Dirty Kisses_Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

by Kenya Wright

I took off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, and shed that too. One of my men grabbed them. Although I wasn’t a fashion person like my sister Valentina—always needing to buy this designer or that—I hated blood on my suit.

  I gestured to my men. “Lift his head.”

  They did.

  Blood streamed down his face as he coughed and spat out murky saliva. He blinked his bruised eyes and squinted at me, probably taking in the tattoo on my bare arm.

  It was a lion climbing up a rocky cliff. The huge creature’s mane waved in the air. His eyes roared fiercely violent. His claws looked so sharp against my skin, many women told me they feared they’d be cut from caressing the bicep.

  My brother walked in, spotted the beaten guy, and frowned. “Next time, clean this up before you call us.”

  My men nodded.

  Sasha hated blood—the scent, the feel, the sight. Even when he killed, he did so in clean ways—ropes, needles, drowning, etc. Our other brothers joked that he murdered like an old woman. Always hanging this person or that.

  “It’s messy.” Sasha looked away and probably would continue to avoid the scene.

  I took off my watch, pocketed it, and turned to the beaten guy. “What’s your name?”

  “Darryl.” Blood dripped from the corner of his lip. “I told them I-I don’t know who did it. I don’t know how to do what he did. I can’t—”

  I shrugged. “Then, are you ready to die, Darryl?”

  “No! Please, God no.”

  “I need a solution.” I walked over to him.

  “I don’t know who did it! I don’t!” Darryl scrambled back, struggling to get out of my men’s hold.

  Fifty million dollars is missing. You’re lucky your heart is still beating and none of your legs are broken.

  In a calm voice, I asked, “Where’s my money?”

  “I-I don’t know. I—”

  “Relax.” I stopped in front of him and kneeled to face him. “Do you know who I am?”

  Darryl shivered and nodded his head. “You’re the Russian Lion.”

  “You silly Americans.” I smiled. “I am not the Russian lion.” I leaned in closer. “I am the Lion, and there are no others above or on my level.”

  “Y-yes, s-sir.”

  “It’s always important to know who you’re having a conversation with. Don’t you agree?”

  “Y-yes.” Darryl’s chest rose and fell like he’d been running.

  “Let’s begin.” I gestured at my men.

  They let Darryl go. He dropped to the floor.

  One of my men brought over a chair. I rose and sat in it. Darryl stared at me, trembling with my every movement.

  A man pushed over a tray full of beautiful things—fire torch, several different hand saws, a trusty hammer, pliers, a cheese grater, and nail gun. I studied the tray wondering what I would start with first.

  “Do not use the cheese grater.” Sasha glanced at the tray. “I hate when you do it.”

  I shrugged at Darryl. “My brother doesn’t have the stomach for certain things.”

  Darryl pissed his pants, staining his jeans. Urine spilled out on the carpet under him.

  “Fine. No cheese grater this evening.” I grabbed the nail gun, leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs, and rested the gun on my lap. “Do you know a lot about lions, Darryl?”

  He stared at the nail gun, his lip quivering with each second. “N-no.”

  “Although they are the largest animals, lions are not the best hunters.” I trailed the length of the nail gun with my thumb. “Lions survive because they hunt in groups. Loyalty is important. And their hunting methods are ruthless and scientific.”

  I gestured for him to come closer. Darryl crawled my way, reeking of urine. When he got a few inches from me, he placed his hands into a praying position.

  “P-please—”

  “Do you know why they call me the Lion?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “A lion’s favorite way to kill is suffocation.” I rushed for him, wrapped one hand around his throat, and placed the tip of the nail gun to his temple.

  My movement caught everyone by surprise. Darryl screamed before finding himself choked. My men grabbed their guns not knowing what was going on and then quickly put them away.

  I stared into Darryl’s eyes as he struggled against choking. “They call me the Lion because I’m fast when I attack. At times, I surprise myself.”

  Sasha turned our way and took out a cigarette. “Really, Kazimir? There’s no need for you to get dirty.”

