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BABY FOR THE RUSSIAN BOSS
A MAFIA ROMANCE
BELLA KING
Copyright © 2020 by Bella King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
 CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Also by Bella King
Preview of Claimed for Life: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2

About the Author

 INTRODUCTION

A shocking job loss, a stranger with emerald eyes, and one mind-
blowing night in his bedroom.
That’s how I landed in the mafia, sworn to the most ruthless savage
to ever have walked the earth.

The one time I finally open my heart, and it’s ripped from my chest
by a Machiavellian billionaire.
I guess eighty-hour work weeks were safer than love.
But now I have neither, and I’m staring down at two red lines on a
pregnancy test.
Positive.

Yakov Brute is a vicious bratva boss, and he’s the one responsible for
the baby growing in my belly.

What’s worse is that I haven’t told him yet.

I’m too busy getting tangled up in his bedsheets.
But there are only so many nights I can spend in tortuous bliss
before he notices.
To make things worse, I think I’m starting to fall for the man who
ruined my life.
 In the mafia, one night can be the difference between life and
death,
A kiss can mean a lifetime,
And an unexpected pregnancy can be what seals my fate with the
most dangerous man in the country.

Now, I belong to a ruthless mafia boss, and there’s no turning back.

CHAPTER 1
YAKOV

I
outside.”
let the smoke settle on my tongue before letting it out
with my next words. “We need someone from the

My brother Serge shrugs a wide set of shoulders, reclining in his

chair as though nothing at all were the matter. “We should get a
woman.”
I glare at him. “This isn’t about fun and games.”
He straightens up, leaning over the mahogany desk toward me.
His face is reddened from the whiskey he’s been drinking, and he’s
clearly angry that we had to have this meeting in the first place. So
am I, but I take this seriously.
Serge grabs his glass from the table. “I never said it was, so
don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “We don’t need a woman.”
I never liked my brother, but when I inherited the throne as
leader of the Brute Mafia Family, it was my father’s will that Serge
stays in a leadership position. I’d have him leading a kamikaze
mission if it were up to me, but my father also wanted me to keep
him alive.
I respect my father more than anyone, so I will continue his
legacy exactly how he intended it to be, even if it means tolerating
my brother’s unprofessional attitude.
Serge throws back the rest of his drink, then rises from his
leather seat and turns to the bar, speaking over his shoulder as he
picks his next poison. “I didn’t suggest a woman for no reason,
Yakov. I’m not a fool.”
He looks over his shoulder as though to check whether I buy his
statement about not being a fool.
I don’t.
I raise my eyebrow, keeping the same deep frown that I’ve had
through this entire meeting. “You would needlessly put a woman’s
life at risk?”
He spins around, one hand wrapped firmly around a bottle of
pale scotch and the other clenching his glass as though it owes him
money. “Not needlessly, Yakov. Honestly, you treat me like I have a
walnut for a brain.”
I’m tempted to suggest that he does indeed have a walnut for a
brain, but I bite my tongue.
Serge sighs, pouring his glass half full and setting the scotch
back on the bar behind him. “We need a woman precisely because
you don’t want one. Nobody needs the distraction of a woman’s
curves, what with the raging war between Families, but that’s why
nobody would expect us to do it.”
An inkling of sense begins to creep into his explanation, but I’m
not sure that I like it. “Go on,” I say slowly, lifting my cigar back to
my lips.
Excitement lights up in Serge’s eyes like incandescent bulbs. He
steps away from the bar, scotch sloshing in his glass and dripping
onto the Persian rug. “We get a woman,” he says, a smile creeping
over his face. “One without a history in the mafia. We don’t tell her
anything about what she’s really doing. We find a woman who is so
desperate that she won’t ask questions, but who can also look
professional.”
I rub my chin, listening closely to Serge’s words. I may not like
him, but if he has a good idea, I’d be a fool not to hear him out.
“Desperate and professional?” I ask, trying to be impartial as I pick
through Serge’s idea. “She’ll ask questions, one way or another.”
He shrugs. “ I know you can find someone.”
“Hold up,” I say, pausing right before I take another puff of my
cigar. I squint my eyes at Serge. “You want me to be the one finding
this woman?”
“You’d know who to look for,” he replies.
“This is your idea,” I say, shaking my head, but I won’t let him
pick out the woman even if I was going to go through with his plan.
I like to be the one in control. This is my mafia, after all, and I won’t
let my brother screw it up.
 Serge returns to the table, slouching back in his seat with a glass
of scotch. “I’ll do whatever I need to do, but that’s only if we go
through with this. I haven’t explained the rest of the plan.”
Fair enough.
I flick my finger in the air. “Continue.”
“Maksim got picked off on Grove Street, if you remember,” Serge
says, “And that was because he looked like a mafia thug. The idiot
was wearing a suit and shouting curses in Russian in broad daylight.”
I chuckle. “I remember him. He was stupid but useful. God rest
his soul.”
Serge nods. “I liked the guy, but he lasted, what, two weeks?”
“Twelve days.”
“Exactly, so how is anyone else going to go around collecting
intel without getting themselves riddled with bullet holes? Our men
are more obvious than the fucking cops.”
I hate that he’s saying this, but every single word from his
ignorant mouth has been true so far. It’s all too obvious when we
send men into enemy territory, and we’ve lost too many of our own
for us to keep doing it.
But we need intel if we’re to bring down the Mokotov Family, and
someone from the outside would be able to get information without
raising suspicion. Even if they did raise suspicion, the worst thing
that would happen would be that they got killed, and since they’re
not part of the Family, it wouldn’t matter.
Except that the police start getting involved when you cause the
death of an innocent woman. The public turns a blind eye to gang
violence and mafia wars, but when a regular person gets killed, her
sweet innocent face is plastered all over the morning news, and the
cops start getting aggressive.
So, Serge’s idea isn’t exactly smart, but I might be willing to give
it a try if I can find the right woman.
I tap two full inches of ash off the end of my cigar before
addressing Serge again. He’s waiting like a bug-eyed freak, staring
me down while I smoke and think over his proposition. I don’t like it,
but I also don’t like any of our alternatives.
 Finally, I grab what’s left of the drink in Serge’s glass and splash
it into the back of my throat, slamming the crystal glass down so
hard on the table that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand.
Serge jumps, giving me the reaction that I wanted from him.
“Alright,” I say, standing up. “We’ll do it.”
Serge springs from his seat, his face lighting up like I just told
him that I had poisoned the entire Mokotov Family. “I’ll go out today
and find the girl. There’s a coworking place that a lot of them –”
“I’ll find her,” I bark, cutting him off. “Leave this to me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, disappointment showing on his face
with such obviousness that I’m no longer certain that this wasn’t just
about finding a bitch to fuck instead of to send into war.
“I’m positive, and you’re wasting my time now, so get out of
here,” I grumble, throwing my hand out toward the door so hard
that the cherry end of my cigar breaks off and crackles against the
wool carpet.
I stomp it with Italian leather as Serge rushes out of the room.
If I have no other option, I’m going to find a woman to send into
the most dangerous mafia warzone of all time, and she’ll have no
idea how much danger she’s in until it’s too late.
CHAPTER 2
MELANIE

