Dirty Obsessions: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse Book 5.5)

by Kenya Wright

  “Get to the damn information.”

  “Well, it’s because the lover was in the perfume shop. The Devil is certain she has the codes.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s on her somehow. Every time she goes somewhere we track them to her. Jean-Pierre never has them.”

  Snores filled the limo. Maxwell had his mouth open, eyes closed, and hand gripping his cock.

  I gazed out the window and tapped my finger against the glass. “Right now, the codes are with our enemy and no one knows this but us.”

  “Correct.”

  “How do we get the codes?”

  “The Devil has a plan.”

  I closed my eyes. “Will we like his plan? He’s already killed several people.”

  “I hate his execution, but I don’t think we would have gotten this far without him. Especially since you refuse to get on the job and take care of this yourself.”

  I gritted my teeth. “That’s fair. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “That ballerina will be the death of you.”

  “Then, it will be a happy death. What’s the Devil’s plan?”

  “We have a lunar eclipse in several days. Next Tuesday to be exact. Jean-Pierre rented out the Paris Observatory.”

  “He’s into astronomy or something?”

  “Something. It doesn’t matter. We’re going to get inside his place that night.”

  “And if the codes aren’t there?” I asked.

  “Then, we get them from him.”

  “The plan sounds like crap. We need this to be exact and well thought out. Any false move could extend the war between the Brotherhood and Corsican. While Kazimir is fine with the war, he won’t be happy if Jean-Pierre has one-half of his codes.”

  “What do we do then?”

  “Keep your eyes on the codes and wait. I’ll call back later today.”

  “You mean you’ll be here later today.”

  “I have something to do in an hour. If that goes smoothly, then yes I’ll be in Paris.”

  “What could be more important?”

  “I’ll talk to you soon.” I hung up and called Rolan.

  The phone barely rung. “Mikhail! Where the hell is Ava? Her grandmother is worried.”

  I blinked. “We were out. Would you calm down?”

  Rolan spoke to someone else. “See, babochka. She’s on her way.”

  “Hold on. You’re with Mrs. Jones?”

  “Of course. Someone had to keep her company.”

  She said something off in the distance, but I couldn’t comprehend it.

  I shook my head. “Why didn’t you go straight home, batya?”

  “Why didn’t you go straight home?”

  I groaned. “Perhaps it’s good that you’re there. I’m going to handle the artistic director that was bothering Ava.”

  “And then you’re heading to Paris?”

  “No. Then, we’re heading to Paris.”

  He laughed. “I told you where I will be. You focus on your responsibilities. I’ll focus on mine.”

  “What happened to you making sure I focus on them?”

  “I told you my theory.”

  “On new pussy?”

  “Yes, Mikhail. I’m currently in the throes of that dilemma.”

  “Oh no, batya. Mrs. Jones is not new pussy.”

  “You’re correct. She’s more than that.” Rolan hung up.

  Goddamn it!

  I called him back. He didn’t answer. I put my phone up, lay back in my seat, and considered what to do with the problem in Paris. Rolan figured Celina took the codes. If that was true, then how did they get in Paris?

  What the hell is going on?

  Rolan’s theory of new pussy hit my head.

  I took my phone back out and dialed Naveen.

  “Yes?” Naveen answered.

  “Who’s the lover?”

  “What?”

  “Jean-Pierre’s lover. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. She looks mixed. I don’t know what. She has long black hair and all that.”

  “Does she play the violin?”

  “I saw one of the guards carrying a violin case into the building where Jean-Pierre lives.”

  “So, his lover is Celina’s niece. That’s what started this whole damn war. Jean-Pierre began stalking her niece. Celina came to my father about it.”

  “I never got that. It’s not like Uncle Igor to go to war for one of his mistresses.”

  “It wasn’t just about Celina. Her niece, Eden is the daughter of one of my father’s men.”

  “He died?”

  “No. He went crazy. The Brotherhood retired him.”