  Darryl struggled, clawing at my hands and fighting to breathe.

  I tightened my hold on his windpipe and turned to Sasha. “Come on, brother. I never get blood on my hands anymore.”

  “Respectfully, I believe we don’t have the time. If Rumi was meant to hurt our money, then there will be a war to deal with. You’ll have plenty of time for blood.” Sasha lit his cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a circle. “Maybe we should ask him questions. Instead of choke him.”

  “I’m getting to that. This is foreplay.” I let go of Darryl’s throat and slung him to the floor. “Ignore my brother. He’s always in a bad mood when he comes to America. You can’t get a good vodka here.”

  Darryl coughed into his hands as he lay on the floor.

  “But enough about my brother.” I kneeled by Darryl. “Here’s an interesting fact. A single lion will often get a good bite on its victim's throat and crush the windpipe.” I brought the nail gun to his face and pressed the tip on his temple.

  “P-please, I don’t know anything.”

  “While that lion is suffocating the prey, it is not odd for the other lions to open the abdomen.” I moved the nail gun to his stomach. “And then the lions will begin eating while the animal is still being suffocated.”

  Darryl jerked away from the gun.

  “So, tell me, Darryl. Why do you think they call me the lion?”

  “B-because. . .you’re f-fast, ruthless, and smart and. . .you kill—”

  “Good job.” I patted his head and walked back to my chair. “That was fun, but we should stop playing and get down to business. Do you know Alana?”

  “Yes.”

  “You fucked her this morning, right after Rumi died?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you told her that you washed money for Rumi. Millions of dollars. You said you had a plan in the works where you would be running New York.” I tapped the nail gun on my lap. “This is good for me because if you don’t have anything to do with Rumi’s murder, then you can take over his washing. It seems a position is open.”

  Darryl scrambled back to his knees and did that praying motion again. “Y-yes, but I was just telling her that to fuck, not to—”

  “Remember, Darryl. Lions hunt in groups. She’s a scout.”

  “I lied. It was all to impress her.”

  “But, you do work for Rumi?”

  “Yes, but I’m low level. I’m no one.”

  “Your name is on every property he owns.”

  “It’s just a front. It’s to. . .” Darryl shook his head in defeat. “It’s just a front to clean his money.”

  “But, you said you’re low level.”

  Sasha tapped ash on the floor. “Darryl, perhaps you should get to explaining the situation quickly, before my brother gets angry.”

  Darryl wiped his face with his shaking fingers. “Okay. Okay. Back in the day, before Rumi got up with y’all, someone cleaned the money for Rumi. She taught him how to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Rumi and I had. . .a problem, but I was working with him. She put my name on everything.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why?”

  “To keep me safe. If I’m on all of Rumi’s shit, then he probably would think twice before killing me. But that was years ago, before he got this big. All the money washing shit. I don’t know nothing about it.”

  “You’re not saving yourself.” I gripped the nail gun. “I have no reason t
o keep you alive. You don’t know who killed Rumi. You don’t know where my money is, and you have no idea how to clean.”

  “Who was the woman who started Rumi off? Whoever taught Rumi was flawless.” Sasha finished his cigarette, dropped it on the carpet, and stomped it out with his foot. “I saw Rumi’s financial records. Every damn penny was sparkling clean from the very first day. There was a clear system in place. Maybe you should introduce us to this person. They’re efficient and can clearly keep their mouth closed.”

  “But. . .” Darryl rubbed his face again and this time he looked more scared than ever. “It’s my sister, man. I can’t do that to her.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything.

  I rose from my seat.

  Perhaps Darryl thought I would ask him the question again with more sternness. Maybe even throw in a threat and glare at him.

  I’d become bored. There was no need for words, unless they gave a name and location. Until then, we would talk with blood.

  I shot a nail into his upper thigh.

  “No!” Darryl rolled away. “Fuck! My sister’s name is Emily. She’s in Harlem.”