“I wouldn’t exactly fuck my way up to the top, no,” I

reply, taking a long sip of a triple-shot espresso-infused
frappe through a thick plastic straw. “But, to be honest, I might suck
for it.”
Jennifer erupts into a fit of laughter, smacking her palm into the
wobbly metal table between us. “God, Melanie, you crack me up
sometimes.”
I smile behind my straw as I lift my cup for another sip. “I’m not
lying.”
“Well, as long as your boss is a hunk, I approve. I won’t let you
suck off any weirdo creeps.”
I shrug. “Whatever it takes,” I reply playfully, but both of us know
that I would never even consider doing any sort of sexual favors for
a better position at work. I’ll work eighty hours a week and overdose
on caffeine, but I won’t degrade myself. Mama didn’t raise a fool.
Besides, I’m waiting until the end of my career to get pregnant.
The last thing I want is to slip up and end up with a bun in the oven
before I’m ready. I have everything so meticulously planned out that
there is absolutely no room for error.
Just like my daily schedule, which is crammed to the second with
things to do. Only today did I managed to squeeze in a ten-minute
break to spend some time with Jennifer. It’s been so long since
we’ve caught up.
But sometimes, I do think that it would be better to ease up on
all the work and just let myself get knocked up. It would take a
lesser toll on my heart. These frappes are borderline killing me with
how frequently I drink them. I’m on my second one today with no
sign of slowing down.
I glance down at the little silver watch on my wrist, and my heart
leaps. “Shit, I have a meeting in…” I groan. “Three minutes ago.”
 Jennifer springs up from her seat, preparing to head to the office
with me. “I’m sure you can make it in time.”
I give her a condescending look. “Three minutes ago. I’m already
late.”
“Oh,” she says, sitting back down. “Well, I’m not running. I don’t
have anything to do until two when my manager gets back from the
–”
“We’ll catch up tonight,” I blurt, snatching my purse off the side
of the chair and gulping down as much of my frappe before chucking
it in the bin. “See you!”
Jennifer waves me goodbye, but I barely lift my hand as I leap
across the road and run to the office across the street from the
coffee shop. I’m fueled by anxiety, caffeine, and a ruthless need to
prove myself to the boss so that I can get that promotion I’ve been
eying. Today could be the day!
I whip into the cold interior of the office building, breezing past
the security desk without flashing my badge.
“Ma’am,” a polite but firm voice interjects just before I reach the
elevator.
I swivel around so that the guard can see my face. They know
who I am, so it’s not like I need to fish around in my purse for my
badge. That would be a waste of time, and I’m already late.
“Badge, please,” the guard says lazily from behind his desk,
nodding at the next person who enters as they flash their badge.
I groan. “I’m late,” I mouth, pointing to my watch, then leaning
back to press the button on the elevator for the top floor.
The guard shakes his head. “I need to see a badge.”
I roll my eyes as hard as I can, unzipping my purse with undue
aggression and charging away from the elevator toward the security
desk. The elevator dings behind me, the doors rolling open for the
person who came in after me.
That was my elevator.
Fishing around in my purse, my fingers scrape against a few
credit cards, a box of ibuprofen, and a tampon, but no badge. It
shouldn’t be difficult to find because it’s on a bright yellow lanyard.
Did I forget it somewhere?
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