Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  I swallowed.

  Life was crazy. Yesterday, our moments had been sweet, playing out in technicolor. I had spent the best time with Kaz. My baby grew healthy within me. And he had showed me a memorial of our lost child.

  Unicorn glitter had damn near flowed through my veins.

  The next day, a dead pregnant gorilla lay in our bed, full of bloody mice. Our loving reality shattered into shards of glass and erratic puzzle pieces that I didn’t think I could sort.

  There were tons of things that I could fix in the brotherhood, but not racism. What could one do to erase the blackness of hate? No matter what I did for these particular men in the brotherhood, they would loathe me. And it was just due to the color of my skin. Nothing else. Nothing I could change. I would always be a monkey to them. Not human. Probably less than an animal.

  And I thought black women had problems in America. Why the hell would I think things would be different in Russia?

  Black women were like the abandoned houses of the world. Stripped by many and trashed for no reason. Forgotten and misused. And regardless of the empty bottles thrown at our floors and spray paint decorating our walls, we continued to be the foundation for humanity. We stood strong, without flinching. Raising up nations and loving all those who embraced us. Even to our own destruction.

  Of all things. Why this? Why now?

  I followed Kaz back into the house. Several of his men met us at the door. Without an order, they followed us to the servant’s area. Max and Boris stood at the bottom of the stairs, when they spotted us they rushed our way.

  I thought back to Kaz’s words.

  “Many will die this afternoon. Anyone who has nothing to say will be the first that I kill.”

  Kaz slowed his pace to mine and grabbed my hand. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And the baby?”

  “I don’t feel any pain.”

  “Good.” Kaz squeezed my hand. “If I go too far, let me know.”

  Had he forgotten who he fell in love with?

  I didn’t have a problem with blood at all.

  We made it to the servant’s quarters behind the kitchen area.

  On my first week in Moscow, Kaz had introduced everyone to me. He had a staff of forty people on call for twenty-four hours. Most worked in shifts. At the top of the hierarchy were the housekeeper and butler. From my understanding, they lead their divisions. Two leaders. Each with different duties. Kaz also had two Russian chefs. The rest of the staff consisted of maids, stewards, groundskeepers, and a valet.

  At this hour, around ten maids worked in the huge kitchen along with two stewards near the door. When they saw us, all paused from what they were doing.

  Friedrich, the butler sat at the head of the table, festive in his plum-colored smoking-jacket. A forkful of food, halfway to his open mouth. When we entered, he stopped the forks motion in mid-air. Unnoticed, the food slid off the fork and fell with a soft, distinct plop onto the edge of the table.

  The housekeeper had been in the act of drinking a glass of water. With the glass, frozen against her mouth, water trickled down her chin and onto her shirt.

  Pavel entered the back of the kitchen with five groundskeepers.

  David stood on Kaz’s right. “What do you need?”

  Kaz watched the staff. “Get me several sharp knives.”

  Any of the staff that sat, now stood.

  All knew this was business.

  David rushed over to the counter, scrutinized the knives block, and yanked out several sharpened weapons. He returned and handed a butcher knife to Kaz and kept two knives for himself.

  In his hand, Kaz swung the butcher knife back and forth.

  Friedrich put the fork down and rose from his seat. “Sir, can I be of service in anyway?”

  “Yes.” Kaz walked over to him. “We have a problem with dead animals being brought into the house. I’m wondering if anyone has something to say.”

  Max stepped to my side. “What do you want me to do?”

  I leaned his way. “Look for the guilty ones.”

  “Got you.” He gave me his gun. “Take this, just in case.”

  “Thanks.”

  The butler caught that movement between us. His face reddened.

  When it came to finding a culprit, it usually took the sight of blood to draw most out. That meant someone had to die within a minute to get everyone talking.

  As if Kazimir read my mind, he called over a tall steward. “You. Get over here.”

  Not moving, the man shook his head and spoke in fast Russian.

  “You heard him.” David walked over. Within a second, David grabbed the steward by his shirt collar and hauled him over to Kaz. The steward dropped to the ground, placed his hands in a praying position, and begged for his life.

  My phone rang.

  What the hell? Is that Jean-Pierre again?

  I pulled it out and answered, “Yes?”

  Humor coated Jean-Pierre’s voice. “Surprisingly, the staff is innocent. I would advise you leave them alone.”

  My heart sped up. “Are you enjoying the show?”

  “I am.”

  Kaz spun around and glared at me.

  I swallowed. “If no one on the staff is guilty, then point us in the right direction.”

  “I would kill all the men watching the cameras, but unfortunately that may cut off my feed. But a good friend always says the right thing even if it could harm him personally.”

  I looked at Kaz. “Jean-Pierre said everyone here is innocent. We should go for the men watching the cameras.”

  Kaz sneered. I knew he didn’t want to listen to Jean-Pierre, but the last thing he wanted was to kill innocent staff members. Especially since many had been around for a long time and served his mother.

  Kaz gestured for the crying steward to leave and held his hand out. “Give me the phone. I would like to talk to your friend myself.”

