Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Prologue

Emily

Kazimir. Kazimir.

A blindfold covered my eyes.

Naked, I stood on a two-foot pedestal in six-inch heels. The shoes were satin crimson like the yards of ribbons tying my hands together. My legs were free…for now.

For the past hour, Kazimir had been tying the ribbons to my body and securely binding me to a large gold cross that went from the ceiling to the floor. Yesterday, his staff installed the cross and hammered the top to the beams. I had no idea what it would be used for.

Later, he’d told me to get naked and one by one, pulled out long satin ribbons. With him fully clothed and me nude, the moment felt more erotic.

And then he’d raised my hands above my head and tied them to the center of the cross. It hadn’t been tight. I had space to walk away from the cross and enough ribbon to step off the pedestal. There was even space for him to stand behind me on the pedestal.

Next, he’d placed the blindfold on.

What are you up to?

More ribbon slipped along my skin delivering shivers through my body.

Kazimir. Kazimir.

I felt tangled in his net, and I had no regrets and no need to be free. I trembled with anticipation for the pleasure I couldn’t imagine but was guaranteed to experience.

I couldn’t see him, but Kazimir’s deep, sexy voice filled the air. “Now, the mouse is trapped.”

“What happened to the mouse after she was trapped?”

Kaz whispered close to my ear. “The lion ruined her for anyone else.”

“You’ve already ruined me.”

“I haven’t even begun.” His warm hand slid along my bare hips. “Do you trust me, mysh?”

Sunk in a world without light, I leaned against him, letting my relaxed posture speak for me instead. “Yes.”

“That was a shaky yes.”

“Very true, but being tied up and not able to see…that’s a big sign of trust.”

“Good point.”

“I’ve never let anyone do this to me.”

“And no one ever will.” He slipped his hands up my body and cupped my breasts. He pinched my nipples. A moan escaped my lips. I shivered in delight.

“Our enemies are gone.” He spoke sweetly in my ear.

Yesterday morning, when the sun rose above Moscow’s capital building, those lovely rays had decorated Sasha’s corpse as it dangled from the flagpole.

Subtle was not Kazimir’s strong suit.

Kazimir whispered in my other ear. “Now what, mysh?”

“I don’t know.” I groaned as he toyed with my nipples, caressing the areolas and squeezing the tips. “Kaz…”

His touch disappeared.

“Kaz?” I sensed him all around me although I had no idea where he was. Darkness served as my eyesight.

I breathed in the space. His scent filled the air—masculine, yet designer cologne. The fragrance comforted me nearly as much as his touch. My heartbeats increased, thumping in my ears. I couldn’t catch his footsteps.

He was a silent lion, hidden by shadows, watching and waiting for the right moment to consume me.

In Russian, I whispered, “Where are you, lion?”

He hissed right behind me. “Your accent makes my cock hard. Are you trying to get me to fuck you immediately?”

“Maybe.”

He pressed his bare length against my ass. He had undressed sometime after he’d blindfolded me, and I was mad I couldn’t behold that sexy sculpted frame.

I pouted. “I want to see you.”

“No patience?” Kaz placed those big hands on my waist and pulled me closer to him from behind. With his mouth, he captured the curve of my neck and brushed his lips against my ear. “For the past few days, I’ve been trying to learn self-control with your pussy.”

“You’ve done a bad job. Thank God. I don’t want you to have self-control. I want to be destroyed.”

“It’s my pussy. Why would I want to destroy it?” And then his touch was gone.

I called out in the darkness. “Come back.”

Now in front of me, he pulled at the ribbons as if testing their strength. “What’s next, mysh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re planning something.”

“Sasha and Darryl have only been dead for a few days.”

“Almost a week.” He kissed the sensitive fold of my elbow. “What have you been thinking about when it comes to Moscow? You’ve hired more men.”

How could I not?

When we were fighting Sasha, Kazimir had taken me down to Kapotnya, a rough ghetto in the southeast of Moscow. There, he grabbed men for me. Afro-Russians. Many were children of Ivory Coast and Nigerian migrants.

Even though neo-Nazis and skinheads tried to keep them down, they united with other unprotected people—Muslims and Middle-Eastern refugees. With all the decks stacked against them, they figured out ways to feed themselves and survive in a region of Moscow ranked as the worst to place live for decades. A place where people were so broke, they didn’t have pets because they would eat them.

Against Kazimir’s wishes, I’d gone back down there with my two men—Boris and Pavel. They’d been directly appointed by Kazimir.

There, I’d checked Kapotnya to learn more about them. Even though this was Moscow and a foreign group, every street had a game. A code. A way about how people rocked with each other. Boris and Pavel attempted to give me a crash course. In the middle of that, I’d found more men to add in my visit. More who were desperate for food and somewhere warm to sleep.