  Blood dripped from his leg. His whole body shook as he screamed in pain.

  I tapped the gun against his other leg. “I need more information, Darryl.”

  “S-she has an art showing today. Her paintings. S-she has a gallery.” Tears spilled out of his eyes. “I can show you. I-I can take you there.”

  “Hmmm.” I began to shoot him again.

  Sasha placed his hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got the information.”

  “Yes, but once I start, I like to—”

  “This is why we don’t let you get dirty anymore.” Sasha gestured for our men to get Darryl. “Let’s clean up. We have an art event to go to.”

  I didn’t rise yet.

  Sasha looked at Darryl. “Is your sister any good?”

  “Huh?” Darryl shook on the ground, glancing back and forth from Sasha to me.

  “Is your sister a good painter?” Sasha asked.

  “I’ve never seen Emily lose at anything,” Darryl whispered.

  I wiped my nail gun on Darryl’s pants. “Then, let’s hope your sister’s luck is better than yours.”

  Sasha walked off and handed out orders to our men. “Get the address and take us over.”

  I got to my brother’s side. “A woman washer?”

  Sasha nodded. “I’m sure it’s not odd for others.”

  I set the nail gun on Rumi’s desk and then we left the penthouse, bypassing blood, death, and scattered dildos.

  When we got outside, I said, “I hope Darryl’s sister is smarter than her brother. I hate killing women.”

  Sasha laughed. “It’s because you’re too busy trying to fuck them.”

  “That’s what they’re here for.”

  “No. One day you’ll meet a woman who will change that thinking.”

  I paused in front of the elevator and gave Sasha the oddest look. “Do you really think that?”

  The elevator arrived. The doors opened.

  Sasha laughed again. “No, I don’t. I just like to sound human every now and then.”

  I shook my head. “Being human is so boring.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Sasha walked on the elevator. “It’s nothing as exciting as being a lion.”

  I thought back to that conversation with Darryl. “Too bad I didn’t get to use the blow torch.”

  “There is that.” Sasha gestured for me to come on. “I’m sure there will be more opportunities.”

  I walked on the elevator. “We’ll go see this Emily. If she does what we want, we leave New York. If she does not, then we kill her in front of Darryl and have him see if he can find someone else.”

  Sasha added, “And hopefully we’ll buy a nice painting or two.”

  “There is that.”

  Chapter 2

  Emily

  I had another blackout. This one was worse than the others. This morning, I woke up in my office in strange clothes. My pocketbook hadn’t disappeared. My phone and wallet lay inside. I still had on my gold heart locket.

  My stomach twisted.

  Whatever guy I’d met had the good grace to not rob or hurt me.

  But then why did he change my clothes? And how did I end up back in my office? I can’t believe I fucking blacked out.

  A voice sounded in front of me. “Emily?”

  There’d been money in the desk. The stranger hadn’t even looked. Maybe I’d drunkenly told the person to bring me here. I made a point to never bring anyone home. At least, I had it together enough to not do that.

  “Emily?”

  I looked up from my desk.

  “Emily, are you okay?” My best friend, Kennedy stood in my office’s doorway.

  Bouncy corkscrew curls outlined her face. Kennedy had that mixed look where people never knew exactly what she was. Some said Dominican. Others guessed black and white. I knew it was black and Japanese.

  I, on the other hand, looked African American. Brown skin and a huge kinky afro that I barely brought out. Tonight, I kept it braided and hidden under my favorite wig.

  I loved my hair but had a special addiction to wigs. They let me hide and pretend. Back in my brownstone, I had tons of wigs. Wigs for partying. Wigs for fucking. Wigs for adventure. All brushed and pampered, used and then placed back in my closet like museum pieces.

  I’d given each wig a name.

  Tonight, I wore Cynthia. She was long silky strands of ebony that passed my shoulders.

  Kennedy walked in and towered over me. I was short next to her.

