Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  “Hmmm.”

  “Mozart’s sonatas were windows into his soul. He composed so many types. That was where bits of his heart and passion lived.”

  “Damn you.” He sighed. “Now you may have me relistening to some of them.”

  “You should.”

  “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “That’s a date.” I smiled. “What’s your favorite sonata?”

  “Strauss.”

  “Really?”

  It was an interesting piece for Jean-Pierre to like. Strauss’s Sonata wasn’t considered a landmark work, or highly innovative in violin literature, but people always performed and recorded the piece.

  Strauss's sonata followed the standard classical form and took thirty minutes to perform. The piece had three movements. The first opened with a brief piano solo, followed by lyrical violin interludes. Very romantic and sentimental. A melancholy tone, but still jubilant in some measures.

  The second movement was unique, written in a such a way that gave the impression the violin was improvising. Still, the notes held a beautiful singing tone and then ended thoughtfully.

  Finally, the third and final movement started slow. A methodical piano introduction led into an exuberant Allegro. Fireworks and virtuosic passages rose from both violin and piano. Then, it came to an explosive end.

  Jean-Pierre explained, “Strauss composed a complicated piece. There’s a lyrical beauty to the violinist’s movements.”

  I watched him talk further, drooling the whole time at his nerdy side.

  “But most of all, I love that sonata because it was the first song I’d ever spent many years learning. That song showed me how one could bleed without getting cut. I played it so much, that at my worst times in life, that song tended to be the song I was practicing. Good and bad. There’s so many memories.”

  Intrigued, I asked, “What were some of the good times you played the song?”

  “I played it for my wedding.” He gave a half smile. “Although that could be considered a bad time too.”

  I’d wanted to know more about his marriage. More about all of his past.

  But he moved on to happier memories. “When I was a kid, I used to write the Sonata’s notes all over the place in black pen. On train seats. Bathroom stalls. Café tables. My dad would beat me, when he realized I did it.”

  “Did it stop you?”

  “Of course not.”

  I laughed a little.

  “Those notes are imprinted in my head. I ended up having everyone love the song too. Rafael. My mother.” He paused for a second and then continued, “She wanted me to play it for her funeral, but. . .I never got the chance. I was in jail for that time.”

  And even if he had been free, he wouldn’t have been able to play it.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s not where I was going with that. I was trying to hit a lighter note.”

  “I want to know everything that. . .you’re comfortable with talking about.”

  “Still, I was trying to make a special request.”

  I quirked my eyebrows. “A special request?”

  “Yes. You’re no longer my personal violinist fuck toy.”

  “That was my job title before?” I grinned.

  “With a couple of nasty additions. Now you’re free to do what you want. Although, I would love to hear you play from time to time.”

  “Of course.” I slipped my fingers along his arm. “Do you want me to play Strauss’s Sonata.”

  “It would be nice to put a good memory to that song. You playing naked in front of me would be perfect.”

  “Oh. Now I’m playing the song naked?”

  “Yes. That was how I envisioned it.”

  I giggled.

  “Why would you play the sonata any other way?”

  “Fair point.”

  And then he devoured my mouth, and there was no more reason to discuss anything else.

  We kissed with the energy of new lovers. We explored our bodies but didn’t slip into sex. Instead, we fell asleep in each other’s arms with music playing around us.

  Chapter 2

  Here Comes The Sun

  Jean-Pierre

  Movement woke me from my sleep. I groaned and reached out into the darkness, grabbing Eden.

  Eden giggled and whispered to me, “I was leaving the bed.”

  “I thought I told you that you’re not allowed to leave.” Selfish, I pulled her closer to me and closed my eyes. All it took was one inhale of her scent, and I knew I wouldn’t return back to sleep. “Stay.”

  “I’m going to miss the sun rise, if you don’t let go.”

  I grumbled and nuzzled against her softness. “You want to see the sun again?”

