Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“Yes. It’s him outside with his cousins.”

He’s brought the whole girl band for the show. Awesome. Well, I’m not auditioning today. I’m on vacation.

“Don’t let them in.” I relaxed my shoulders. Upon the news, tension had built in them. I worked on falling back into peaceful comfort.

You have men follow my mouse and me around for days and say nothing. Then, you barge in on my steaming? No.

A minute passed.

I shifted back into peaceful silence.

A gun went off outside.

Goddamn it!

I fisted my hands.

Pavel’s phone beeped and then he spoke again. “Jean-Pierre shot Dmitry in the leg.”

My voice came out hoarser than I’d wanted. “Let him in.”

You shoot my men? I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get it. Instead, you’ll die before the end of the week.

If I just let anybody go around barging in on me and shooting my men, I would have an assault of assholes doing the same. In this world, it was all about giving examples to the world.

“Are you sure, Kazimir?”

“Yes. I want to know more about this Jean-Pierre. It’s time to kill him. He’s too loud, too soft to be coming around me.” I opened my eyes and could only see a little under the towel.

Pavel walked over to the door and opened it.

Only the girl’s group entered—Jean-Pierre and his three cousins—the new fame of French’s criminal world. Perfumed pansies in all their glory, filling the steam room with exotic perfume and feminine softness.

They should’ve gone into a nicer occupation. Like modeling or anything else where they can sit and primp about, tussling their hair and trying on different dresses with glee.

This world was mine, and it was a rough one. The more Jean-Pierre came around, the more I considered roughing up his skin.

They walked in slowly. Designer suits. Possibly Brioni. Jean-Pierre in baby blue. Perfectly tailored. The rest wore gray. Polished shoes. Diamond cufflinks and watches. All dressed to impress, but not for a steaming.

Spying them, I kept my towel half covering my face.

Jean-Pierre scanned the room, surely counting and assessing my men.

Don’t even think about trying anything in here, Butcher. You wouldn’t make it out alive.

The legend of him was rising in the world. Surely, he didn’t want people to start talking about how the lion slapped him around in a steam room.

Now what, idiot?

At first, they didn’t speak at all.

He’s not worthy to disrupt me.

I closed my eyes and returned to my peace.

Did you just come to look at a god? There. Take a picture and leave.

Silence lasted for a few more seconds, and then I heard clothes unraveling.

Are we serious? They’re getting naked?

I opened one eye and caught Jean-Pierre’s cousin taking off his jacket and slinging it on the floor.

That’s the cousin my men call The Funny One.

Another cousin picked it up.

I squinted.

What’s that one’s name? Now, I remember. What was it? The Butler. That’s right. He’s a clean freak.

The Butler held The Funny One’s jacket in pure disgust. All the men appeared to be embarrassed.

They’re not even ready to deal with me.

Jean-Pierre glared at The Funny One in horror as he took off his shirt and then went for his pants.

Why is he getting naked? And this one is still not funny to me.

I shut my eyes.

Hushed voices ensued.

Jean-Pierre’s little feminine voice filled the air. “Excuse me?”

“It’s hot in here,” The Funny One whispered back.

“Keep them on.”

The supposed funny one muttered, “Fuck that.”

I heard something drop to the floor. I opened my eyes. The Funny One’s pants lay on the floor. He took off his boxer briefs. Now naked, The Funny One walked over to the wooden bench across from me and sat down.

I studied the others. They had the good sense to remain clothed.

Clowns. Nothing more. It would be a crime to kill them today. Young and stupid. Unaware. Maybe I’ll wait until next week.

Deadly silence rose the steam.

Jean-Pierre cleared his throat and went over to the bench where The Funny One sat but didn’t get too close to his nakedness. He didn’t sit; he just stood there like an idiot.

Finally fed up, I decided to speak. “Is he going to be naked the whole time?”

The Funny One spoke for himself. “Of course. I figured that you don’t get to see a big dick much. So here it is. Take your time and breathe it all in.”

Maybe I won’t until next week to kill them. Tomorrow would be good.

Jean-Pierre took that moment to sit down.

The one they called The Butler sat down at Jean-Pierre’s side and attempted to pass a towel to the one that was naked.

The Funny One shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

The Butler frowned and held on to it.

This is more entertaining than I thought it would be. I will let them live until next week.

“The Corsican.” I pointed at them as I talked to Pavel. “My father used to call them Perfumed Pansies. I didn’t believe it until now.” I raised my head and inhaled. “Yes. Jean-Pierre certainly smells sweet and inviting today. Like a bouquet of flowers. Is that rose or lavender?”