  “So, how does this change things?”

  “Celina was always the most manipulative of my father’s mistresses. If Celina gave the codes to her niece, then the niece doesn’t know either. She’s outside of our world.”

  “Not too outside of our world if she’s fucking the Butcher.”

  “You make sure the Devil doesn’t move until I say so. Everything is too close and personal. I may not have honored all of my father’s intentions, but I won’t let anything happen to Eden. Father had a certain protective nature about her. I’d heard hints that he intended Eden for me long ago. One of his many stupid Brotherhood traditions. He gave that idea up once my obsession for Ava began.”

  “All right. We don’t move without your consent.”

  “Keep tracking the codes and don’t lose sight of her. If Eden has them and no one knows, then this could work out for us.”

  “This will be a hard sell for the Devil.”

  “Why?”

  “Once he realized Jean-Pierre was directly involved, he became too excited to go after him.”

  “There’s a revenge angle?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Keep that dog on a leash. If he acts up, shoot him.”

  “Understood.”

  I hung up and closed my eyes.

  Eden is in Paris with Jean-Pierre. How did that happen?

  My father would have lost his mind. He might have gone to Paris personally to stop anything from happening between them. From my understanding, Celina and my father had kept Jean-Pierre away from Eden. She was supposed to be well-guarded from the French.

  Somehow Jean-Pierre had crept through the cracks and seduced her.

  And she has the codes and doesn’t know. How do we get them from her? And why wouldn’t she know? How did Celina hide them?

  Chapter 8

  Misha

  Over the centuries, people have called the city of St Petersburg many names. One was the City on 1010 islands. It was built on islands and situated in the delta of the Neva River, forming 42 islands. There were over 300 bridges to cross all the rivers and canals. Every island of St Petersburg varied. Some boasted large populations and were linked to other islands by elegant bridges. Others were unpopulated and required a boat to reach.

  Akiva’s place was located on Krestovsky Island. The Middle Nevka River ran right in front of his bedroom window.

  The premium luxury condo was the essence of extravagance and grandeur. Over two thousand square feet. Perfectly designed with a warm color pallet. Two spacious bedrooms and two baths. Quality textures and natural materials. Art Deco interior. A large kitchen with a spacious dining area. Therefore the property was serenely separated into social and private spaces without interrupting the flow and essence of the rich décor.

  My men, Maxwell, and I currently lounged in the living space and enjoyed its high-class splendor. The stained-glass windows of pirouetting ballerinas added a special charm to the premises.

  It had been difficult to get inside his building. The condo complex included a concierge service, intercoms, and video surveillance. I called my office. My alpha team hacked into the intercoms and surveillance, temporarily disabling everything for my visit. My guards grabbed the concierge, tied the man up, and
left him bound in the office. When we were done, he would be freed.

  Exhaustion plagued us all. Still, no one slept. We had to be on guard when Akiva returned with his new guards. Four men took their time taping sheets of plastic all over the living room carpet. One of my men grabbed a book from Akiva’s shelf and read it. Another checked his phone. Others explored the big place, sampling some of the vodka at the bar or pocketing a few expensive watches in his bedroom.

  On the couch across from me, Maxwell rubbed his eyes. “What’s the goal?”

  “Kill Akiva. Finish the threat to Ava.”

  “You think getting rid of Akiva will end it?”

  “I think showing the families that Akiva and the Solntsevskaya don’t scare me will end it.”

  “Then you’ll head to Paris?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “I can’t believe there’s more than one Brotherhood. I thought you all were one big ass group.”

  “There are notable groups within the Brotherhood. All pay their dues to Kazimir. When he needs them, they hand over their men and weapons for his use. Most of the time he leaves them alone.”

  “But this group that Akiva has—”

  “They’re Solntsevskaya Bratva. They don’t pay dues to Kazimir.”

  “And they wouldn’t help him if needed?”

