Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Since then, I never had to worry about anything—not money, food, my grandma, or people bothering me.

That has to stand for something. A whole lot in fact.

The whole journey to the elevator, I thought of Misha.

If I took away the whole killing part, he was the perfect man. Too bad the fact that he murdered people represented a huge thing.

All my life, I’d learned that people who killed had something wrong with them. Psychotic individuals. Sociopaths. It was why my grandmother didn’t take me down to New Orleans much. She always talked about that side of the family with sadness, and a little disgust. Even though they’d been forced in some ways—by the city’s racist system—they killed for money and survival.

She argued that there was a better way.

Regardless of what my grandmother thought, I loved my cousins.

Misha is kind of like them. He could’ve been forced, due to family or. . .life. . .

Did that make a difference? Would it be easier to lay next to a murderer, if one knew that he’d been forced into that life? Was he less dangerous?

I’d just woken up but felt exhausted like I’d gotten no sleep. My head was battered and bruised. My heart shattered and confused. The more I answered one question, others came.

I stepped on the elevator.

My guards followed.

I gave up on thinking about my dilemma. Nothing would get mentally solved by the time I arrived at rehearsal. I just had to see how the day turned out. These deaths would bring questions. I had no idea how Akiva would act. Scared? Pissed? Seeking revenge? Or hiding from me?

My gut knotted and then growled.

I didn’t eat last night, just drank.

I was more surprised I hadn’t woken up hung over.

I should make myself eat something, before practice. I’ll pass out, if I don’t.

The elevator got us to the first floor. My guards and I barreled off. Several more men stood outside of the building. I took in all their faces, knowing they all belonged to Misha.

The signs were all there. No tech company owner needs all these men. How could I have been so stupid? I saw what I wanted to see. That was what had happened.

I waited for the limo at the curb, feeling separate and apart from the city for the first time since I’d moved here. All around, St. Petersburg woke up—cars honked, people hurried along, school kids laughed with others, dogs barked. And I stood there in this haunting silence, flanked by huge scarred men.

My stomach growled again, but my chest ached more for Misha. That was the most significant part of the morning. It was the most important fact since he left.

I miss him so much. Does that matter? Even if he is a killer? If we don’t work out, will I ever stop thinking about him?

My breath hissed out between my teeth.

The limo arrived.

I struggled to pull myself together. I’d been the one to turn him away. Now I had to deal with the space, until I could get my thoughts into some sort of logic.

I climbed into the limo, feeling like I was torturing myself and him.

My five guards climbed inside, almost crowding the space.

I guess I’ll have to get used to this.

Misha protected me. No man had cared enough to try. None had ever given me a flower, and I couldn’t count all the bouquets that Misha had delivered. Gifts weren’t supposed to be the reason why one loved a person, but they had to be included in the thought process.

He’d done more than that.

Although he’d kidnapped my grandma, he’d brought her to me and spoiled her too. So much, that she had somehow forgiven him. And my grandma didn’t forgive anybody.

I thought back to one of our happier moments.

Misha had grinned like a little kid getting a bowl of candy. “It is official.”

“It is.”

“You are my girlfriend.”

“I am.” I’d gotten on my toes to kiss him.

When we finished, he whispered, “This day is wonderful. All the crazy was worth it.”

“What crazy?”

“Nothing.”

Now I knew what some of the crazy he mentioned had been about.

I ran my fingers through my hair.

I expected a lot of protestors to be outside, but none greeted us as we drove down the street. Intrigued, I pulled out my phone and searched for any latest news on the protests. I had to get Misha off my mind.

A few reels came up, announcing breaking news. Apparently, the protesting had stopped in Moscow, St. Petersburg, and other Russian cities due to unknown trucks delivering boxes of food, clothes, toys, and other supplies.

At least one good thing is happening today. Not a bad way to start the morning, Russia.

In other cities, money was given in envelopes.

No one was sure who was responsible for the kind acts.

I smiled a little.

The phone remained in my hand.