Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

The next hours were passionate, toe-curling, can’t-remember-my-own-name kind of lovemaking. Kazimir made me explode so many times—on my back, on my knees, on my side, and over him. Kazimir loved me hard, soft, and everything in-between. It was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined.

When we finally went to sleep, I dreamed of babies—many of them. Little mixtures of us.

Chapter 15

Kazimir

Days passed in Paris. Besides a few Corsican men in vans here and there, no problems came.

Back in Moscow, Zahkar and Boris were busy on the monkey head mystery. There was still no word from Maxwell or Misha. I ignored it and chose to focus on my mouse.

Emily and I spent relaxing days together. Peace rested between us. We had not talked about her going to a doctor yet. I knew the conversation would rise soon.

Surely, she’s missed her period by now. She must be pregnant.

It became an obsession. When she slept, I held her stomach and knew.

Today, I planned to broach the topic.

We’d separated.

She’d gone to the Satin Butterfly’s spa.

I’d chosen a Russian bathhouse I used to frequent in my old days partying in Paris. For as long as I’d chosen this life, I’d celebrated in this country. It made sense that I would bring Emily here, so soon after our victory from Sasha and her brother, Daryl.

We’ve lost so many. It’s time for us to relax.

In the Russian bathhouse, I leaned back on the wooden bench. A towel hung over my head. Another wrapped around my waist. Steam rose all around. Pavel and three of my other men stood by the walls. They wore towels and held no guns. There was no need. I’d watched Pavel take down a bear with his two hands after drinking a whole bottle of vodka. If someone came in as a threat, they wouldn’t make it out alive.

Pavel grumbled, “This is going to ruin my hair.”

“You better be joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Why aren’t you sitting?”

“I’m on guard.”

“You should rest your leg.”

“It’s fine. Misha is a bad shot.”

Pavel didn’t have to prove anything, but his failure to bring Misha possibly messed with his ego.

“Fine. Stand.” I smirked. “And when we get back to the hotel, I’ll make sure your stylists are sent for.”

Pavel smiled for the first time that day.

I may never end this vacation.

The days had been so harmonious, I didn’t think any problem would calm.

All know now. Let the lion rest.

Exhaling, I scanned the space. Steam rose and thickened the air. The exterior of the bathhouse looked like an old French inn, nothing like the bathhouses I’d seen in my past. Ancient stones outlined a huge black doorway. This one had dry saunas, wet saunas, dunking pools, and an in-house restaurant. The host had hinted at a few bathhouse hookers and tried to hand me a menu for some of the masseuses with alternative forms of release.

I didn’t need another woman’s hands on my cock. That length belonged to my mouse now.

The place was so frequented by Russians, many thought of it as a Russian bathhouse. Truthfully, a Parisienne with Algerian roots owned the place.

I enjoyed it regardless. A bathhouse was proof that there was an art to living. A ritual dedicated to the harmony and beauty of the body. One needed these moments to sit back in steam and listen to nothing but silence.

Still, even though the owner had different roots, he maintained the traditional Russian banya. It was a sauna with a difference. The steam was wetter and easier to deal with. More hydrating. More detoxifying.

After the steam session, a honey-and-sea-salt scrub would follow. Emily had ordered that, wanting me delicious smelling. From that suggestion, all I could think about was having my cock in her mouth.

Covering my head and upper face a little with a towel, I closed my eyes and sank into the peaceful darkness.

Yes. I needed this.

Once the scrub was done, I would get a light thwacking with oak leaves and then dive into an icy pool to boost circulation.

We needed this trip.

Things would change once we confirmed her pregnancy. Even more, the brotherhood would possibly be shattered after this monkey head person was identified. Secretly, I hoped the person was outside the Bratva. But, due to his ability to go in and out of my house, I knew it was someone close.

Is there no loyalty anymore? Forget about it. Focus on the darkness. The soothing silence.

Something beeped off in the distance, taking me away from my thoughts.

I kept my eyes closed as Pavel whispered into his phone.

Who could be calling now?

I attempted to get back to my meditative state, but Pavel cleared his throat and spoke up. “The French are outside the door.”

Are you kidding me? Just a week of peace. Maybe two days with no one bothering me.

“What would you like us to do?” Pavel asked.

“The French are outside. Did the Butcher bless us with his presence?”