Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Prologue

Kazimir

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

I was on the phone with Misha. “Get the Devil’s location right…fucking…now!”

Misha’s voice remained calm on the other side of the line. “Pavel explained. 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!”

“They contacted Maxwell. Emily talked to him.”

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

“I called your phone.”

If Misha stood in front of me, I would’ve slapped him. “You fucked up. Celina stole my babies? 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.

“Kazimir. . .I’m sorry,” Misha said. “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. He thought it was me. And 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 hard. “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.

Emily’s little female followed me. Nervousness covered her face. She was one of Emily’s new recruits from Kapotnya. For the first time today, I took a minute to study her.

Why did you pick this one, mouse?

The slim woman had a dark honeyed complexion. I thought she had a ponytail, but it was tiny sky blue braids, that hung in the center of her head like a long mohawk. Her hair had been shaved on both sides.

I thought back to the few conversations I’d had about her with Emily. My mouse had boasted about one of her woman’s skills in weapons, as well as cybersecurity. Apparently, she could hack into anything.

If this is her, we’ll be testing those talents today. Anything to get Emily back to me. Anything.

Most of my men resided in Moscow. I’d brought Emily to Paris for a vacation, and to buy my men time in Moscow to figure out the monkey head guy. Whoever kept cutting animals’ heads off and placing them in our bedroom was a sick man. Possibly Bratva. Emily couldn’t be near him. Paris served as a safe haven.

But then the Corsican got paranoid from my presence.

And Misha, dropped the ball after his father’s death. He should have been in Prague, dealing with the estate, funeral, and all of Uncle Igor’s belongings. Instead he chased pussy in St. Petersburg. Uncle Igor’s mistress, Celina, took my nuclear codes—one part of a pair. Celina had the sister portion. I kept the brother in a high tech basement safe in Moscow.

Instead of Misha coming to me, he sent some lunatics to grab it.

And took Jean-Pierre’s girlfriend.

An exchange would be the solution to this problem. I would get Jean-Pierre’s flute player and return her to him. Then, he would give me back my mouse.

This was a simple task for normal people. But for men like us, it would be the deadliest exchange of our lives. Both would be ready to kill the other. Neither would mind the carnage of the innocent, not when our women were involved.

Next to me, Pavel put on his seatbelt, as if bored with nothing else to do. He had his long hair pulled into a ponytail. He’d matched my new clothing. No suit for today like me. 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.

Pavel appeared as ready as me to kill. “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.

I nodded. “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.

The French had taken Emily. We’d been in my suite, making love. The Butcher had come in, put a gun to my head, right as I came, and took my mouse away.

Jean-Pierre, you’ve made an eternal enemy of me. There will never be a time where I won’t want to kill you.