Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

I studied Jean-Pierre as he looked forward. A sorrowful haze had trapped his blue eyes. He was worried for his kidnapped girlfriend.

Damn, Misha. How the hell did you end up getting her taken?

Jean-Pierre was broad shoulders and a hard body of muscle. Thick, dark hair teased his broad forehead. Although taller than me, he was shorter than Kazimir. That put Jean-Pierre around six feet. He directed his attention my way. With those cold eyes, he assessed me.

Many would’ve found him gorgeous, but I’d seen his victims. I would never fall for those looks.

Kazimir hadn’t considered them a threat in any way , just perfumed pansies.

However, I didn’t disregard them. The four men may have been impeccably dressed, and according to Kazimir, sweet-smelling, but they were definitely killers. Photos of their victims had packed my file. The deaths were nothing pretty.

The four moved like a professional crew. Like Kazimir, they grew up in this world, and had become very good at what they did.

Jean-Pierre’s hands shook as he watched me. I knew it wasn’t fear. It was rage, burning him up inside.

He’s dangerous and desperate. A psycho on the edge. He’ll do anything. I can’t push him too much.

I thought back to the conversation I had with Kazimir in the Eiffel tower. I’d been telling Kazimir about Blue’s report on Jean-Pierre.

Kazimir had walked over to me and held me in his arms. “One can tell a lot from a person’s kill. What did you get from his victims?”

“Looking at the way he kills, I would say Jean-Pierre is probably meticulous, inventive, and definitely a perfectionist.”

Kazimir held humor on his face. “Fascinating. More, mysh.”

“I didn’t know why, until I looked further into his past. Jean-Pierre used to be a popular violinist.”

Kazimir laughed.

“What’s so funny about that?” I’d asked.

“Nothing.” He laughed again. “Tell me more about the Butcher and his musical talent.”

“Well, he can’t play anymore. His hands were damaged. I went through the medical records.”

Now, the Butcher watched me with intensity.

I lowered my view to his hands. Scars and torn flesh covered some of the knuckles and around the joints. They were huge.

That conversation with Kazimir returned.

At the top of the Eiffel tower, I pretended to play the violin. “This is how Jean-Pierre kills. Some of his weapons are tricked out bows. They have blades on them.”

“Hmmm.” Kazimir smiled at my movement. “This makes me like him a little more. He’s not just perfume and frilly clothes. There’s some edge.”

“You’re so wrong.” Chuckles left me.

“And what about the cousins?” Kaz asked.

“Oh yes. His cousins are Rafael, Giorgio, and Louis.”

“You remember their names?” he’d asked.

“What else did I have to remember on our vacation. I read their file by the pool this morning. It was fascinating. Almost likes reading a good book.”

“I still can’t remember their names.”

“Because you have a lot of enemies.”

“And they die so fast. I’ve stopped trying to remember them.”

There’d been more to the conversation. Kazimir and I had both guessed that Rafael was the funny one. When the French had interrupted Kazimir’s steam visit, Rafael had taken off his pants during the meeting.

Rafael was also the one who pointed the gun at me, when they had us at the bed.

Blue’s report had talked about another cousin that they called the Butler. Apparently, no one really call Giorgio that to his face. I hadn’t heard them bring his name up, so I didn’t think he’d helped with my kidnapping.

The last cousin was Louis. When the French had dragged me onto the elevator, I’d heard Jean-Pierre talking to him through an ear bud. Blue couldn’t find out much about him because he had firewalls, or whatever technical thing that blocked Blue from getting his data.

Remember as much as you can. Somehow, I’ll use all of it against them.

The limo drove us into a restaurant parking lot and then parked.

Jean-Pierre grabbed my arm. “We have to get in and out.”

I bobbed my head.

Like a gentlemanly kidnapper, he helped me out the car. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“Yes.” I buttoned up his jacket, lifted my bed sheet, and walked to the restaurant with him. The ground felt cold and hard on my bare feet.

Another guard led the way. Jean-Pierre stayed with me. Rafael walked behind us. One guard followed me on each side. Another one was further behind.

I scanned the space outside of the restaurant. At least six gray vans were parked outside. Men sat in the driver and passenger seats. I was sure there were people inside the back of the vans too. The world knew Kazimir enough to not be surrounded with as many people as possible.

Sirens sounded off in the distance.

The head guard opened the door.

They rushed me in, before I could get a street address or the name of the place.

Didn’t he say Shalimar’s. Some clarification ‘The restaurant. Not the woman.’ That has to be the name.