Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“No.”

“Call up Abram. Have him sent out there to find out what’s going on. There are a lot of important things Uncle Igor had been monitoring for me. No chaos could come that way.”

“I will.”

I hung up and considered what could be happening in Prague.

Uncle Igor had a vault below the castle. Inside, he kept his most valuable treasures. Also, there were several hidden maps showing the location of my weapons, even the nukes lying within Russian’s secret bases. I called the nukes my babies. They’d solidified my reign over the world.

My codes resided there too.

Years ago, Uncle Igor had argued with me about it. He’d thought the codes should’ve been separated, that I shouldn’t have access to both at the same time. Therefore, one set of codes remained with him, and the matching part lay in my vault under my mother’s old home.

If someone tried to steal them, they would still need the brother unit. It wouldn’t be a major problem if they were taken. I had tracking devices on them, but it would annoy the shit out of me.

Too much is going on right now. Everything should be put back in order.

There was Bratva administration issues and Emily’s monkey head. And then, for some reason, Russian citizens decided to protest. Meanwhile, Misha was nowhere to be found, and when he was discovered—at a ballet of all things—he’d decided to injure my men.

What the hell could be more important than my invitation to come?

Misha knew I wouldn’t kill him for the disrespect, especially after losing his father. Now, Misha was all I had of my uncle.

Damn you, cousin. At least tell me what’s going on.

Perhaps, Sasha’s dead body hanging out in the square might’ve caused a bit hysteria. Now, someone was looking into Emily’s prints.

Why? If you want to know more about her, come to me. Let’s talk.

I hated mysterious shadows working behind my back.

They better hide.

I didn’t return to my bedroom. Instead, I paced in the living room, pissed at the world and mad at the moon.

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of my limo driver. He’d been ordered through a service. From now on, I would have my men drive us. Never before had I dealt with these sorts of things. Having Emily with me made me more cautious.

He sat in his chair shaking as me and my guards stood in front of him.

I smiled. “How are you today?”

“I-I’m fine.” He glanced between the guards and me. “H-have I done something wrong?”

“Have you?”

“I…no.”

“What do you know about science?”

“Science?” He opened his mouth and closed it. “I just drive—”

“You lift fingerprints too.”

The driver pissed himself. It darkened his trousers and dripped along the chair.

I stepped back to get away from the rising stench. “So, you know what I’m talking about?”

“I…” He raised his hands in the air. “They offered me a lot of money…a-and…they—”

“Who are they?”

“These two guys.”

“What did they look like?”

The guy spat out the words. “French. Uh. Parisian, maybe. Black hair. Wait, one had dark sandy blond hair. They both had suits. I thought they might have been official. With the government.”

“Did they have badges?”

“No, but they had guns.”

“We do too.”

The driver’s hands shook. “They said they would protect me if—”

“And are they protecting you now?” I looked around. “Where are they?”

“Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t kill me.”

“Did they have names?”

“They didn’t tell me.”

“What did they want?”

“Anything the woman had touched. There was a handkerchief and a glass of wine she’d left. I gave it to them.”

I nodded. “Anything else?”

“They kept asking me if I saw a man called ‘the mouse’ or maybe if you mentioned him. They were really interested in some guy named ‘the mouse.’ They said I would get more money, if I had a description.”

So, they’re not Bratva. All in the brotherhood know who the mouse is. Who’s this? Could it be Jean-Pierre and his cousins? No. Too low and not that stupid.

“What did you tell them?” I asked.

“I-I said that I saw a lot of men, but I didn’t know if any of them were the mouse.”

“Do you have kids?” I asked.

“H-huh?” He looked at my men as if he could get help.

“Do you have kids?”

“N-no.”

I eyed him. “A wife or girlfriend?”

“N-no—”

“Kill him.” I left the room.

“Wait. Please. Oh! No!” He screamed as they cut his throat. Usually, I would’ve remained and watched, but there were other things to do.

More men. I need more of them here. Who could’ve gone after the limo driver? Interpol? No. They would’ve lifted the prints themselves.

I headed down the hallway and opened the door.

Apparently, the man’s screams had carried through the suite.

When I entered the bedroom, my mouse sat up in bed.

I set my phone down by the night table. “I’m sorry, mysh, did he wake you?”

“Yes. Who was that screaming?”

“Our driver.” I undid my robe and got back in bed.