Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

I let the topic go. I wasn’t in the business of arguing with my grandma. With fifty-two years on this earth, she could win a quarrel with the best of them.

Later, I showered, changed into another leotard and tights, and headed back to the theater. Even though the murders had happened there, the place was still the only space that made sense. There, I could fall into my passion and clear my head for a little while. Forget it all.

Take it day by day. Hour by hour, if I have to.

Toward the dressing rooms, a silence flooded the space.

My guards followed me into the theater, checking each corner before I rounded it. They’d been on high alert since the threat. Between Misha and them, I had no fear about the text I received. In fact, I’d saved Akiva from his death today. If he wanted to push it, I would let Misha do what he wanted. As far as I was concerned, Akiva had probably been responsible for several rapes and sexual assaults to many of the ballerinas right in this theater.

The more I think about it. . .maybe he should die.

I shook my head, not liking my thinking at all. With each hour, I no longer knew who I was. All day I began rationalizing Misha’s actions. My head thought that I should never deal with him again. My heart screamed to go back and take him into my arms.

Was the heart smarter than the brain?

Surely the heart held some intelligence.

There were many times I’d gone with my heart, instead of my brain, and won. The decision to move to Russia was one of them.

My brain said that the move was crazy. I didn’t know anybody. It was too dangerous. The brain couldn’t comprehend what my experience would be like. There was no prior information to assess or compute.

But my heart said go! It told me that ballet served as my greatest passion—the one thing that I’d been put on earth to do. My heart warmed each time I thought of going to Russia, while my brain grew erratic and stressed from the idea.

That time, I ignored my brain and went with my heart.

What did humans have in their body to truly guide them? Was it the brain, heart, or soul? Did all three work together? Should one be ignored over the other?

Sometimes, it seemed like all three never agreed.

I hadn’t talked to my soul in a while. Perhaps it was time to get on my knees and have a conversation? But after yesterday, I wasn’t sure God would hear me. I’d caused three deaths. At the moment, I was hiding from God, hoping he wouldn’t take me away out of anger.

No. God isn’t mad. He’ll still hear my prayers.

And hadn’t that great being given me my heart and brain to somehow influence my actions? Weren’t they both to be used for reasoning? Guidance?

And what about the heart? It surely desired Misha. As soon as I spoke on the phone with him, my heart warmed, beating fast, and coming to life.

I needed an easy answer to a difficult problem. I yearned for one of those organs to give me a higher order of logic. Understanding. Some meaningful reflection that made the decision easier.

Maybe, I should just listen to my heart.

There was an argument that it was the smartest organ in the body. The most useful. Sure, one used the brain to retain memory and think, but the heart pumped blood over a hundred times a day to all the organs in the body. That had to count for something.

Wasn’t the heart just as significant as my soul?

When Misha walked away, my heart ached. And it had been aching ever since.

Didn’t that show some form of emotional intelligence? Where did the term heartbreak come from, if not for that fact?

Or am I just talking myself into being with Misha? Maybe. So what? Perhaps, I should just be with him?

But this decision could ruin me. I might enter an even more dangerous situation. We’d only been together for some days and already my grandma had been kidnapped and three men killed. That was a lot in such a small amount of time.

My brain didn’t think it would be wise to be with Misha anymore. Too much danger. Too much terror. While he had a kind heart, he radiated horror in the name of love—our love.

What if he kills again and the person is innocent?

Gut-gnawing fear wrapped around me.

So cold, goosebumps spread across my skin.

I rounded the corner and stopped.

With his back to me, Misha stood in front of my door, holding a bouquet of roses and getting ready to knock.

I glanced at my guard.

Guilt covered his face. He turned away. Clearly, they’d let Misha know that I was going back to the theater.