  Jean-Pierre spoke on the other line, “I’m not interested in speaking to the lion at this time. He doesn’t look welcoming at all. I will only deal with you.”

  I backed up and gripped the phone hard. “Then, give me more information.”

  Kaz frowned.

  Jean-Pierre continued, “Once Louis hit the lion’s security system, we were able to go back. It appears you’ve had a few more presents before. Monkey heads. A chimpanzee—”

  “Whose doing it?”

  “Do you know any Latin, Emily?”

  “What?”

  “Quid pro quo, little mouse. That’s Latin. It means something for something. That’s how we do this.”

  I frowned. “What do you want?”

  Kaz stepped right in front of me.

  Jean-Pierre spoke, “I want France safe.”

  Kaz tried to take the phone.

  I held my hand out to block him. “Fine. I may be able to do that. Tell me who it is.”

  “Good, but that’s not it.”

  “What else?”

  “No war between the Russians and French.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No. In my monitoring your house’s footage, I noticed something quite interesting.” Jean-Pierre’s voice shifted from chipper to mad. “It appears you have a masked guest under your house. I would like to take him off your hands.”

  “A masked guest?”

  His tone shifted to dark and dangerous. “I want the Devil.”

  My frown deepened. “I understand.”

  Kaz didn’t look pleased. Once I relayed the message, my lion would be even more pissed.

  “Leave the staff alone. I’ll meet you in a few days and show you the footage,” Jean-Pierre said. “Until then, try not to kill any innocent people. I don’t enjoy watching it.”

  The phone clicked.

  Goddamn it.

  Kaz held his hand out.

  I gave him my phone.

  “You’re done talking to him,” Kaz growled.

  “He’s helping.”

 
“Is he? I don’t trust him. Jean-Pierre will only do for himself and his people.”

  “Speaking of that,” I sighed. “He won’t give me the footage of who’s involved unless we give him three things.”

  “What?”

  “France safe. No Bratva-Corsican war. And. . .”

  Kaz wore an evil smile. “And?”

  “He wants the devil.”

  “So, an exchange?”

  I nodded.

  Shaking his head, David came close to us. “I know I don’t have a vote, but after the last exchange with the French. . .my heart isn’t excited about this.”

  Kaz pocketed my phone, took his out, and dialed. A minute later, he spoke, “Misha, I need you. Yes. They did it again. This time it’s worse, and the French are still hacked into the system.”

  I looked up at the ceiling wondering where Kaz’s security cameras were in the room.

  Minutes later, Kaz hung up the phone and marched out of the servant quarters. “David, get all the men monitoring the footage. Put them in the cells below the house.”

  “Okay.” David headed away.

  Kaz gestured to my guys. “Boris and Maxwell, help him.”

  Everyone else walked that way.

  Kaz took my hand. “Mysh, come with me.”

  I looked up at him. “What are we doing now?”

  “You and I are going to your building. Misha said that’s the only place on the property with no cameras.”

  “Why are we going there?”

  Kaz growled, “Because we need to talk without your creepy friend watching us.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Scowling, Kaz said nothing else.

  Chapter 17

  Mafia Politics

  Kazimir

  A pregnant gorilla with mice? The sign of Babylon?

  Only death would come in these next days.

  And it appeared Jean-Pierre had slithered back into our lives again, trying to gain favor with my mouse once again. Smart, but very dangerous.

  We entered Emily’s building. She’d done a good job of making sure I couldn’t monitor her in this area. Now that effort would provide the only private place on the property.

  It took us ten minutes to get to the front entrance.

  As usual, two of her men stood outside the door. They’d hidden themselves in odd nooks with guns pointed our way. When they spotted Emily, the guns lowered. One smiled at her.

  The door opened.

  Lemon stepped out and nodded as we walked inside the occupied room.

  Excitement covered Lemon’s face. “I’ve made lunch if you’re hungry.”

  “We’re not. We need to talk.”

  Lemon did a half bow and disappeared through a set of black doors on the side of the room.

  That must lead to the kitchen.

  The aroma of home-cooking wafted through the warm air.

  Emily has made this old, shitty building a home.

  Long ago, the three level building had housed ten maids and two butlers. They’d had a large space on the first floor which the servants had shared. A massive kitchen for meals and an even bigger room served as an emergency pantry.

  There was an underground entrance that led to the tunnel. That underground path connected to the house. It was so the servants wouldn’t have to walk back and forth through the snow during the winter.

  Later, my mother had a new quarters formed. It was closer to our house, held the highest quality items, and a state of the art heating system.

  The old building was emptied after that and turned into storage. In my earlier days, I’d had many weapons stocked away on all levels. When I took the secret bases from Russia, I began storing my weapons there.

  This was now my third time entering the place. I paused for a second and studied it. The last time I came here, the space had been stripped bare. All gray cement. Wallpaper torn off. Hammering and sawing had sounded above.

  Now, the space resembled the lobby of a boutique hostel. Communal living at its best.

