Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Definitely something floral.

It was as if he’d sprayed bottles and bottles of perfume on before meeting me. I didn’t want to assume, but I couldn’t think of any other reason why he would be drenched in sweet scents. He reeked of sugariness.

“My. My.” I sniffed the air again. “Why, Jean-Pierre smells like a soft and delicate woman.”

Pavel chuckled. The rest of my men followed.

His cousin, The Funny One, muttered under his breath, “You do smell pretty rosy right now.”

Jean-Pierre scowled and turned to me. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because the sauna has many health benefits, especially for the heart.” I gave him my own scowl. “How’s your heart these days?”

I would love to take it out of your chest and have it beat in my hands. Is it a small or big one, Jean-Pierre?

“Why are you in Paris?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“Because it’s Paris.” I grinned. “This city is a beautiful place to visit. Kings and queens used to walk here.”

“They still do.”

“But not as powerful as the ones in the past.”

“If you plan to be here longer, I can show you the error in your thinking.”

The Butcher has a sharp tongue along with his sharp knives.

“Hmmm. And there we have it.” I rose, enjoying our conversation for the first time. “Jean-Pierre wants a date.”

Pavel smirked.

I took the towel off my head and slung it on the bench.

Let’s see what they’re made of.

Jean-Pierre rose and stood his ground.

The naked one stood too.

Jean-Pierre muttered to him, “Now’s a good time to put on that towel.”

It didn’t appear the man cared.

If he wants to die naked, then let him.

I prowled over to them. “Kings still walk in Paris?”

“Yes,” Jean-Pierre said.

You’re a bold one, Butcher. Very confident.

“Interesting.” I continued to head his way and stopped in front of him. “Impressive. I’m more a fan of gods.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I know how gods feel.” I moved in closer. Only four inches sat between us. His other cousins hurried to rise and came to his side, but I kept my gaze on him. “Are you men always such a close group? I thought you were related.”

Jean-Pierre found no humor in my question. “Bratva and Corsican’s relationship is strained. You know you don’t come to Paris without letting me know.”

The balls on him. My mouse would say he was very balls to the wall.

I scowled. “Is that how France works?” The man said nothing, so I proceeded, “I came here before to talk to you. No one stopped me then.”

“I’m not the same man that I was then.” Jean-Pierre had the nerve to inch closer. “Now you ask for permission before you step into my city.”

My hands itched to be around his neck. Lucky for him, I had bigger threats lurking in the shadows. I was saving my energy for the monkey head man.

I put an edge to my words. “This is your city as much as I’ll let you have it. But I’ll give you the common courtesy that your dick has convinced you that you need.”

There you go, Butcher.

Emily thought I had a problem with handling people. She figured I was too aggressive and disrespectful. Had we not had this monkey head problem to deal with or even the division among my brothers, I might’ve slit Jean-Pierre’s neck right there. But I didn’t need any more problems right now.

If I can be nice to Smirnov, I can be a gentleman among these sweet-smelling men.

I held in my laughter as I backed up a few feet and did a slow bow. Still, it was hard to keep the threat out of my words. “My dear friend Jean-Pierre, I’m in Paris on vacation. I will be here for a few more days. I hope I can walk in your territory freely.”

Not a smart man, Jean-Pierre closed the space, only leaving enough room for a few sheets of paper to slip through us. Not liking it, Pavel and my men got behind me.

Tension mingled with the steam and rose in the air. I hadn’t come to the Russian bathhouse to spill blood. Hadn’t Emily told me I was a bad tourist? I was starting to see her point.

If he raises his hand, I will kill him.

Jean-Pierre smiled instead. “Thank you, Kazimir. Next time, call before you come.”

I growled. “Are we done?”

“No. People were killed in Belladonna.”

What people? Where the hell is Belladonna and why do I care?

I frowned. “People are killed all over.”

“These people meant something to me.”

He’s crazy and a fool.

I walked away. “I don’t know about Belladonna or whoever died. This discussion is over. Go home and play dress up, Jean-Pierre.”

But Jean-Pierre looked to not be going anywhere soon. The man was like an annoying fly, buzzing all around one’s head as they tried to eat. I didn’t want to kill the little bug, so I waved my hand to swoosh it away. Still, the fly remained buzzing in my ear and landing on my food.