  She could’ve been a model. We’d both dreamed of it, when we were kids playing with our dolls. She ended up growing tall and slim—perfect for a runway. I resulted in short and super curvy due to my mom’s voluptuous DNA. One look at my hips and breasts and a fashion agency would suggest I do porn instead of glamour magazines.

  Kennedy pointed at my wig. “I see you’re wearing Cynthia today.”

  Smiling, I shook my hair. “This is my art debut. Cynthia had to come out.”

  There was one thing that I learned in life: I needed different identities to survive. Compartments. Alter egos. My Cynthia look came out to play when I was super nervous. She was all sleek and sexy business attire. Fitted, designer clothes. Heels that cost more than most people’s rent.

  “Why have you been sitting in here the whole time?” Kennedy stepped inside and closed the office door. “We’ve started. The gallery is filling up. What are you doing?”

  I blinked. “Everyone’s already here?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She flashed her watch at me. “It’s been an hour.”

  Damn it. I thought it was morning. What’s going on?

  “Nothing.” I rose. “I just partied too much last night.”

  “I’m glad you ended up having fun. You were pissed when you left, cursing and looking through your Tinder.”

  I scanned my brain trying to remember yesterday. “I was mad last night?”

  “Yeah. Something about someone trying to cock block your evening. Anyway, I’m glad you ended up enjoying yourself.” She grinned. “What hot Tinder guy did you hook up with? Let me guess, he had some stupid name like Baby2U or BrickCity69?”

  I frowned. “I can’t remember.”

  “Again?” She widened her eyes in shock. “Girl, you need to chill on the drinking. You know there’s a serial killer out there.”

  “Yeah. The Tinder Killer, but he’s killing guys.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I know. I know.” An ache beat at my head. I grabbed my water bottle, finished it, and headed out of the office. “I’m done with alcohol.”

  “You said that shit two days ago.”

  “I just turned twenty-one. Give me a break. It’s like a rite of passage to be drunk the whole year.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve been drinking since we were kids.”

  I had no response.
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  “At least work on getting the sex thing fixed.” She followed me down the hall. “I worry about you.”

  The sex thing fixed?

  I didn’t comment again. I loved her, but she was the type of friend to act like a judgmental mother, always nagging and questioning. Granted, she cared for me with every inch of her heart. Due to that, she could say what she wanted.

  She probably has a point anyway. I just don’t want to deal with my mess.

  “You know what?” Kennedy shook her head. “Who am I to judge?”

  “No.” I let out a long breath. “You’re right. I do need to work on it.”

  Chatter and soft giggling sounded ahead of us.

  We entered the main gallery.

  People crowded the place. Jazz music filled the space and rose against the chatter. Glasses clinked. Kennedy had dimmed the lights to keep the focus on the art.

  All my paintings had a cordless picture light mounted at the top of their frames, casting a warm white glow over the works. Twelve large beasts covered the wall. All of them were lions, clawing and roaring, hunting and attacking. There were a few paintings that showed the lions’ calmer life—a lioness licking her cubs, a lion lounging on the top of a cliff as wind blew through his mane. They were all mixed media images—paint and tiny crystals that took me forever to put in the right places.

  My stomach calmed.

  This event could lead to more opportunities, and they would be legal ones. I wouldn’t have to hide what I did, and things wouldn’t be so dangerous.

  This is going to help us.

  I drank in the area.

  Beautifully dressed couples browsed the paintings. Many of them held hands. Groups of women strolled around along with a good bit of men. They all nibbled on the hors d’oeuvres.

  Kennedy stood at my side and softly tapped my arm. “I’m just saying. Maybe you should get a long-term guy instead of doing one-night stands when you’re horny.”

  Girl, are we still on that?

  I nodded and walked away, needing to get lost in the buzzing energy of those around me.

  Kennedy might’ve had a point, but we were different when it came to men. She needed their love and attention, damn near survived on it more than food and water. I just wanted their dicks, every now and then. They could keep the rest of their bullshit to themselves.