  “Yes. It’s Paris.” She moved against me, slipping her soft fingertips along my face. “Let me go, please. I’ll be right back.”

  Groaning, I yanked the covers off us, rose from bed and dragged myself toward the balcony doors.

  She followed. “You can go back to sleep.”

  “But then I’ll be rubbing my cock against the bed like an addict waiting for you to return.”

  She smiled.

  I grunted. “Ne Souris pas la sirène.”

  “Now I’m back to siren?” she asked.

  “For this morning.” I grabbed her hand and walked over to the balcony doors. I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes, when Eden moved the curtains away. I opened the door and led us out.

  “Wow,” she whispered and stepped over to the railing. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this view.”

  Instead of the sky, I watched her. She was more beautiful than Paris anyway. Waking up completely, I drank in the glow in her hazel eyes. I relished in the spark of light bathing her skin. A cool breeze blew through her curly hair and brought her scent my way.

  “This is a perfect sunrise.” She turned to me. “Any regrets?”

  “None whatsoever.” I held her in my arms and turned to the sky for the first time.

  The sun slowly rose, painting rays of light here, and there. And below, Paris came alive.

  Eden looped her fingers with mine, grabbing my attention.

  How could I not adore her more than the sun, or anything else?

  Eden’s gaze remained on the horizon. And my view stayed on her. I loved everything about her. The way her lashes decorated her eyes—dark, long, and thick. The way the new morning sunbathed her body. The way it glowed a halo around her, as if she was an angel.

  She was an enchanting sight to behold.

  “Thank you for dragging me out of bed.” I landed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m lucky that I get this view every morning.”

  For years, I’d been alone in this penthouse. For years, I’d never even come out on the balcony, or even cared to see the sun. Now I wondered why.

  I didn’t know any better. I’d been alone for so long.

  Even in my marriage, I’d been alone. It just took me too long to realize it. Looking back at my only marriage and all my ex-wife’s infidelities, I’d never found love.

  Eden had transformed my solitude into something more.

  Holding her close, my body awakened with desire. I hadn’t fucked her before we slept, although I’d craved her body. In the hot tub, I’d gone hard on her, spreading that sexy body and bending it to my will.

  This morning, I’ll taste her again.

  With Eden, I had to take slow sips and not lose control. Already, I felt like an addict, counting down the next minutes I could be inside of her. And it wasn’t only due to the sweet feel of her pussy. It was because, I was deep inside of her for those moments. Beyond that lovely body. I was within her body. Feeling that slickness. Swimming in her soul. Enjoying her warmth and energy. Covering my skin in her scent. Tasting her in my mouth.

  Fuck. I crave her so much.

  Last night, she’d gone asleep in my arms looking adorable and sexy. She’d been all splayed out, and more than ready to be fucked. I came close to waking her with my tongu
e.

  I should fuck her now.

  But then the sound of plates clattered behind us, signaling the entrance of my staff. They came onto the balcony, setting up the table with fine china. Steam rose from the dishes.

  My staff had gotten used to my new morning schedule. Like clockwork with the sunrise, they carted out our breakfast, as if Eden determined the time of meals.

  Does she know how much power she has?

  I ran my fingers through her curls as Paris came more alive below us. Dawn painted the city in a beautiful haze of gold and blue. And far out in the horizon, pinks and yellows broke through the darkness.

  Will my mornings always be like this? Or will there come storms?

  Next week, Eden wanted to watch the moon go black. Shift deep into darkness. A blood moon at that. With her newfound brightness in my life, I no longer yearned to witness things shift to black.

  But I would watch it with her, probably more gazing at those lips, than the magic happening in the sky.

  And Eden wanted to know me. Every bit. My past. My present. The darkness and bright spots. I’d confessed a little. She wanted more.

  But how much more would make her run away?

  I had to show her the other parts of me. The stuff away from the Corsican. The things besides the blood and pain. The other parts of me that no one else ever saw.

  She pulled me out of my thoughts with her sweet voice. “Thank you.”

