Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“I only met two of your candidates.” I followed.

“That’s good for now.” He guided me to the dancefloor.

It wasn’t until I got in his arms that I asked, “What did you tell them in fenya?”

“The truth.”

“Which was what?”

“That I would end the world, if you were gone.”

“Just the world? Not the universe or galaxy?”

“I don’t have the weapons for that, yet. With this world, someone will make that weapon. Humans can’t help themselves.”

The ballad played on. The singer’s voice flowed over the guitar’s strumming. Several other couples came out onto the dancefloor.

“Hmmm.” Kazimir watched someone behind me. I looked over my shoulder. The one guy I hadn’t met at our table rose from the table and walked toward the doors. The woman who came with him remained at the table, watching him leave. Worry creased her face.

Is he leaving before I can meet him? No. Can’t be.

I checked him again. All I could make out was a big frame and red hair. I whispered to Kazimir, “Who’s that?”

“The last candidate you haven’t met. Abram.”

“Is he leaving?”

“Probably.” Kazimir watched him some more and then looked at me. “He was very quiet this evening. Stiff and uptight.”

“Nervous?”

“No, but something.”

“Do you want me to check him out?”

Kazimir laughed. “I know more about Abram than he knows about himself.”

“Still—”

“No. These are not men I would have you check out. The things these men have done to dance in this ballroom tonight…it would scare the average person. And although there’s nothing average about you, I don’t want you around them.”

“I wonder why Abram left.”

“It doesn’t matter. We have meetings this week. Territories to divide. Positions to fill. They’ll remain in Moscow until we’ve decided everything.”

Kazimir caught me up as much as he could. He explained that when a Bratva member died, especially a high level, his territory and products needed to be handed over to a new person within a week of his death. If not, by rule of the brotherhood, anyone could fight the other for it. Sasha, Luka, and even Oleg’s deaths had put a lot of wealth on the table, ready to be taken. While these men may have rushed to the party to see what the lion’s mouse looked like, a lot had come to get their slice of the money pie.

But why did Abram leave so early?

I glanced over my shoulder again. He’d definitely walked out right after Kazimir’s speech as if he’d been insulted by something.

The dinner hadn’t even began.

I spotted the table. Nikolay and his wife had gone to the floor to dance. While Nikolay lovingly gazed at his wife, Anya stared Kazimir’s way. She noticed me catch her and snapped away her view.

Hmmm.

The rock band switched to hard hitting music.

“Oh! This is my favorite.” Kazimir went wild.

I widened my eyes, trying to follow the lead singer’s rapid Russian over the guitar.

Kazimir began yelling out the lyrics. Nikolay appeared on his side and screamed out the words with him as he did some fast, stomping motion.

Oh wow. This is apparently a crowd favorite.

More rushed out on the floor. Excitement hit me as I danced fast with my crazy lion, laughing the whole way through. Never had I seen Kaz like this before—pumping his hands in the air, jumping with some of his other brothers as they screamed and yelled out the lyrics.

All I could do was chuckle, scream out garbled Russian, and jump too. Somehow, my heels survived it. The music was like heroin to the bloodstream, hard with no sign of calming down.

Kazimir punched and jumped in the air, screaming. Pure happiness covered his face. For the hundredth time, I knew I could never walk away from him.

The dinner party went on for hours.

We ate and drank, laughed, and danced.

Abram shouldn’t have left. It made him suspicious to me.

Nikolay and Zahkar were slowly winning me over. They shared a few things about Kazimir, when he wasn’t dragging me away and twirling me around the floor. While Zahkar had known Kazimir since they were little boys and had even been in Kaz’s first gang, Nikolay knew Kazimir when he’d become the lion.

Both seemed loyal, but the jury was still out.

By the time dessert arrived, Kazimir had slipped us out of the ballroom, lifted me up in one full sweep, and hurried me to the staircase.

Very tipsy and in an awesome mood, I held onto him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re done.”

“Really, Kaz? You have guests.”

“We have guests.” He shrugged as he carried me. “They know their way out.”

I giggled. “You’re being possessive.”

“No. Being possessive is taking you to the middle of the dancefloor and fucking you until you squirt over my cock just to let them know there’s no competition.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t want anyone to see.”

“But I don’t mind if they hear.”

“You would.”

“How wet are your panties right now?”