  “They would come to watch him die.” I yawned. “They’re a group based in a small neighborhood in Moscow. Some are here in St Petersburg. Perhaps, there are others scattered around Russia, but they're confined to this country. Nothing more than fleas on a dog.”

  “And the dog is Kazimir?”

  I laughed. “No. The park that the dog walks in is Kazimir.”

  Some of my men chuckled with me.

  “If you say it that way, then why are they alive?” Maxwell asked.

  “His mother’s father was Solntsevskaya Brotherhood.”

  “So, basically. . .Kazimir’s grandfather?”

  “Exactly. There’s blood roots in that neighborhood. Probably the men that we kill today are distant cousins to Kazimir in some way.”

  “Do they know?”

  “Yes. Their hate for Kazimir stems from his mother. After Kazimir’s father died, there was suspicion that the King did it.”

  “Sasha’s father?”

  I nodded. “Kazimir’s mother was supposed to slyly get close to the King and then kill him. Instead, she fell in love and married him. The Solntsevskaya never forgave her. When she died, many members of the Solntsevskaya came to her gave and urinated on it.”

  “Damn. That’s cold.”

  “When Kazimir heard of this, he delivered bombs to their neighborhood. They called that the Season of Blood.”

  A few of my men drew an invisible holy cross in front of them as if the ghosts of those men would come after them.

  “After the Season of Blood, the Solntsevskaya is no longer a group of several thousand men. They’re barely a few hundred.”

  Maxwell whistled. “I guess the lesson in that story is to never urinate on someone’s mother’s grave.”

  “Even more important, never piss off Kazimir. No pun intended.”

  “This shit is interesting.” Maxwell adjusted himself on the couch. “So, basically this group was part of the overall Brotherhood until they urinated on the grave?”

  “Basically.”

  “And now they’re separate?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, Kazimir won’t mind you killing any of them?”

  “Not at all.”

  “How do I tell them apart from you all?”

  I gestured to my guard, Anatoly. “Show him.”

  Grabbing the neck of his shirt, he yanked it down on both sides and spoke in scattered English. “They have stars on their collar bones, but these are X’d out.”

  Maxwell widened his eyes.

  I continued. “It is clear disrespect to the stars on Kazimir’s collarbone.”

  Maxwell nodded. “They’re saying he doesn’t rule them.”

  “After solving Rumi’s murder, he planned on pulverizing them all, but as usual life happens.”

  Anatoly walked off.

  “Kazimir is the boss. That’s what bosses deal with.” Maxwell scratched his head. “I’m still confused about some things. Italians have their structure. Same as the Triads. Even the Shower Posse in Jamaica has a chain of command. I never understood the Brotherhood.”

  “We’re like the military. Many of the earlier thieves were soldiers thrown into jail.” I sat up and raised in my hands, dotting each word. “Every country has several Brigadiers. They’re like what you Americans would think of as criminal cells.”

  “People who control the drugs, arms sales, and prostitution in that area?”

  “Exactly. You’ve been in this underworld for a long time.”

  “Damn near born into it.”

  “Good. Then this will be simple. A Pakhan runs the specific brigadier. He will have a number one and two. They’re like—”

  “Gangster personal assistants?”

  “Exactly, but they also serve as spies. They watch over the action of the brigadiers to ensure loyalty and that none become too powerful. One may head the support. Another would deal with security.”

  Maxwell rubbed his hands together. “The Brotherhood is more organized than the Italians.”

  “In some ways, we learned from them and upgraded certain parts.”

  “So, Kazimir wants you to be one of the personal assistant spy guys?”

  “Yes. This would be on a much higher level than a simple brigadier. I would be over Brotherhood security. His number one. For now, Rolan told me that he has Pavel at his side.”

  “Would Pavel be over support?”

  “Possibly. But then with all the killing from this war with Sasha and Luka being gone. Kazimir will need a Derzhatel obschaka.”

  “Which is what?”

  “A bookkeeper. He collects the money from all the brigadiers. He even bribes or threatens whatever government, if necessary. Many would consider him number three.”

