Knocked Up by the Mob Boss - A Mafia Romance

ALEKSANDR

I'VE BEEN in the office for hours. Long enough that my eyes are burning, and I'm not sure what time it is. I could stand up and open the blinds covering the window, but part of me doesn't want to know. If the sun has set, then I've been here too long. If the street below is emptied of people, then I've been here way too long. If the sun is already coming up, I'll need more coffee to make it through another day.

"What in the hell are you still doing here?"

The sound of another human jolts me from my work, and I push back from the desk, my wheels squealing, prepared to fight off the intruder. It takes me an exhausted second to recognize my own face, standing in the doorway

My twin brother.

"It's after midnight," Mikhail says, checking his wrist, though he doesn't have a watch on. He pushes the door closed and drops down into the leather chair across from my desk. The focused light of my desk lamp means that he is half-hidden in shadow, but even in the dark, I can see how worn he looks.

"You came here looking for me. Why do you sound so surprised to have found me?"

Mikhail lets out a humorless chuckle. "Because I hoped I was wrong about you, but apparently your life is just as sorry as I thought."

He is only half-joking, and we both know it. It isn't healthy, how much energy I devote to the family business, but it is all I know. It is all I've ever known. From the moment I was born, there were expectations, and I've always been willing to kill myself to meet them. Not just to please my father and my mother-though that is part of it. Mostly, it is for me. Who am I if I can't live up to my family legacy?

Mikhail has never suffered under the same burden, even though he should feel it more keenly than even I do. Born two minutes before me, he is the heir to the family legacy. We were conceived in the same moment, but because he took his first breaths one hundred and twenty seconds before me, he has to inherit the business and command the small army my father has gathered. I don't envy his position, even though it doesn't seem to stress him the way I think it should.

"Crime isn't as easy as people make it out to be," I say breezily, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. I tip my head towards him. "Why were you looking for me?"

The fake smile falls away immediately, and Mikhail runs a hand through his hair. I'm not surprised. I could tell from the moment he walked in that something was wrong. Not to mention, he rarely visits me at the office. Though Mikhail and I are two halves of the same being, we couldn't be more different.

He may be the first born, but he likes to keep a safe distance from anything that resembles hard work. Usually, the only time I see him is when I finally head home after a late night in the office to find him passed out on my sofa. It is how he knows better than anyone the hours I devote to the family business. I've tripped over him in the dark enough times that he knows my schedule.

He reaches beneath his wrinkled shirt and pulls something from the waistband of his jeans. He looks like he could do with a shave and a shower, but I long ago gave up pestering him to take care of himself. That is our mother's job.

He pulls out an envelope, crumpled and damp from where it was pressed against his hip. "Father left me a message."

My brows pulled together as I took the letter from his hand. "He sent you this?"

"Left it for me," Mikhail corrects. "I found it pinned to my front door."

My heart sputters in my chest. In our business, finding things taped to your front door is never a good sign. It is a threat. It means the sender knew where you lived, and they want you to know they could access you at any time. Of course, Father knows where Mikhail and I live-he even has a spare key to my apartment-but the ominous undertones remain. He could've sent a text or left a voicemail. Instead, he chose this.

"Have you read it?"

"Of course I read it," Mikhail says, flinging himself back in his chair so it rocks backwards on the rear legs. "It was nailed to my fucking door. I couldn't exactly ignore it."

"Nailed?" I lift the flap, noticing the jagged tear where Mikhail had torn it open and, for the first time, the hole in the center. It really had been hammered in. Mikhail says nothing as I read the familiar, spiky scrawl.

Mikhail,

My grace is running out. I will not allow you to be an embarrassment to this family. Fail me again, and you will be out of our business for good.

-Vlad

"Signed 'Vlad'," Mikhail says hollowly, his top lip pulled back in a snarl. "Like he doesn't want to consider himself my father anymore. Can you believe it?"

Truthfully, I can. Though I won't tell Mikhail that.

Our father has always preferred Mikhail. He has a soft spot in his hard heart for his eldest son, for the man who will one day take over his business. However, that spot has been firming up with each new indiscretion. For years, Mikhail's vices were relegated to his personal life. He spent his free time in clubs and bars and drug dens, having his fill of whatever sin was offered to him, but it didn't affect his day-to-day duties as the second-in-line to the Levushka crime family crown.

That has changed in the last few years, though. His nights out have turned into weekend benders that leave him unconscious and impossible to reach. No one can find him, and when they do, he is too sick to be of any use. Father has done his best to impress upon Mikhail the importance of his role in our family, but Mikhail can't see beyond the haze of drugs and women long enough to get a clear picture of his future. It appears that, now, Father has finally had enough of his games.

"I mean..." Mikhail says, standing up and fisting his hands at his sides. His fingers are trembling, and I wonder how long it has been since he's taken something. His blue eyes are the clearest I've seen them in the last few months. It won't be long before he'll give in again to the pull of the drugs, though. It never takes long. "It is bullshit. He can't kick me out of the family. We are blood. Flesh and blood. Doesn't that mean anything to him?"

"You know it does," I say gently, knowing my brother well enough to recognize that he isn't ready for a harsh reality yet. If he feels backed into a corner, he'll crawl into some hole, shoot up, and disappear for a week. "Father loves you, but he is worried. That's all this is. Just him trying to let you know he is worried."

"Worried about what? I'm fine." He reaches out to run a finger along a book on my shelf, but when he realizes how badly it is shaking, he tucks the finger back against his palm and lowers his hand.

"Your hands are shaking," I say. "And this is the first time I've seen you in four days. I'm not sure I'd classify that as being fine."

He spins around, and his face is red. I can't tell whether it is heated with shame or anger. "You are in your office past midnight. Again. Are you fine, Aleksandr?"

"If you're trying to prove you are better than me, I'd suggest you find a higher bar to jump over," I say. "Just because I'm fucked up doesn't mean you have free license to be, too."

"Sure it does," Mikhail says, his shoulders relaxing. Exhaustion seems to come over him all at once, and he moves back to the chair and flops down, the legs groaning under his sudden weight. "We're twins, after all."

"But you're older." He shouldn't need the reminder. God knows he hears it enough. And yet, the reality still doesn't seem to have sunk in. "You are the one who will inherit everything, Mikhail. That is why Father sent that letter."

He nods and runs a nervous hand through his blonde hair. It is cropped close to his head, a couple inches shorter than mine now, but his fingers still grab at his head like he expects to find hair there. "What if he does kick me out?"

I want to tell Mikhail that won't happen. Not only for his sake, but for mine. I've always had a desire to please my father and be a dutiful son, but I have no interest in Mikhail's inheritance. I don't want to be second-in-command. My entire life has been spent in the background of my family, and I've come to enjoy the shadows. If our father follows through on his threat, I'll be the new recipient of all of his attention. The hopes and dreams and expectations he had for Mikhail will be transferred to me, and I don't want them. Not one bit. Especially if that comes with Mikhail's banishment.