Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“You’re supposed to call her, Mrs. Jones.”

He winked at me. “Oh I’m going to call her Mrs. Jones alright. Trust me on that.”

I frowned.

He stopped smiling. “But of course the mission is Operation Ava.”

“I can’t believe you’re even considering having sex with her grandmother, especially after Valentina.”

“Valentina and I weren’t in love. That was just fun. I’m a single man, and besides. . .pussy doesn’t have an age.”

I glared at him. “Let’s not discuss Mrs. Jones’s. . .you know.”

“Got you. My bad. That was inappropriate. I need to be more professional.” He rubbed his nose. “I smoked another joint after the shower. I’m a little bit more special than usual, but I’m on the case.”

“As long as you’re not on Ava’s grandmother, then we’re fine.”

Maxwell curved his lips into a smile. “That was a good one, Misha. You’ve got a great sense of humor.”

The next elevator arrived.

The doors opened.

I stepped on . “Let’s see how long my humor remains in these next days.”

“Don’t worry, Misha. We’ve got this.”

Chapter 12

Ava

Anticipation vibrated through me. I was shocked that my makeup had come out right as much as my hand had shook through the whole process. I always came an hour and a half before curtain to personally do my hair and makeup.

In my new dressing room, I looked in the vanity mirror. “Okay. Everything is in its place.”

Next, I assessed my toes.

A dancer’s feet were vital to her entire career.

I checked my feet more in a day than any non-dancer ever would. I even carried around a small medical bag to take care of any problems from a rehearsal or performance. In it, I had everything I could ever need for blisters, cracked nails, and other issues.

Relax. Everything will be fine. You’ve done this before.

But in many ways, my thoughts were lies.

Tonight, the company would announce in front of everyone that I was Mariinsky Theater’s prima ballerina.

My nerves flared.

No matter how many times I performed, stage fright came. Tonight, my anxiety had quadrupled. One would think the second night would be easier, but now the city had been raving about me all day.

Imposter syndrome was creeping into my mind. I kept doubting myself, wondering if they all had made a mistake. Perhaps, after tonight people would be disappointed and believe that they’d made an error.

No. I’m good. I worked hard to be good. I’ve dedicated every second of my life to be the best. I’ve got this.

O and I had a routine before every performance. I finished one part of it—soup and bread. Large dinners gave me a heavy feeling during the performance. After the show we would go out to dinner and gorge on large entries.

Pre-show required light meals, water, and snacks.

The second part was making sure I had matching panties on. Once I was so nervous, I had forgotten to wear underwear. I spent the whole performance worrying about showing my pussy to the audience. Not only was it a massive distraction, but I was sure some of the danseurs got a peek.

Okay. Panties on.

I sat in my new dressing room. This hadn’t been the first time I’d been in here. I often visited O in this same room. I’d even helped her decorate it.

The dressing room was a ballerina’s second home. Due to having small roles, I had shared a dressing area with several ballerinas. Still we treated our section as a sort of dorm room, posting pictures, quotes, and memorabilia in our space. Some had a small television or radio on their counters for breaks.

Tonight, I sat in my own private dressing room and exhaled.

I made it.

I’d been repeating that all day. It was still hard to drank this new reality in.

I really made it.

I’d arrived at the theater early and put my personal touches on the wall around the huge mirror. On the right, I hung a framed picture of my grandmother and me. It was taken after my last performance in New York. She’d bought me daisies and wore her favorite wig. Shirly temple curls outlined grandma’s face. She had beamed with pride right next to me. She had to work three double shifts in a row with the cleaning company, just to get time off to see me dance.

My eyes watered.

I wish you were here. All your hard work paid off, grandma. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. One day, you’ll never have to clean anybody else’s house or office again. And definitely, no more toilets.

In spite of the money I saved staying with O, it hadn’t been much. As a regular ballerina with the company, my salary was the equivalent of thirty thousand dollars. With the new position as prima ballerina, it would rise to a hundred thousand dollars. I planned to send money home to grandma as soon as my pay checks shifted.