  Maxwell smiled. “Sasha and Luka are dead and now the Bratva are hiring.”

  I nodded. “And when Kazimir hires, more will be needed to fit the empty positions.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll submit my resume.”

  “No need. You already have a job here with me.”

  “Which would be cool, if you lived near Kazimir.”

  “Because you want to be close to the Mouse?”

  “I do.”

  “And do you think his Mouse will always be by his side?”

  Maxwell gazed off in the distance. “I don’t know. Love doesn’t always last forever.”

  “You think what they have is love?”

  “It is something. I see the way Kazimir looks at her. The way he doesn’t want anyone near her, especially other men. There’s a wild energy about him when he sees her. It’s like he’ll just as soon kill everyone in the area to make sure they’re alone. To guarantee that she’s his.”

  I leaned forward, fascinated with his thoughts. “This is a new side of my cousin.”

  “That’s even scarier. It’s why. . .although I’m having fun with you. . .I want to make sure Em is safe. I need to guarantee that there’s no danger coming her way and that your cousin is being good to her.”

  “Then, I’ll get you to Paris soon.” Guilt hit me. Maxwell could have gone to Paris at any time, but he remained here to help me out. In that moment, I appreciated him more than he could ever know.

  Silence filled Akiva’s living room.

  My stomach growled.

  Maxwell eyed me. “Last night, when you went downstairs with Ava in that night club, did you get some food?”

  “No. There’s no eating down there.”

  “Just fucking?” Maxwell grinned.

  “Yes.”

  “Then, that settles it.” Maxwell rose and stretched his arms. “I can’t have my main man hungry after he provided me with a meal for
a king.”

  “You enjoyed dinner last night?”

  “Shit. I had steak, lobster, and oysters in these little pastry things. Man, my stomach was so damn full.” Maxwell walked off to the kitchen. “You think Akiva will mind me cooking you up something?”

  “No way. I’m sure Akiva would want us as comfortable as possible.”

  Maxwell went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Promise me something, Misha.”

  “Anything.”

  “When I finally figure out where I’m going to live and what I’ll be doing, you have to come through and let me cook for you.”

  “I’m honored. I’ve never had someone cook for me personally in a long time. It’s always been chefs or hired cooks.”

  Maxwell looked up from the refrigerator. “When was the last time?”

  “Kazimir’s mother.” I shook my head. “Actually, Ava offered to cook for me too.”

  “See. You’ve got two people from New York showing you love, man. And with Mrs. Jones's hips, I know she can cook some soul food.”

  “Soul food.” I nodded. “I’ve heard the term before.”

  “Hold up.” Maxwell took out eggs. “You haven’t eaten soul food before?”

  “No, but I’ve passed restaurants that said they—”

  “No, man. Passing a soul food restaurant don’t mean shit. You have to eat it.” He went back to the refrigerator and rummaged through it. “Damn. This motherfucker got a lot of cottage cheese in here. Yo, you like spinach?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll whip you up a nice omelet. There’s an unopened package of pancake things in here.”

  “Bliny.”

  “You want one?”

  “Yes. Serve them with the eggs, please.”

  My four guys finished with laying down the plastic. Three sat down in the dining area. The fourth went to the window and gazed out.

  “Oh hell yes. Potatoes. It’s a wrap now.” Maxwell closed the refrigerator and carried several items to the counter. Then, he started washing off potatoes in the sink. “We’re about to fix that ache.”

  “Sounds good.” My stomach growled. Smirking, I rose from the seat and walked over to the bar across from him. “Why do they call it soul food?”

  Maxwell pulled out a knife and started chopping the potatoes at an impeccable speed. “My Uncle Xavier used to say that it’s the only food that touches and delights the soul. I’m sure that’s not true. Tons of food touches the soul. But Xavier was trying to get me to eat my macaroni and cheese that day. I kept crying. I wouldn’t touch it.”