Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance
My phone rang for the third time.
I answered, “Yes?”
“There was another message for your mouse,” Zahkar said. “No one noticed until a maid screamed.”
“More heads?”
“Yes. This time it was a chimpanzee.”
That was the last news I’d wanted to hear. “Was it in the same bedroom?”
“No. The person put it in the new bedroom you both moved into.”
So this person has someone inside my staff? They know our movements.
Obviously thinking what I was, Zahkar asked, “I would like full permission to question your staff.”
“You know you have it.”
“I don’t want to be gentle. I saw what this person did. It was wrong, and this is not a threat that can be ignored.”
“What did he do?”
“There were a few monkey heads on the bed, but he added more to the message this time. He hung a female chimpanzee from the chandelier directly over your bed.”
I gripped the phone hard.
Zahkar continued, “I know it’s a female because it had just gone into labor or perhaps he cut the child out days later. But the dead baby was there too. It was tied to the mother’s arms with fishing line.”
“Fishing line?”
Edge hit Zahkar’s voice. “Yes. Now you know why I must act fast with your staff. Someone knows something.”
The fishing line wasn’t by accident. It was a symbol within the brotherhood. The lesser ones. The ones with no code or moral. They used fishing line on women. Many had a fishing line tattooed on their chest and the line always caught a woman’s dress, telling the viewer he had a passion for rape. Men like that couldn’t be around me, and they no longer had a place in the brotherhood. If they existed, they hid.
When I came on as the head of the brotherhood, the fishing line symbolism stopped. I didn’t even want my men to kill with it. If I allowed them to be passionate about rape and other lowly things, I wouldn’t be controlling men; I would be the boss of animals.
And you dare put fishing line in your message to my mouse? Come out. Don’t hide in the shadows. Let me see your face.
I did my best to keep the growl out of my voice. “Talk to the staff.”
“In my way?”
Pressure hit my chest. “Many are generations of my mother’s staff. Many of those will be loyal. Be careful with them. Unless one is suspicious.”
“And the new staff.”
I thought about the fishing line again. “I give you a free hand.”
“The cameras were messed with.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I could put my own people on security.”
“Do it.”
“And when will you two return?”
“When I have a name.”
“I think I should send her men to Paris. They’re getting in my way anyway and wandering around like lost children.”
“It’s barely been a full 24 hours.”
“Still, they’re acting like orphaned children, constantly asking me questions about her return.”
“Focus on the piece of shit sending messages, and I’ll focus on her men.” I hung up and glared at the sky.
One of my guards spoke on my side. “Sir, can I help you with anything?”
“No. Not at this moment. Thank God we’re in Paris.”
Had I seen that chimpanzee hanging, I might’ve killed my men just because…
I considered what Emily would’ve done and shuddered. This new addition would not keep her calm. If anything, she would get more men and launch a full investigation.
No. She doesn’t need this shit right now. She could be pregnant.
Moscow was supposed to be her safe haven. The one place in this world that should make her feel protected more than anything. And now someone was testing that concept and challenging me.
Get a name, Zahkar. I want that man’s neck in my hands by the end of the week. I want to feel his bones crack under my fingers. I want to see his fucking eyes pop out of his skull. And I want his mother and sisters and wife to see it too.
I glanced at the guard. “Get in touch with our brothers in Paris, just in case. I want them to know I’m here.”
The guard nodded and left the balcony.
At the moment, I had the situation under control. Emily was safely with me. Zahkar was on the case dealing with this idiot.
And what about Misha?
I went back to my phone and dialed Pavel.
Before a full ring, Pavel answered, “Kazimir?”
“Where’s Misha?”
“That’s…complicated.”
“Meaning?”
“I saw him at the ballerina’s performance. Misha refused to talk to me. He had some older black woman.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. She was definitely American. And the mouse’s guy was there. The black man.”
“Maxwell?”
“Yes. Maxwell was with Misha and the old black woman. And…perhaps because of this woman…Misha was not…open to discuss it.”
“Stop dancing around and talk.”
Pavel coughed. “I pressed Misha to at least call you. And from my pressuring, Misha took me outside of the theater and shot me in the leg.”
I rubbed my face. “Are you okay?”