Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Emily widened her eyes.

“I watched my mother kill him. My father returned with my uncle and they hid the body.”

“Uncle Igor?”

“Yes. So, sometimes mothers do kill. Those actually are the best ones. The kids know they’re safer. The child looks up and sees beauty and strength. They are better because of it.” I tenderly took her arm, gazed into her eyes, and forced myself to say the words I’d never wanted to utter. “However, if you don’t want to have our child, I will understand, and we will…we will do what is required in that situation.”

She remained silent.

My heart tightened. I couldn’t end this topic with just that. “But if you decide to not have our child, let it be more than fear that stops you.”

She swallowed.

“We don’t get scared, mysh, not when we’re in this together. Not when I will move mountains and put holes in cities to make sure you’re happy and safe, and that my child is freer than any human walking this planet.”

She let out a long breath. “You’re not scared?”

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “I’m happy.”

“We don’t know yet.”

“I’m sure of it. You’re pregnant.” I pulled her into my arms. “I’m excited. Let’s confirm it as soon as possible.”

She moved away from my arms but held my hand. “Give me a day or two.”

I guided her to the dining area. I’d already asked the chef to make breakfast. “I’ll give you a day or two. Whatever you want.”

She paused right before we entered. “Okay.”

“Yes?”

She let out a long breath. “Let’s find out.”

“I can call a doctor now.”

“No.” She trembled a little. “Give me a few days. And we have more things to think about right now. How long will we be in Paris?”

I’d planned on taking us back to Moscow in a few days, but due to the dead chimpanzee hanging in our bedroom, I wasn’t ready to bring her back. I wanted to be able to give her some names. She would want to kill him, and I would want the son of a bitch dead.

“I want to spend some more time with you in Paris,” I said. “We’re on vacation.”

“Kazimir, you just killed your president’s general. I wouldn’t call this a holiday.”

I shrugged. “That was a technicality that couldn’t be avoided.”

“What is Smirnov going to do?”

“Send another general.” I gritted my teeth. “I’ll have to call him soon.”

“You think?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Perhaps, you can fit calling the president into your schedule.”

With a wicked grin, I guided her to the dining table. “I’ll call Smirnov after breakfast, if that will make the baby and you feel better.”

She stirred in her chair. Already, I could see her ready to run from the table, but it was too late for escape with my mouse.

“Kazimir, we’re not saying I’m pregnant until I know for sure.”

“There’s no need to hide from the truth.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I can’t with you this morning. I can’t.”

“Well, I can.”

“That doesn’t work.”

“It does.” I knitted my fingers together on the table. “What do you want to do today?”

“Besides hear that you’ve called your president and straightened everything out?”

“Yes,” I grumbled. “Besides that. Do you want to see some art? The usual tourist things? Or…”

Intrigue hit her eyes. “Or? And you better not say anything about a doctor.”

“I won’t.” I formed my lips into a smile. “I’ll stay quiet about it for now. Until then, do you want me to take you on a surprise date?”

She raised her eyebrows. Her face brightened, but her voice was still shaky. “I’m kind of excited to see what your surprise would be.”

“It’s perfect. Not a typical tourist thing, although some have been courageous enough to do it.”

“Hmmm.” The nervous expression never left her face. “This sounds good. I’m down. And what about your president?”

I let out a long breath. “I’ll deal with him before the date.”

“Good.”

And so, my mouse and I had breakfast.

Although someone had tried to lift her fingerprints in Paris and another had sent her a bloody message in Moscow, we laughed without a care in the world. I’d been in Paris not even a full twenty-four hours and had already killed two men—the driver and the general. Somewhere in between that, my mouse was terrified of being pregnant.

I’m on vacation. More will die, if they bother me. But, whatever I do, I’ll take my time with her on the pregnancy topic.

When we finished breakfast, Emily refused to drop the president problem. I could tell the general’s death worried her. In fact, I should’ve been a little concerned. But how could I think of anything else, knowing our child may be growing inside her?

For my mouse, I swallowed my pride and called President Smirnov. She sat at the desk with me as I put the phone on speaker.