Dirty Minds: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

It didn’t matter. As soon as I could, I would get one of their phones and dial Kazimir.

Maybe, he can track it.

It would be better if I could get a gun. But there were too many men inside, and even more parked outside of the building.

What type of restaurant is this?

On the walls, Pink dragons wound around bright blue Eiffel towers. Odd aromas filled the air. I sniffed but couldn’t get a feel of what cuisine the place served.

The place was clearly closed. No customers sat inside. It was just armed men. Scars, suits, and guns.

Still no idea what they served here, I thought I caught the scent of roasted meat. My stomach growled. I held it. And then I caught another scent. I didn’t know why, but it didn’t agree with me. My gut twisted. Saliva filled my mouth.

God. I don’t feel good.

I slowed my pace. My bed sheet dragged behind me.

Rafael got to my other side. “So, let’s relax and enjoy ourselves.”

Jean-Pierre frowned. “We’re in and out.”

Pain knotted in my gut.

Fuck. What’s wrong with me?

I held my stomach with both hands. Bile rose in my throat. The scent hit my nostrils again. Hot saliva soaked my mouth more.

Rafael turned to me, spread out his arms, and gestured at the walls. “Emily, I know that we’re only together for business, but what do you think of my palace?”

Oh god. Why do I hurt so much?

I doubled over and vomited in the hallway, spilling sludge onto the koi fish tiles. Brown spots splattered on my sheet. My knees went weak. My throat burned, as I threw up some more.

“What’s wrong with her?” Rafael asked behind me.

“I don’t know.” Jean-Pierre lowered and got to my side.

Damn it. Am I really pregnant?

“I’m fine.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Just rattled.”

They couldn’t know, that there was a chance I was pregnant. It would raise the pot. They’d have Kazimir doing even more stuff. Use the baby and me as a power play.

No. Get it together.

One of the guards rushed off.

Jean-Pierre studied me. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes.” I wiped my mouth again. “But, can I get it, after I go to the bathroom?”

I have to get the fuck out of here.

Inch by inch, I rose from the floor.

“Okay.” Jean-Pierre guided me forward.

There had to be some way to escape this restaurant. If they left me alone for to long enough, I could figure it out. I carried the ends of my sheet. The whole time I scanned the space. I did my best to study every detail.

Where are the fire exits? Okay. One on the side. What’s that? Entrance to the kitchen. Knives will be in there.

Before leaving Moscow, I’d been studying systema.

Kazimir had been training me since we’d been in Paris. He’d hated the fighting with my men and believed he could teach me better.

From him, I’d learn that systema was yoga and judo mixed with street fighting, and even ancient Cossack techniques. It was more than anything I’d ever learned. A systematized physical, mental, and spiritual practice. Russian military taught this form of fighting to their soldiers like special forces.

The reason why I loved systema, was because it allowed me to knock a person out within seconds, regardless of size and weight. Systema didn’t rely on strength and attack. It allowed for a very smooth and relaxed method of fighting. Dance-like. It wasn’t about strength and size. It was about the body, mind, and environment.

Systema followers went by four principles—breathing, relaxation, posture and movement. One had to free themselves from tension in order to achieve a high level of fluidity. It all seemed like straightforward advice. But the more I watched Boris and Kazimir fight this way, the more I realized these principles had a lot of depth. In the end, movement was not just the physical body. It included one’s thoughts, intentions and emotions. When used positively, every principle had the capacity for healing or killing.

As I walked down the hallway with Jean-Pierre and his guards, I drew on all of the principles that I learned.

The best part of systema was that when an attack came, one was not to fight it back with force. Instead, the person met the incoming flow, and redirected it in a way that helped.

Remember what I’ve learned. I’m fine. I’ll get them, if I have to.

Two guards got in front of Jean-Pierre and me as we headed to the bathroom.

I checked my side.

Jean-Pierre stayed on my right.

I glanced over my left shoulder.

Three guards followed in back. Further behind us, the other guard hurried back with a towel and mop.

I can’t believe I threw up.

“Here you go.” Jean-Pierre gestured to the ladies room, pulled out his phone, and gave the device his attention.

I walked slowly, assessing the area.

Five guards in the hallway. Jean-Pierre is staying out here too.