Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“No.” I held her close to me, wishing I could heal her myself. “We don’t know yet. The doctor will be here. Everything will alright.”

Will it?

Emily cried, “Then, why am I bleeding?”

“I don’t know, mysh, but I’m here. . .and I’m not going anywhere.”

She remained in my arms, crying into my shoulder. I wouldn’t let my own tears out. I needed to remain strong. I had to be her strength—her foundation.

Baba had said, “Something else must die, when your mouse comes to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You must let something go. Let it die. I don’t know what, but let’s see.”

In less than an hour, the doctor arrived, assessed Emily, and told us the news. She had been four weeks pregnant and had a miscarriage.

Emily stayed silent the whole time, and I did too. I was unsure of what I should say, what I should do. All of this was outside of my expertise.

Once again power meant nothing. No amount of guns or money could bring my baby girl back to me.

“Something else must die, when your mouse comes to you.”

All this time I went to great lengths to have money and power, and all the things that I thought truly mattered. And now I was finding that the best things—the deepest ones—the people and moments that caused my heart to warm—those wouldn’t be protected with all the money, or power.

We lost her.

The next hour, I helped Emily clean up in the shower. No more tears came, but sorrow filled her eyes. The doctor gave her something to go to sleep. He offered pills to me too. I refused to take them . Jean-Pierre had ruined our lives. There was no time for sleep.

Another hour passed. In the darkness of our bedroom, I held my mouse in my arms. The whole time, I sat and thought about how I would destroy France.

For hours, she slept next to me.

And for hours, I plotted. I could no longer close my eyes. No exhaustion came. That was the power of revenge.

Jean-Pierre, you’ve finally got all of my attention. But I won’t be as easy as Uncle Igor. And while you may have control of Paris, I have possession of the whole fucking world.

He took my mouse from me, and now he has taken my daughter too.

Friends? No. Not friends at all.

There would never be a friendship. There would never be an alliance, or compromise of any sorts. I didn’t want to hear his apologies, or ways he would try to fix this.

All I wanted to hear was his scream in pain.

I’m going to take out his whole bloodline.

Gently, I lay Emily down on the bed, making sure not to wake her.

When I opened the door, I spotted Zahkar sitting next to it. “What?”

Zahkar rose. “I’m sorry about the pregnancy—”

“What’s going on?”

“I wanted to update you on the monkey guy.”

Pain throbbed at my temples. “You still haven’t caught him?”

“No.”

“Then, go home.”

“What?”

I walked off. “I gave you more than enough time. You failed.”

Zahkar ran up to my side and kept my pace. “Kazimir, this isn’t easy. Whoever is doing this, they’re deep inside the brotherhood.”

I stopped and snapped my view to him. “How deep?”

“Every time I get close to a witness, either someone kills them, or they kill themselves. That’s what happened to her man—Yuri. He’d called me and left a message that he had some information. I arrived in his room and he was down.”

“What about the cameras?”

“Nothing but darkness. Someone’s controlled the cameras. When the monkey heads were put in the room, they went dark too. Same as when Yuri was killed.”

This was another job that Misha could solve in seconds. Had he not been so preoccupied he could have taken proper control of my security. I didn’t have time for that just yet, but Misha would have to be dealt with soon. Whether he wanted to stand by my side or not, he would make up the kidnapping situation by helping me find this monkey guy.

I headed off.

Zahkar hurried behind me. “Kazimir?”

I continued down the stairs. “Where did they put the devil?”

“The devil? You mean the man you brought back? The one that’s tied up?”

“Yes.”

“The devil’s in the jail.”

I went down the rest of the steps, and even lower, passing the first level and taking the stairs in the back. When my mother lived here, this area was a basement full of boxes stacked with old pictures. When she left, I had it turned into three jail cells. There, I held people that I needed to question… or torture. At times it tended to be the same thing.

Zahkar followed me down into the dark corridor. Carpet made way to concrete stone. A metal door stood before us.

I looked at Zahkar. “You’re still here?”

“I’m not leaving. You’re mad, but you’ll understand.”

I opened the door. “Understand what?”