Dirty Hearts: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance - Page 13




“I still don’t know.” I took my hand away.

Kazimir glanced over his shoulder, took in Nikolay and me, and then returned to his conversation with the other man. I wasn’t fooled. I knew his attention remained on us.

Nikolay didn’t appear to be going anywhere as he dragged his chair over to us and sat down. His swan remained standing with a silly grin on her face.

Zahkar frowned and tilted Nikolay’s way. “What are you doing?”

Nikolay waved him away. “I’m getting closer to her.”

“Why?” Zahkar frowned. “Sucking up won’t matter.”

Nikolay sniffed the air and laughed. “She smells good. No wonder the lion is pussy whipped. I would be too.”

I kept my expression neutral.

Kazimir turned around and gazed at Nikolay. “My mouse can also speak Russian, so be a gentlemen in both languages.”

Nikolay didn’t look perturbed. “I’m well aware that she can speak Russian.”

For the first time ever, I witnessed Kazimir roll his eyes.

A smile hit my face.

Nikolay returned to me and switched to English. “With everyone…gone…someone will have to put the lion in his place.”

Good point.

I leaned a little further. “And that’s you?”

“Me?” He grinned. “Kazimir is not smart enough to listen to me.”

Although Kazimir’s back was to us, he shook his head. He’d definitely heard Nikolay’s comment. At this point, Zahkar gave up on continuing our conversation and began talking to his wife.

This is interesting. Lots of little internal things happening here.

I directed my attention back to Nikolay. “How did Kazimir and you meet?”

Nikolay scooted the chair closer to me and crossed his leg. “We met at his stepfather’s funeral.”

“That’s a sad place to meet.”

“No. Not for us. It was an elegant affair.” Nikolay gestured to the ballroom. “It was at Vagankovo Cemetery. Have you been?”

“No.”

“Oh, Vagankovo is a gem in itself. It’s been around in Moscow since the 18th century. Over 100,000 graves. There’s the dead from the Moscow plague riot of 1771. There are people buried from the Battle of Borodino, the Battle of Moscow, and the Khodynka Tragedy.”

I didn’t know the significance of those battles, but I was impressed. It was always easy to get excited about something when the person talking about it was super enthused.

“There’s the dead from the artistic and sports community of Russia and the old Soviet Union.”

“Enough, Nikolay.” Kazimir turned around. “She doesn’t need to hear about all the dead.”

“It’s a fascinating cemetery.” Nikolay turned to me. “And his stepfather, The King, was buried in Vagankovo. You should have been there, Emily.”

I grinned.

Nikolay spread his arms out in front of him. “As you Americans would say, ‘mafia royalty.’ Like one of those Italian mob movies they make in your country. All the men standing around the grave in pinstripes and gold watches. Women in black dresses and diamonds. Even the bodyguards looked expensive.”

“Why are you telling Emily this story?” Kazimir rolled his eyes again. It was insane to watch. Within seconds, he’d shifted to a teenage boy right before my eyes.

I like that Nikolay annoys Kazimir, but I don’t know why yet.

I made a mental note to investigate Nikolay more.

“And the King’s grave was a spectacle too,” Nikolay continued. “It was a black marble tombstone with a life-sized statue of the King glaring down at all of us.”

“Wow.” I sipped my glass of wine. “That must’ve been quite a sight.”

“Everyone whispered that the brotherhood was over. On the news, they’d discussed the King’s death as being the end of the Russian mafia.” Nikolay glanced at Kazimir. “I believed it was over too. Who else could control us? So many violent thieves. Many barely had listened to the King. And the hit on him had shown the brotherhood had weak spots.”

“How did the King get assassinated?”

“At a celebration. His brother had just come out of jail. The men stormed in with masks, shot the King and his brother, and then fled.”

“They never found the men?”

“No.” Nikolay waved it away. “That’s not important. The King’s death showed he was human. Whereas, through all his reign, he’d been an unstoppable monster. He’d come up in the harsh regime of the Gulag. A brutal and corrupt world. He was very old-school and traditional. His word had been law.”

“He’s still a legend,” Kazimir said.

“No.” Nikolay shook his head. “Once the lion came, there was no question about legends.”

Yes. My man is bad ass.

I beamed with pride.

“Kazimir stood next to me at the grave. Earlier, we’d carried the casket, along with Sasha and others. But I remember that day. Everyone cried and looked with fear. Kazimir stared at that statue as it towered over us.”

I thought of a younger Kazimir attending his stepfather’s funeral.

“Kazimir never looked away from the statue, even when the priest came to say his final prayer.” Nikolay looked off in the distance as if seeing the moment in front of him. “I leaned his way, barely knowing him, but curious. And I whispered, ‘What are you looking at’?”

Tags: Kenya Wright Romance
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