  The deep brown floor glowed like polished glass. With each echoing step, I realized it was some form of dark marble. Flowers stuffed vases on mahogany tables. Several of Emily’s people lounged on a massive fifthteen piece sectional sofa—all black and soft looking. They rose from the couch. Someone shut off the flat-screen television they’d been watching.

  Everyone focused on Emily.

  “Clear the room. Kaz and I need to talk.”

  With no question or word uttered, they rushed out of there. Some headed through twin doors with white golden handles that must’ve led to the barracks area. Emily had explained that the second and third levels were similar to college dorms. Everyone had a small room with one roommate. The building held fifty people. Twenty five on each floor. It must’ve been tight quarters for all of them. Being that most of her people had been homeless—killers living on the streets—I doubt they cared.

  As the room continued to empty, I scanned more of the space. “Do you have an office in here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You took care of them first?”

  “They’re protecting us. I thought it would be smart to take care of them first.”

  I nodded. “Due to this, they’ll be loyal to the end.”

  “I hope so.”

  I walked around the now filled space.

  Exquisite paintings hung from the rich, red walls. I recognized them as Emily’s works—the ones I had brought back from her gallery in Harlem.

  “Why didn’t you hang these in our house?”

  She half shrugged. “Because you have classic art in there worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. And my stuff can’t compete. Better to respect the art gods.”

  “Your work is brilliant and captivating. I would want to see it all the time.” I focused on the smaller details of the room. Swirled engravings decorated the door hinges. Thick, luxuriant rugs lay in front of a fireplace filled with wooden logs, flickering under flames.

  I turned back to her. “Maybe, you should renovate the house.”

  “I couldn’t. It’s your mother’s place. Even I can see memories of her there, and I never met her. I wouldn’t want to touch anything.”

  My heart warmed from that response. “That is a good point. In the end, it will always be her home. Perhaps, we need a new place.”

  “Before we think of that, we need to stop people from putting dead animals in our bedroom. No matter where we go, I believe they’ll show up.”

  “You’re right.” My rage returned.

  The last remainder of people left.

  Only Emily and I stood with a foot between us. Burning fury coursed through my veins, but I had to calm down. None of it was directed at her.

  Still, she had a sad look. “What do you want to do?”

  “Besides kill everybody?”

  The sad expression shifted to a weak smile. “It won’t be that easy, baby.”

  “I know. This may be the hardest next days of my life. There’s an enemy among us, posing like a friend. I’m used to that, but in this case, the enemy is more yours than mine. I’ve shot and killed many things, but never have I been able to destroy racism.” I pulled her to me, needing her body pressed against mine. “How are you really? How’s the baby?”

  “We’re fine. No feeling of weakness. Not sick at all.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and lay her head against my chest. “I’m just angry. Ready to spill blood. Aggravated that I don’t know who it is. I want this stopped now.”

  I held her tighter. With my other hand, I ran my fingers through her hair. “Someone wanted to send a message.”

  “And they know I’m pregnant. The gorilla looked like she was pregnant, when she was killed.”

  “The person is closer than we thought.” I clenched my jaw. “I told a lot of people about your pregnancy, but it’s mainly the people who are currently in the house.”

  She left my arms. “Jean-Pierre said it wasn’t the cleaning staff. How can someone sneak
an animal into the house without them knowing?”

  “Jean-Pierre could be lying. He has his own agenda.”

  “And if he isn’t?”

  “Regardless, the person must know the butler and everyone else’s schedule.” I checked my watch. It was midday. “This is a shift change. The butler and housekeeper would be downstairs to pass down any information to the people coming on shift, as well as review details with the ones leaving.”

  “Okay. So, let’s assume Monkey Guy knows the schedule or how to seize the opportunity to get the schedule. I don’t know how to find it out, but I’m sure there’s a camera that could show a person going in the servant area to check.”

  “Unless security hid it.” I shoved my hands in my pocket. “Everyone in the security room must die. I can’t give more chances, when it comes to you and our baby’s mental stability.”

  She began to pace in front of me. “I hate killing innocent people, but the fact that the footage keeps getting hidden, means that most of the security people on the cameras are guilty. Someone’s been erasing the footage or blocking it somehow. Jean-Pierre can see it, but apparently our own people have been unable to view it. And that’s bullshit.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Fair point.”

  “Still. . .” She stopped pacing and faced me. “I want to wait on doing anything until we get the footage from Jean-Pierre.”

  Every time she said that perfumed pansy’s name, I wanted to put a bullet in his head.

  She studied my expression. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious.”

  “Jean-Pierre.”

  “You’re not happy about his involvement?”

  “I want him dead. Now he’s figured out a way to stay breathing for a few more days. He’s going to stretch that out as much as possible.” I walked over to the wall near the black doors leading to the kitchen. The closer I got, the more I could hear pots and pans clinking. Next to the entrance, a map of Kapotnya hung next to one of Russia. “What’s this for?”

  “What?” Emily walked over to me. “Oh. I wanted this building to be a temporary living arrangement for them. The end goal is for everyone to get their own hustles and fully take care of themselves. I’ve been slowly trying to think up things in the district that they can do. Ways for everyone to get paid without hurting the people there.”