Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

“He’s rich rich?”

“Very.”

“Old mafia money?”

“I think so.”

Jacqueline crossed her legs and placed her hand on her head. “I’m scared for Ava.”

“Don’t be. You know God will make a way.”

“I know, but it’s hard to keep the faith after these past twenty-four hours.”

“It’s a sin to worry, cher. Keep the faith. Them boys will be there shortly, put a few bullets in some heads, and have you both back in the States.”

Jacqueline sat up in her chair. “I don’t know, if anybody should die, Cecil. I just want her protected. She can’t go back to the States. Her career is just starting.”

“Them Bratva don’t take no for an answer, and if one body go down, more will come. It’s best that they shoot and then everybody run. They come to New Orleans and it’s on.”

Jacqueline shook her head. “I don’t know, Cecil.”

“Let your big brother handle it.”

“Just send the boys here. No need for violence yet. This guy may get the hint.”

“Don’t you worry. All will be taken care of.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re right.” She massaged her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask about the girls.”

“They’re both still in Paris.”

“Doing good?”

“No telling with Gwen. She never answers the phone, when I call. But Natalie says she loves it.”

“And little Benji?”

“That baby is doing fine. I’m still mad I can’t watch him grow.”

“You will soon. Gwen will get over it.”

“Don’t matter. First sign of trouble in Parris and I’m bringing all of them back.”

“They’re big girls now. You can’t—”

“I can.”

Jacqueline sighed.

“Don’t matter now, sis. We’ve got Ava to help. Focus on you and her being safe.”

“I will.” She rose from the chair. “I should go. The boy says he’s taking me to Ava’s performance.”

“Get to her and then call me again tonight.”

“I will.” Jacqueline hung up and then rushed to the tub.

Steam rose from the water.

She touched it, jerked back fast, and turned the faucet off.

I gestured to my man. “Turn the screen off for now. She’s taking a bath, but keep the phone monitored.”

“Yes, sir.” He typed into his laptop.

From the balcony’s doorway, Maxwell watched the footage until it went black. “Grandma’s body is banging.”

I looked at my other man. “They can’t get on the plane. Whoever it is that’s supposed to come from New Orleans, I don’t want to kill them. Shut the airport down in Louisiana. Whatever. Buy all the plane tickets. They’ll try to go to a nearby airport. Take care of that too. Buy everything up going into Russia from Louisiana. Call in favors. Promise anything.”

The man stood, but concern decorated his face. “Yes. . .sir.”

“Good. Do not disappoint me. If I have to kill them, then I will kill you.”

Ava’s family is rougher than I thought.

I stood and walked off to the balcony. “You have more of that joint, Maxwell?”

“Damn, man.” Maxwell handed it to me. It was almost halfway gone, but still lit. “You’re just going to shut the airport down?”

“If I can.”

I inhaled, coughed, and then inhaled again. Like Maxwell said, a fruity taste covered my tongue.

That is sort of like lemon.

Maxwell grabbed it back. “What are you going to do about these men coming?”

“We’ll see. Hopefully, I don’t have to hurt them. I should be able to stop them from getting on the plane.”

“Have you given her grandma the bag of money yet?”

“No. I’ll wait until she’s dressed in the gown.” A euphoric feeling fell over me. The Black/White Russian was working. “It’s been a long time since I smoked. Several years ago in fact.”

“Oh yeah. Was it with Kazimir?”

“No. Actually, it was with my father. . .at one of his ceremonies. It was part of the tradition.”

“Sounds like my type of spirituality.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not?” Maxwell asked.

“After we smoke, then, we sacrificed ten bears, poured the blood in a small pool of wine, and everybody took their turns dipping their bodies in it.”

He twisted his face in disgust. “On second thought, I’ll just keep my religion.”

I gazed off at the city.

The sun began it’s descent to give way to the moon.

The balcony held the perfect view of St. Petersburg’s historic skyline. Lights came on all over St. Petersburg, glittering among the buildings.

Many called my city the Venice of the North. It featured numerous canals and more than four hundred bridges. The city had served as an experimental playground for the leading European architects of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. With a harmonious blend of Baroque and neoclassical styles, one witnessed utter structural perfection.

Maxwell whistled as he watched the city come alive. “This place is fucking beautiful, man. The buildings look different. I’ve never seen shit like this before.”

I inhaled the joint, blew smoke out, and pointed to one area. “That’s the Winter Palace over there. Can you see it?”

“Hell yes.” Maxwell took the joint. “Damn. I want to see that close up though.”