Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Jean-Pierre knocked and then eyed my dirty clothes. I still had on his dingy shirt and big ass jacket.

What? I’ve been good.

“We’ve got to get her some food and clothes,” Jean-Pierre said.

Naw. Why don’t you just let me go grab some clothes myself.

Louis spoke, “Should I run out and get it? We’ve already asked enough from Gwen.”

“Let’s check with Gwen,” Jean-Pierre said. “I don’t want you out there right now. No matter what, Gwen won’t have any regrets for her help. She’ll be more than taken care of. If she wants, she can start her own restaurant.”

“No.” Rafael’s voice held an edge. “Not yet.”

O-kay. What’s that about?

Jean-Pierre sighed. “Well. . .Rafael will help her, but she’ll have no regrets.”

Another woman opened the door. She looked like Gwen. Same dark brown skin. High cheekbones and big eyes. But this one had a long ponytail, instead of an afro.

“Hey, I’m Natalie,” she said. “Gwen’s baby sister. Come on in.”

Exhausted, we all stared at her.

I read the words on Natalie’s shirt, Dance, Pray, Fuck.

Natalie widened her eyes. “Hey, are you all coming in or not?”

Jean-Pierre rubbed his face. “Sorry.”

Natalie giggled. “It’s all good. Come get some breakfast. I was making eggs and bacon. Is anybody hungry?”

Bacon! Yes.

I could already taste the crispy strips on my tongue. I attempted a smile. I had no idea what everyone else looked like. But I swore as a group that we stumbled forward at the mention of bacon.

“O-kay,” Natalie inched back. “I’m getting you all something quick. We can do S.O.S.”

“What’s S.O.S?” Louis rushed before us, pushing me into Jean-Pierre. I began to walk in, but Louis stepped in front of me, almost knocking me out of the way.

Really, dude?

We followed Louis.

Natalie rushed off in front of us. “It’s Shit on Shingles. You’ve never had it? It’s a rendition of biscuits and sausage gravy—”

“Yeah. I want that,” Louis growled. “S.O.S. it is.”

We arrived at a small living room. We crowded the area. My guards stood close to the walls.

I scanned the space for somewhere to sit and maybe a sharp object that I could sneak. Jean-Pierre interrupted my assessing and guided me into the kitchen.

Louis already sat at the kitchen bar. Jean-Pierre pointed at a stool. I propped myself on there. Two guards flanked my back.

Natalie stood by the stove. With a spatula, she flipped sizzling long links of sausage.

Natalie turned to Jean-Pierre. “I have some clothes she can fit.”

What about a knife or gun?

Jean-Pierre nodded. “That would be good.”

“Just grab something from the bedroom.” Natalie pointed in the opposite direction. “It’s over there.”

They must help these guys with kidnapping or something. Thanks a lot, sistas!

Jean-Pierre gestured to her room.

I rose.

Fast, he grabbed my arm, pulled me in, and whispered, “If you kill them, then we’re going to have a problem.”

Then they better stay out of my way.

“I won’t.” I headed to where she’d pointed. The three guards stayed behind me.

I opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind me.

Will you let me be alone?

I backed up and watched the door.

No one opened it.

A long sigh left me.

They’ll leave me alone.

I ran to the window and opened the curtain.

Five flights up. No fire escape or anything to jump on. Shit.

I turned around and took in the room.

Natalie was a serious lover of ballet. Ballerinas decorated every inch of the space. Porcelain ones stacked the shelves. Stuffed ballerinas piled in two different corners. Many wore pink tutus, but some dressed in white lace or silk. Posters of ballets covered the walls.

I walked over to the main bookshelf. Several ceramic figurines of ballerinas twirled and turned along most of the shelves. On the ones with figurines, there were tons of books on the craft.

At the headboard, a large poster was plastered on the wall.

Of course, if she likes ballerinas. . .then she’ll have a picture of Kaz’s ex.

There, Kaz’s old lover posed in front of me.

I looked back at the bookshelf. I imagined myself picking up the figurines and breaking them across Jean-Pierre’s head.

That may do.

I checked out the other bookshelf. It was only a collection of worn out ballerina shoes with dates written in marker on the bottoms.

I could maybe use the ties to choke someone, but there’s too many people in this apartment to kill like that.

I turned to the dresser.

A big porcelain black ballerina covered the dresser.

I looked under the bed. A shoe box was there. People barely kept shoe boxes like that, but the ones that did tended to put something in it.

Am I lucky?

I pulled the shoe box out and lifted the top.

A gun lay inside.

Hell yes.

I picked it up and checked the barrel.

No bullets. What the fuck do you have a gun for. . .with no bullets?

Movement came from outside of the room.

Fuck.

I put the gun back in the box and pushed it back under the bed. By the time I rose, the door opened.