  “I should be thanking you. I never took time out of my day to watch the sun rise.” I turned her around. “Are you ready to eat? I’m sure my staff will be done setting the table soon. You’ve trained them to get up early in the morning.”

  “What time do you usually have breakfast?”

  “Lunch time.”

  Shocked, she opened her mouth.

  I kissed her response away. “It’s not important. I like the new schedule.”

  It didn’t matter what time she wanted to leave the bed; I’d try to leave it with her. I was finding that I didn’t like the space between us. The few times I had to check on Corsican business, it pained me to no end. I needed to be next to her more than away. Finally—after all these years—I had Eden to myself and I wanted to enjoy every moment.

  But there were enemies waiting in the darkness, or were there? I remained on edge, suspicious of the peace rising around us.

  Not much had come from our spies in Russia. Yesterday morning, Sasha’s corpse, had been dangling from the flagpole of Moscow’s capital building. That had given us the news of his death.

  Kazimir must always be so theatrical. He killed his stepbrother and wanted many to know.

  It was clearly a message. To who was my question. Did he understand the part I’d played with Sasha? There’d been whispers that Kazimir searched for Sasha’s accomplices. Other Russians had shown up dead in St. Petersburg, and even in Prague.

  By lunch yesterday, Giorgio reported of an odd murder in the updates of Russians killing Russians.

  The Lion had even killed his ex-girlfriend.

  Kazimir had dated a ballerina for close to a year. She’d been found dead last week, around the same time of his Uncle Igor’s assassination. This had all happened in Prague. Sasha had asked me to go there to kill Igor. I’d declined. I hadn’t wanted any of us near that.

  Still, we’d been ambushed in France on regular business.

  Some Russians had shot at us near the airport. We’d taken them all out, but it had injured my arm. Today I no longer wore the sling, even though the doctor wanted me to have it on for at least a month. Next to Eden, I didn’t need it.

  I’ll be fine.

  Still, my head lay boggled with the news. Did the ballerina have something to do with Sasha’s plot to overthrow Kazimir, or had the Lion gone insane, and killed her for fun?

  How hurt had Sasha’s betrayal made him? A deranged Kazimir was one I didn’t want to battle.

  Yesterday, when the evening came, and I was close to heading back to Eden, our spies reported a new associate of Kazimir. They called the man, the Mouse. Most of the whisperings had come from some drug addicts in Moscow. They’d been in the area where Kazimir had grabbed a lot of men, and ordered them to follow his mouse, but no one had a description of the Mouse.

  Russians like to name things. Why is this one a mouse? And where did he come from? And is this mouse a threat to me or nothing to worry about?

  My staff finished laying out the breakfast on the table. Eden glanced at the table and groaned in delight, taking my mind away from my worries. “I’m so lucky.”

  “Me too.”

  The sun finished rising high above Paris, as I led Eden to our table. The staff had put out a lot of food. I began to dig in.

  Rafael strolled out. “I figured you two lovebirds were up, looking at the sun rise, and other corny things like that.”

  “And now you’re here to brighten the day.” I gestured to a chair near me. “Hungry?”

  “No.” He didn’t sit. Worry creased his face.

  Dread filled me. I took a bite of my croissant, left it on my plate, and went back to Rafael. “Something wrong?”

  Rafael gestured to the other side of the balcony. “Let’s talk over there. I don’t want to ruin Eden’s appetite. By the way, good morning, beautiful.”

  “Good morning, Rafael.” She sipped her orange juice.

  “I’m glad you decided to join the family.” He shrugged. “I hope you understand that the uncomfortable moment between us, was just a little hazing.”

  She held the glass in mid-air as she shook her head. “I’ve got it. I’m glad the creepiness meant something.”

  “My creepy always has a deeper meaning.” Rafael winked at her. “Stay true, and you’ll never have to worry about me.”

