Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“Now?”

“I’m feeling pretty romantic.” He winked. “I want to show you everything.”

“How long will we be here?”

“As long as necessary.”

I eyed him. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m getting a sneaky vibe from you.”

“You New Yorkers are always suspicious.”

“Hmmm.” I spotted a tall structure and pointed. “Is that the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes. That’s the Iron Lady.”

“I’ve never heard that nickname.”

“The French are odd, but that’s what they call her. To me, it looks like a big metal penis.”

I giggled. “It does not look like a penis.”

He shrugged and sped through traffic. For a few seconds, I worried the cops would stop us, then hoped they wouldn’t for their sake.

“Where do you want to go tomorrow?” he asked.

“Wow. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“This city is full of monuments—Notre Dame Cathedral. The Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Paris National Opera.” He slowed as we hit a stop light. “But I have somewhere that may intrigue you.”

“And where’s that?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

What are you up to, Kaz?

Twenty minutes later, we drove up to a large building in the center of bustling Paris.

“La Cuisine Perdue is at the top of Paris’ Centre Pompidou. You’ll love it.”

“I already do.”

“We’ll stay here for a while.”

“What’s a while?”

He ignored that question. “You’ll get to see the French capital and the Louvre.”

Those words were a perfect distraction from my wonderings. Excitement drummed through me.

I grinned. “We can go to the Louvre?”

“Yes.” Kazimir stopped the car right in front of valet. “Maybe we can spend some time in France for a while, see some art, buy a little, waste a few weeks, and then go back and start your lessons.”

“A few weeks?”

“Whatever’s necessary.”

“Hmmm.”

You’ve been wanting me to get away from Russia and rest for a while. Probably didn’t want me sleuthing around the Bratva for monkey head guy. And now we happen to be in France. Well-played, Kazimir. Well-played.

“Thoughts, mysh?”

“We could stay a little.”

“I brought Xavier’s ashes with me just in case you wanted to drop by the French Rivera.”

Skepticism must’ve covered my face. “You just happened to bring his ashes?”

“I did.”

Sneaky lion.

“Thank you.” I glanced out the window. “But I don’t want to dump Xavier’s ashes yet.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Plus, I want to wait to take Maxwell with us when I do the ashes. I just wanted to talk to you both about that plan first.”

“Whatever you want, I will do.” He left the car and handed the key over to the valet attendant. “There’s plenty of other things to do here.”

He wants me to take a break. Maybe he even needs a break too.

I sighed. “Okay. Let’s do Paris for a few days, a week at the most. I don’t want my crew to feel lost or anything.”

“Oh no, we don’t want that.”

“I hear the sarcasm.”

“From me? Of course not.”

Of course.

With a wicked smile, Kazimir ushered us into the steel and glass edifice. It was a quick ride up the elevator, and then we entered an extravagant spread with a gorgeous view of the city.

We traveled through a mahogany doorway where yummy aromas danced in the air.

I entered the main dining area. The whole place was empty. Instead of walls, there were large glass windows. A coffered ceiling dangled huge crystal chandeliers. Green leather chairs surrounded shiny black tables.

Five men stood at the back, staring in front of them and showing no emotion, all professional and dressed in white uniforms. They must’ve been in their fifties.

A chubby man hurried from the back wearing a black suit and gray tie. “Kazimir! They said you were coming. It’s been too long.”

They hugged and then spoke in French.

After a few seconds, Kazimir gestured to me.

The chef pulled out his glasses from his pocket and placed it on his face. “Your mouse?”

Really, Kaz? You could tell people that my name is Emily.

“My name is Pierre. I’m the chef of this meager little place.”

Kazimir huffed. “Meager?”

I extended my hand and shook his. “Nice to meet you. My name is Emily.”

“Aww. Emily is so much better than mouse.” The chef took my hand and kissed it. “Your experience will be magnifique.”

“No kissing.” Kazimir shook his head, although a smile remained on his face. “I know how you French are. Don’t get any ideas.”

“We can’t help ourselves.” The chef spread out his hands and gestured to the restaurant. “So…you’ve closed down the entire place. You’ve demanded the best of everything. What will we have first?”

“Give me one minute, Emily.” Kazimir walked off with the chef. All powerful frame and sinewy grace, he was such a wonderful man I still couldn’t believe we’d come together. Addicted and obsessed, I could only wait until he returned.

The chef and Kazimir whispered.

A brown haired man walked over to me. “I’ll take you to your table.”

“Thank you.” I followed. The entire time, my gaze remained locked to the glittering world beyond glass.