d fuck your life up if I touched you. If you became mine. If you were privy to all the blood I shed. I didn’t want to bring you into my mess, but now that I know that we’re both screwed-up and imperfect, it changes things.”

“And you have my father’s approval.” I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. “How?”

He grinned. “I think your father figured out I am willing to go further to get you than he is willing to go to protect you. He is not a stupid man, Ash. He knows I always get what I want. And what I want is his daughter.”

“Your kiss.” I frowned. “It tasted different.”

“I quit smoking.” He arched an eyebrow, looking more annoyed than gloating.

“You did?” My heart did a weird flip in my chest. “Why?”

“You said you hated it. You said you don’t want to feel like you’re kissing an ashtray.”

“You should have done it because you want to live to a ripe old age.”

“Well, that might not be in store for me with my line of work anyway, but while I do live, I’d rather do it with you by my side.”

He said all the right things, and did all the right things, and still, I couldn’t forgive him. Not now. Not yet. Not when I knew that he was so close to destroying my family.

I took a step back, sobering up.

“What about my ban from Badlands?” I asked. The change of topic seemed to have thrown him off, too, because he cocked his head, examining me coldly.

“What about it?”

“Lift it.” I tilted my chin up.

“Nix,” he said darkly, narrowing his eyes. “I will not have you parading around in skimpy clothes in close proximity just to make me suffer.”

“Yes, you will,” I said airily. “Because you want me, and when you want someone, you make sacrifices for them—and don’t try to control them. Better get used to it.”

He considered my words, his face twisting.

“One condition.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“I thought we were past dating.” I couldn’t help but grin.

“We are,” he said dryly. “No one said food is going to be the only thing on the menu. I’ll come pick the kid up in a few hours.” He leaned down, kissed me hard, turned around, and walked away.

It was only when he was gone that I realized the bastard had managed to snatch a piece of my heart in his fist yet again.

Thief.