Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

The guard backed away. “I’ll tell him you’re unable to talk.”

“Thank you.”

The guy opened the door for us and hurried away.

The limo launched into traffic, taking us to Kaz’s favorite French spot. It didn’t matter to me where it was. All I wanted was to be with him. We could’ve driven in circles, and I would’ve happily lay in his arms.

This is why people fall in love. Now I get it.

The sun set over this majestic city I’d slowly been falling in love with. With Russia’s long history of volatility and turbulence, it was odd to find beauty here. But there it lay, in every colorful dome. I’d discovered some of the most stunning buildings. They were picturesque.

Even Moscow’s underground was breathtaking. Kazimir had taken me to a stop on the Moscow Metro, Mayakovskaya—a stop on the Zamoskvoretskaya Line that had been named for a Russian poet. Later, during World War II, it had been used as an air raid shelter.

Kaz had told me Mayakovskaya was considered one of the most beautiful subway stations in the entire Moscow Metro system. I’d agreed. Perhaps it was the most elegant subway station in the world. The ceiling featured thirty-four mosaics detailing the twenty-four hours in a Soviet day. Gleaming floors and Art Deco columns ran the length of the station.

Kazimir had even taken me to the Red Square. I’d researched the history. Ivan the Terrible had ordered a church built in 1555 known as St. Basil’s Cathedral. The Russian Orthodox building, which originally incorporated eight other churches, had a unique Byzantine design. There were onion domes of varying heights that resembled the flames of a bonfire.

“Lenin loved the church,” Kaz had said. “However, Stalin being Stalin hated it. He’d even ordered it to be demolished.”

“What happened?”

“It was saved at the last minute and is now a museum.”

Kazimir kept life exciting, constantly introducing me to new things and making me hyped to wake up for a new day.

Even now as I gazed out of the window, I wore a silly grin that would’ve made Maxwell joke on me for a week.

Wait. What’s going on here?

The setting of Moscow had changed since I’d been in the city days ago. Protestors blocked several streets. It had to be thousands of people. The limo slowed. We had to wait a few times and then make a U-turn toward the other direction.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What are they protesting?”

“I don’t know.” Kazimir pulled out his phone, typed, and then pulled up a video.

“Excuse my ignorance, but I always got the impression protesting wouldn’t be a big thing in Russia.”

“You would think with all the news reporters and politicians that are mysteriously found dead, that would be true. But no threat of death could ever silence the people. They actually scream louder when blood is spilled.” He put his phone in front of us and pressed play on a video. “Here. This will tell us.”

“Russian police have already detained more than a 1,000 people in nationwide protests against a proposed government pension overhaul.” A reporter stood in front of a massive crowd screaming and waving signs behind him. “Protesters gathered in cities around Russia to rally against a government proposal to raise the country’s retirement age.”

The camera panned out to men and women of different ages being dragged away by police. More footage displayed protestors in cities all over Russia. I squinted at the words, pissed I hadn’t learned Russian fast enough.

“What do the signs say?” I asked.

“They say, ‘Smirnov, help us.’”

“These protests are seen as the first real challenge to the Kremlin for years.” The camera returned to the news reporter. “But the ongoing protests in President Tikhon Smirnov’s traditional heartland — places like Gukovo and St. Petersburg —may be the better measure of how deep current discontent runs in Russia.”

“Now I understand even more why Smirnov has been sending generals to my house. Pavel mentioned this earlier.” Kazimir shut off the phone. “Smirnov definitely wants me to help him.”

“Will you?”

“No. the only true way to help would be to force him to do the right thing.”

“Could you?”

“At times, I’ve been able to trick him into public good.” Kazimir twirled the ends of my hair. “At this moment, I don’t have the time. I’m very busy this evening.”

I smiled.

“And I’m not sure I like Smirnov anymore.” Kaz placed his arm around my shoulders. “Smirnov didn’t move fast enough on my situation with Sasha, and he had me kill my step-brother in the back of a restaurant like some second-class dog.”

“And if you let Smirnov get battered by the protests?”

“Then his grip on power unravels. The Kremlin will have its eyes on this.”

“I’m sorry to ask so many questions, but—”

“Nyet.” Kazimir held up his hand. “You need to learn everything you can. I want you to stand at my side.”