Dirty Hearts: The Lion and The Mouse (Book Three)

by Wright, Kenya

  And they were probably a bit nervous to say no.

  “Crucifix was one of my favorite bands growing up. A decade later and they’re still putting out top albums. They were banned when they first came out, which made me love them more.”

  “Why were they banned?”

  “The Kremlin claimed they were too much of a symbol of the Western world, but that didn’t stop them from rising in the Russian underground.”

  “What type of songs do they sing?”

  “You would think that I liked violent songs, but theirs are...poetic.”

  “Aww. My baby is a romantic. I’ll have to check out their albums then.” I glanced up and took in more of the scene.

  Several hundred white roses dangled from the ceiling and created an ethereal ambiance.

  Jesus. This is not a party. This is a gala.

  Gold trees stood at the center of each table. At least twenty crystal globes dangled from the branches. Lit candles sat inside the globes. They were the most dramatic centerpieces I’d ever seen.

  We walked further. Many nodded our way. I smiled, but Kazimir barely acknowledged them. He’d explained that these people were the highest echelon of the Bratva. Besides him, of course. At least a hundred people were spread out at big tables—scarred, rough men with gorgeous women in low-cut gowns. Lots of soldiers flanked the walls but still didn’t take away from the sparkling decor.

  Where are we going to sit?

  I spotted a long table at the end of the room. A massive ice sculpture sat on the far end of the table. A lion roared and towered over us. A small mouse sat on his back, riding him like a horse.

  Really, Kaz? Did we have to do a lion and mouse theme?

  I swallowed my nervousness.

  This looks more like a wedding reception than a simple party.

  We came closer to the band and people dancing. In gold light, our names were projected on the floor.

  I leaned his way. “This is a small dinner party?”

  “Da.”

  “And what does a big dinner party look like?”

  “You’ll know soon.”

  “I bet.” I continued to scan the space. The rock band shifted to another song. Kazimir jerked his shoulders a little with the beat.

  I giggled.

  “After you meet everyone, we’ll dance.”

  Shocked, I laughed again. “Oh, really? The lion is a good dancer?”

  “In my way.”

  Our elevated table was right in front of us.

  I did a quick count of everyone as they turned our way and whispered to each other.

  At least fifty couples are in here, not including their men standing along the walls.

  Most of the men had exquisite women sitting next to them, dripping in diamonds. Scars marred a few faces. Old age covered others. There looked to be a few handsome men among the space, but not enough to challenge Kazimir’s good looks. Tattoos peeked behind ears and on some necks, but I couldn’t see anymore.

  In the Bratva, a tattoo was a person’s resume. How I wished I could see their tattoos before learning their names. There, I could discover if they were good or bad. Pedophiles or an average thief.

  While the women seemed to admire my dress and even gaze longingly at Kazimir a few times, several men scowled at me. However, they made sure to do it when Kazimir’s attention fell on me.

  It could have been insecurity, but I was getting the vibe that many in the room weren’t excited to see me. While these men probably didn’t hold cheery smiles on their faces, none had looked the least bit pleased when I walked in with Kazimir.

  Hmmm. I wish I had my gun. Wait. This is my...house. I have guns all over here...and men.

  I checked the space and found my main man, Yuri, dancing by the band.

  Where’s Boris?

  I glanced over my shoulder, didn’t spot him, and gave up searching for him.

  “Don’t worry.” Kazimir guided me to the center.

  “This is a lot.”

  “It’s just a little gathering.”

  We walked over to our glowing names. My glitter gown trailed us.

  “Let’s begin.” He guided me to the main table. The set up was interesting. Three other couples sat there.

  These must be the other three candidates.

  Two empty seats were right in the center. Kazimir took us to those and pulled my chair out.

  I sat down. One couple was on my right. Kazimir was on my left along with the other two couples. The man on Kaz’s left grabbed his attention.

  I cleared my throat and looked forward, wondering if I could catch sight of Boris or Yuri. This level of partying would be new to them too. They would need to stay focused and not get in any trouble.

  The man on my right spoke and extended his hand my way. “Nice to meet you, Emily, or can I call you mouse?”

  His accent was heavy, but I didn’t get a Russian tone. He was from somewhere else.

  I studied him. He resembled a professor more than Russian mafia. Tortoise shell glasses. Classic leather watch. No diamonds or gold. I didn’t see any tattoos peeking up from the simple tux and bow tie.

  “I’m sorry.” I took his hand and lightly shook. “Only Kazimir can call me mouse, but Emily is fine.”

  He frowned for a few seconds but returned to smiling. “I’m Zahkar, and this is my wife, Anja.”

  Anja leaned my way, gave a weak smile, lifted her wine, and looked away.

  O-kay. Guess Anja and I won’t be talking.

  I made note of her features—blonde hair, blue eyes, red dress. Bored as fuck expression.

  Zahkar continued the conversation. “They said you were from America. I can hear it in your words.”

  Intrigued, I asked, “Do Americans speak weird to you?”

  “Oh yes. They sound evil. American p’s are too soft for me.”

  “You prefer the harsh r’s?”

  “I do.”

  “Still.” I smiled. “American accents are evil? I’ve heard the same response from an American listening to a Russian.”

  Zahkar smiled. “Surely, when you met the lion, his accent scared you a little.”

  No. His accent made me want to fuck him.

  There was no need to tell Zahkar. This dinner was about my learning about him, not the other way around.

  “Why do you think Americans sound so evil to each other?” I asked.

  Zahkar pulled out a pipe. His wife snapped her attention to him for a minute and scowled.

