Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

I widened my eyes and stared at him.

I still had not stopped shaking.

Misha closed the door. “Maxwell and your grandmother can take the limo I ordered for you. We should go now. I want you out of here.”

Saying nothing, I watched him.

“Ava, are you okay?”

I thought about what the reporter had yelled yesterday.

“Can you confirm the rumors that Mikhail Stronz and you are dating? And how do you feel about his affiliation with the Bratva?”

The limo sped off.

I placed my shaking hands into my lap.

Misha came closer.

I tensed.

He must’ve noticed because he remained where he was sitting. “Ava?”

My bottom lip quivered. “What happened, Misha?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I did not want you to see that. In fact, I could’ve handled that better.”

“Y-you said bodies. And. . .the cop. . .he talked like you’ve done this before.”

Misha sighed. “Ava, we do not have to get into this right now—”

“We definitely have to get into this.” Tears fell and I didn’t know why. I was more terrified than sad. Freaked out and confused.

“Ava.” He didn’t look my way, instead he glanced out the window.

Protestors lined the streets.

The limo slowed down and made a U turn.

“Misha, please. . .”

“I should have done it later.” He shook his head. “I was just so fucking mad. I could have planned it out better.”

“Y-you killed them?”

He didn’t look my way. “Yes.”

“The three men?”

He nodded.

“And Akiva?”

“He’s alive. If he died, the performance could not go on—”

“Performance? I can’t dance right now. I’m. . .” I held my hands, trying to get control of them. “Misha, you killed them?”

I didn’t know why I kept asking. Maybe I hoped for a different answer. Perhaps, if I asked a few more times, then everything would rewind back to normal.

Misha’s phone rang. He checked the number, held up his finger, and answered it, “Maxwell? Okay. Good. Yeah. The condo. Alright. I understand. I know. Don’t worry.”

He hung up, placed the phone in his pocket, and then rubbed his hands together like he was cold. “Damn it.”

I studied him, as if seeing him for the first time. In fact, this was the first time. I could pretend if I wanted that Misha wasn’t a killer. I’d avoided the truth for a while. I imagined that it was just his family in the Bratva. Clearly, all the signs had been there.

Misha turned to me. His voice was low and shaky. “Do not blame yourself. Men like that deserve to die.”

My heart continued to beat faster, close to booming in my ears.

“They were not only pimping these girls, they were putting them into forced rape situations. At least a prostitute gives consent. She is volunteering for the position and will even get the commission.” Misha shook his head. “Those men were monsters.”

I blinked.

His voice was so soft. “Ava, please. . .say something.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m still processing everything.”

“They deserved to die.” Misha held out his hands, talking with them like he always did. “Half of the ballerinas in the company aren’t even eighteen. That’s disgusting. Somebody had to do something.”

More tears came.

I nodded, knowing it was the truth, but not sure if I wanted Misha’s actions to be the solution.

“I should not have done it so soon. . .so fast. . .It was wrong to involve you.” He dotted the air with a finger. “I. . .” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Ava, I apologize.”

“No. Don’t be sorry for me. I-I’m okay.” I wanted to hug him, but horror kept me glued to the seat. I didn’t know exactly what I was afraid of in the moment. There was definitely a long list. I wasn’t sure, if I was terrified of Misha, just confused or shocked.

Misha hit me with an intense look. “Are you scared of me?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Pain filled his eyes as he nodded. “That makes sense.”

“I need a. . .minute.”

“You’re probably not hungry anymore?”

“No.” I quickly shook my head. “Not at all.”

We rode in silence for the rest of the ride. By the time we got to the condo, he opened the door and I climbed out. We were quiet the whole journey through the building’s lobby. Tension gathered in my shoulders. The whole time I kept picturing Misha stepping out of the office and wiping his hands on a bloody shirt.

As we rode up the elevator, I looked down at his hands. Blood dotted his shirt’s cuffs.

I snapped my head back to the front.

When the elevator stopped on my floor, I hurried off.

“And what about their families? These are big ones. Not your usual.”

Misha did this a lot and he had the backing of the police force. That wasn’t just some little Bratva solider, he was at the very top. He didn’t even mention his cousin Kazimir, or Valentina to the police. The cops knew him by name. There was a casual dialogue there. Like they’d done this for him many times before.