Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

For now, I wanted to spoil him as much as he did me.

I can’t believe I rented out the Eiffel Tower. Who does that?

Pavel had helped, knuckling the price down from six figures to five.

I’d given away more money than I’d ever owned, but Kazimir had a thing about the moon and I loved to spoil him.

That night, we arrived at the Eiffel Tower with no problem. I chose not to bring up my pregnancy research this morning. Ignoring the problem tended to be the temporary solution for now.

Our limo parked at the iconic site. The new driver got out and opened the door. Even though it was my date, Kazimir guided me forward and took me up on the elevator.

The ride proved to be frightening and exciting at the same time. We rose well over a dizzying two hundred meters. I stiffened and did my best to not look down. While I had no problem with being underground, high above ground freaked me out.

Beaming, Kazimir scanned the view. “You rented the big penis?”

“I did.”

“Impressive.”

“You love the moon. You should see it close up.”

“The moon has been my passion for a while.”

His zodiac sign was Cancer, born on July 5. The day after America’s celebration of Independence.

“It’s probably because Cancers are ruled by the moon,” I said.

“The zodiac has it all wrong.”

We stopped at the top level. My heart pumped in my ears. So high above Paris, it was hard not to get nervous, but when the doors opened, all the glass walls of the private room showed a breathtaking panoramic view. All fears fell away.

A woman stood in front of me. Blonde waves teased her shoulders. She wore a stylish knee-length black dress that showed off her curves. She smiled and spoke in French. “Welcome. We’ll be serving you soon.”

“Thank you.” I nodded.

She gestured for us to come forward as she disappeared.

Large windows served as the walls. Paris sparkled and glittered all around us. The space gave us the best view in the city. Only one table sat in the small room. Gold silk covered it.

In the back of the room, two servers set out dishes and uncovered trays of simmering food. A savory aroma drifted from them. Men brought in large vases stuffed with long-stemmed roses and lined the room. On the right, a man sat down at the piano and tuned the keys.

It had all been a special package—an expensive one that had only been used twice in the past decade. I wondered who’d used the other one.

Definitely worth the money.

I stepped off with him. “Why do you think the zodiac has it wrong?”

“Cancers are crabs.”

“And?”

“I’m a lion.”

“Oh God.”

“I must be a Leo.”

“You can’t be a Leo, Kaz. You were born two weeks before that sign begins.”

“But I’m a lion.”

I shook my head. “You’re definitely a Cancer. A little bit delusional at times.”

As if owning the place and knowing all the details of my date, he escorted me to the table at the center and poured me some champagne. Several servers hurried around us, setting the table with food.

“Do you know many Cancers?” he asked.

“My best friend Kennedy was.”

“The friend we found dead in your art gallery?”

“Yes.” A sad ache filled me. “Kennedy was big into astrology. She had so many books about it. All I know is from her.”

He poured his own glass of champagne. “What’s your sign?”

“Virgo. We’re compatible according to astrology.”

“Good for astrology or I would’ve killed it.”

“Because that’s possible of course.”

“Of course.”

I sipped my champagne and smiled. “After Kennedy, I thought Cancers were humble and moody creatures but sweet, nonetheless. And then I met you.”

“After me, what’s your view on Cancer Leos?”

“Cancer Leos are not a thing. And now, I no longer have any idea. I think you are an oddity among Cancerians, but who knows? Maybe they’re all crazy as you.”

“You’re calling me crazy?”

“I am.” I winked at him.

He glanced around at the large windows surrounding the room. There were two telescopes at the only open window. He leaned back in his chair and sipped more of his champagne. “Never a boring day with you, mysh.”

“You like my surprise?”

“Yes. You’re the only one who has ever surprised me. It’s record-breaking that you’ve done so twice. Who helped?”

“Pavel.”

“I’m shocked he put down his brush to do it.”

“Leave Pavel and his hair alone.”

He gave me an intense stare. “I’m finding that I love your surprises.”

“…You’re the only one that has ever surprised me…”

I didn’t want to venture into any of his exes. All I knew was about the famous Russian ballerina who had died in Prague. Maxwell told me Valentina had killed her, but never gave me the reason and swore I had nothing to worry about from her.

Still, I was a little nosy when it came to the lovers from his past. “None of your ex-girlfriends surprised you?”