Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“Let’s go.” I marched off.

She widened her eyes but followed.

Pavel called back to me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m showering on the plane. Get Misha on the phone in five minutes. I’ll be back.”

My plane had already been parked in the private wing of the airport. There, I rushed on, showered, and dressed. No suit for today. Army boots. Black pants and shirt. My uniform of the old days when I would go out into the night and knock motherfuckers’ heads off.

Today would be a bloody day.

My hair clung, wet, to my head.

I’d barely dried it off, not wanting to waste any more time.

The small woman with the blue hair sat in the living room. For some reason, I needed her near. I could’ve gotten many to hack, but this was Emily’s pet and having her around comforted me.

She stopped typing in the keyboard and looked up. “I have some locations of Jean-Pierre’s warehouses. Emily asked me to get the address for the biggest ones.”

“She did? What was she going to do?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

“Good job. Keep the addresses. We’ll blow them up.” I walked off. “Come on and keep up.”

She unhooked the cord and grabbed the laptop without turning it off.

I headed away.

She scurried behind me.

We left the plane.

Spotting Pavel, I stormed forward.

“Maxwell is in Paris. Here he is.” Pavel held a phone out as he ran to me.

I took it from him.

Pavel pointed forward. “I’ve got a jeep for us over here.”

I placed the phone to my here and yelled into it. “Get the devil’s location right fucking now!”

Misha’s voice remained calm. “Pavel explained everything to me. My people are on it now—”

“Your people?” I marched toward the black jeep. “Your fucking people are on it? You need to be on it!”

On the other side of the line, Misha spoke up. “They contacted Maxwell. Emily talked to him.”

I stopped in front of the jeep. “When were you going to tell me this?”

Misha cleared his throat. “I called your phone.”

“You fucked up. Celina stole my babies? My fucking nukes! No fucking phone call—”

“I thought I had it under control.”

“Emily’s gone!”

Silence hit the line.

“Instead of you handling the situation yourself or calling me, you enlist some fucking psychos to track the nukes?” My chest rose and fell.

Misha sighed. “Kazimir…I’m sorry. You know I…I would never want something like this to happen to you…I understand…my mother…”

My eyes burned. I blinked and put my back to Pavel. My throat tightened. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to think, but I had to move fast. Jean-Pierre was an idiot. Had a short fuse. Someone had taken his woman, and he thought it was me. Now, I would have to deal with the situation while making sure Emily stayed alive.

Misha spoke again, “Kazimir, I’ll do anything. I’m on it.”

“You will.” I gripped the phone. “Because if something happens to Emily, your ballerina will never be able to dance again.”

I hung up the phone and got in the jeep.

Pavel climbed in after me. “Where do you want to go?”

“Who’s the top brother here?”

“His name is David. They call him King David. He’s in Little Russia.”

It was a small neighborhood in the southwest of Paris.

“Then let’s wake up King David. I’ll need all his men.”

“I figured you would want to go his way. I’m on it.” Pavel gave the order to our driver, and we sped off.

The whole time, I gazed out the window as we headed to Little Russia.

Mysh…I’m coming for you. I swear.