  “That’s enough, Rafael.” I rose, wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin, dropped it, and walked us over to the edge. When we arrived out of Eden’s hearing distance, I asked, “What’s new?”

  “Kazimir is in Paris.”

  Excuse me?

  I switched to French. “What the fuck?”

  “Kazimir showed up in his plane this morning. No warning. All silent and secretive. That big machine is stinking up the fucking airport. He always overcompensates. I bet his dick is small.”

  I ignored the comment, already annoyed at Kazimir’s appearance. “Is the Mouse with him? Do we have any idea who the Mouse is?”

  “Nothing. Still no description or identification. Our people mentioned that he said mouse several times as he left the airport. We replaced his driver with one of our own. He’ll be giving us reports.”

  “Was Kazimir talking into a phone, when he said mouse?”

  “No. He was talking to a whore.”

  “How do we know she’s a whore?”

  Rafael shrugged. “How do we know she’s not?”

  “Because he’s mentioning business around her. Have we seen Kazimir do more, than have a few whores in a city here or there, and fuck them?”

  “I thought he might’ve been close to the ballerina.”

  I’d thought back to the ballerina. I’d put several men on her, watching her every move. They’d only caught Kazimir’s sister, Valentina, visiting her a lot. Kazimir had barely come by. We’d needed leverage against Kazimir, but once we monitored his interaction with the ballerina, we knew she wasn’t important.

  Now she’s dead. And I assume his people, or he himself killed her.

  I placed my hands in my pockets and flicked my thumb back and forth. “Find out who this new woman is. Anything about her. We could be blowing his visit to Paris out of proportion.”

  “I doubt it. And his new whore is untraceable. Her passport and ID are fake. Big power did it. Maybe Kazimir had it done. We’re running her fingerprints. We got a few from the limo. We should have her real information soon.”

  Meanwhile, where is the Mouse? Has this guy taken Sasha’s place?

  I pushed further. “No sign of another man with them?”

  “No. J
ust the usual thugs that do Kazimir’s security. And Misha isn’t even with him.”

  “Where is Misha?”

  “In St. Petersburg, they’ve got some pictures of him walking around with a black guy. No one knows who the black guy is. And the black guy’s passport is fake too. Same job as the black woman with Kazimir.”

  I quirked my eyebrows. “Wait. She’s black too?”

  “Yes. Pretty brown skin. Nice body. Maybe, Nigerian. No one heard her talk yet.”

  “She remains quiet?”

  “When they’re moving around in public.”

  “You think Kazimir is aligning outside of his usual allies?”

  Nigerians? That doesn’t connect.

  Organized crime in Nigeria, rose in the 1980s. More during my father’s time than grandparents. The gangs were infants compared to the Bratva and Corsican. They were fraudsters and small-time drug traffickers. It wouldn’t make sense for Kazimir to be linking up with Nigerian crime families. They were still earning their stripes and proving themselves. While dangerous, and nothing to disrespect, the Lion didn’t need them.

  What’s going on?

  “Misha took the black guy to a tailor and bought him a bunch of suits.”

  “Hmmm.” I ran my fingers through my hair.

  Rafael shrugged. “There’s whispers of Misha being bisexual. This could all be a coincidence. Kazimir and Misha could just be dating new people. Both black. I don’t know.”

  “Misha’s bisexual rumors were years ago. Back when he was in college.”

  “Still, Misha’s buying the man clothes.”

  “This is stupid. Misha can buy clothes for who he wants to. I care more about the Lion being in Paris.”

  “Should we meet with Kazimir here?” Rafael asked.

  “Maybe. Regardless, we need to figure out who the fuck the Mouse is? Kazimir’s a tricky bastard. If he thinks we’re his enemy, he’ll never come straight at us. He’ll use himself as the distraction, while right behind us, someone’s pointing a gun.” I gazed off into the horizon. “If we figure out who the Mouse is, and find out who the black guy is with Misha—”

  “Let’s hope this black guy is the Mouse. It would make things easier.”