  He paid her displeasure no mind, taking out a small wooden box and setting it on the table. “I would say it all goes back to the Cold War and the tension between Russia and America. Our countries told us to fear the other. To see each as an enemy.”

  “That’s an interesting point.” Feeling a little bit comfortable, I grabbed my own glass of wine. “And your name, Zahkar. What does it mean?”

  “It means remembrance of God.” He opened the wooden box, took out a little tobacco, and filled his pipe. “You don’t mind if I smoke do you?”

  “No.”

  “My wife hates it.” He shrugged and lit his pipe.

  “Are you a religious man? I’m asking because of the name.”

  “I’m religious as much as any man could be.” He tapped the end of his pipe, inhaled, and then exhaled smoke. Surprisingly, the air filled with a fruity scent instead of the usual nasty cigar smoke.

  I spied Kazimir watching me on the side. For some reason, it made me nervous, like I was being examined by him and needed desperately to pass this test.

  It’s fine. Kaz is just being protective.

  I took another sip of wine.

  Zahkar switched to Russian. “They told me you’ve been learning our language fast.”

  I responded in Russian. “It’s not easy, but I’m getting it.”

  “Death has a way of speeding things up.”

  Was he referring to Kazimir and my killing Sasha or other deaths?

  Zahkar leaned my way and displayed a wick
ed grin. “What is your darkest secret?’

  “I’m a serial killer.”

  A dark laugh left him. “No wonder Kazimir adores you. That sense of humor is amazing.”

  I said nothing else.

  “Since you won’t confess, I’ll tell you mine.” Zahkar leaned in closer. “I have a gun fetish.”

  “Most do.”

  “Yes, but I like to put my guns in other places for fun.”

  Anja tapped his shoulder and went into hurried and whispered Russian. I could barely understand her, but within seconds, Zahkar put that pipe out and straightened in his seat.

  So she’s the one running things.

  Just when I was about to spark up more conversation, another man and woman walked up to me. I’d recognized them as the couple who sat on the other end of the table. Apparently, they’d decided to jump up and introduce themselves.

  Zahkar’s expression went neutral.

  I took in the other couple. While Zahkar and Anja appeared like a professor with his glamorous but very unhappy wife, passion radiated from these two.

  The woman grabbed my attention first. Sheer white material made up her gown. It must’ve been gossamer. It was like a spider web or wedding veil but with tons of layers. Feathers covered the bust.

  She looked like a virginal swan while her man appeared to be the evil sorcerer who’d captured her. He had on a tuxedo, but I could barely make it out due to the heavy black fur cloak around his shoulders. A top hat sat on his head.

  He lifted the hat and half bowed.

  I did my best not to laugh.

  The evil sorcerer spoke. “Zahkar, just because you are near the mouse does not mean you will be talking to her all night. Hello, Emily. My name is Nikolay.” He gave the hat to the swan and extended his hand to me.

  “Nice to meet you, Nikolay.”

  Dark tattoos covered his entire hand. I shook it and took in the symbols of crosses all over his fingers and palm. Each cross was different in some way. Some were very small. Others somewhat big. Many had names or words written in them. I was struggling with the Russian alphabet and had no idea what they said.

  Is this a count of all the people he’s murdered or is he religious?

  Nikolay kept my hand. “How did you get Kazimir’s attention?”

  “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’?”

  Eager, I asked, “What did Kazimir say?”

  Nikolay did a deeper voice as if to imitate my lion. “‘When they bury me, my statue will be bigger, and it will be a lion roaring down over the crowd.’”

  That’s so Kazimir.

  Nikolay shifted back to his normal voice. “I was going to ask
Kazimir what he meant, but then his mother cried out. He finally turned away from the statue and rushed to her. He must’ve held her the rest of the day—”

  In Russian, Kazimir interrupted Nikolay’s story. The words were fast and low; I couldn’t capture them like usual. Nikolay retorted back, and still none of the words made any sense. He snorted, rose, and took his chair over to where he’d been sitting. His swan tailed behind him.

  Hey, I never got to meet her.

  Kazimir must’ve noticed my confused look. “Sorry, but it was time for Nikolay to go.”

  “Nikolay was telling me how he met you.”

  “He was going on and on about the past. Once he starts, he will never end.”

  I lowered my voice. “Do you trust him?”

  “I do, but I trusted many others who betrayed me in the end.”

  “When you were talking to Nikolay a few seconds ago, I didn’t understand what you were saying. Not that I’m a pro at Russian, but did you go into a different dialect?”

  “Sorry. I hadn’t realized that.” Kazimir grinned. “It’s fenya. It’s slang and broken Russian. One used among...criminals. Peddlers. My father would call it blatnov which was slang for ‘criminal.’”

  “It barely sounded like Russian.”

  “There’s some Greek and Yiddish in it.”

  “Do you think I should learn it?”

  “No. Only a few from my generation speak it. Mainly it’s men from Igor and my father’s age that still use it.”

  “Fenya?”

  “Yes.” He held a silly grin. “You’re learning a lot tonight.”

  “I am, and I’m going to try and learn this fenya too.”

  “There’s no need. You won’t be around the type of people who can speak it.”

  “It would be your men.” I gestured to the guests in the ball room. “I could speak it to your brothers.”

  Kazimir appeared uneasy. “No. This is a language that was created from labor camps and thieves. They should only speak Russian or English around you.”

  I made a note to learn fenya anyway. There were so many things to figure out in this world. The more I learned, the more it could help me navigate.

  Chapter 3

  Emily

  The servers brought out champagne and hors d’oeuvres. When everyone had a glass, Kazimir rose and held his up. Surprised, I raised my glass in the air with everyone else. The rock band slowly paused in the middle of a song.