by Kenya Wright
But once Kazimir left, a huge smile spread across Misha’s face. He hurried our way, and his men rushed after him. It all appeared comical, if not for the men looking like they could kill hundreds in seconds.
Misha greeted Kazimir with a huge hug, pecking both cheeks, and muttering several things in Russian. Kazimir smiled and patted his back. My body relaxed.
Next, everyone left the limo. Valentina didn’t greet Misha as she strolled by. He made no show of noticing her. Oleg followed her up the stairs and to the castle. Armed men and women moved out of her way.
Kazimir and Maxwell continued to chatter in Russian like two long-time friends. Their men gathered around them, scanning the space.
Maxwell and X were already behind me, giving me the appearance that I was their leader. I gestured for them to come close.
Maxwell put on his glasses. “We can’t hide this time, Em. Too many white people here. We have to go Chinatown.”
No. I hate the Chinatown Plan.
X nodded and drank in the area. “Definitely, Chinatown. We stick out. Every person here is going to wonder why we’re here, especially why you’re here.”
I hated Chinatown. With that plan, I was the center of attention, while the guys had all the fun. I was always the distraction and they were always the actual chess pieces in the game.
We continued to keep our voices low.
I frowned. “Maybe we can do what we did with the Shower Posse—”
“Different case and Kennedy isn’t here.” Maxwell stirred a little, but regained composure. “It’s Chinatown and you’re the supreme concubine. Sultry and—”
“Not me.” I shook my head. “Kazimir and I agreed that we’ll keep whatever we’re doing on the downlow. No one would even know—”
Maxwell snorted. “He had you ride in his limo and leave it first when he got here. He already put a crown on your head.”
“That was just what happened,” I said.
X took off his hat and rubbed that constellation covered head. “Nothing just happens with your Russian.”
Maxwell watched Kazimir and Misha. “It’s Chinatown. Suck it up.”
We’ll see about that.
I turned to X. “Did you find anything out on our ride here?”
X shrugged. “I’m in the princess’s phone as well as her ogre.”
You put a tracker in Valentina and Oleg’s phone?! We hadn’t really discussed that. What happened to you being scared of tracking the Bratva? I don’t think Kazimir will be happy about that, and we’re on his good side right now.
I exhaled.
That was another problem with sleeping with Kazimir. I was starting to care about what he thought. Had it been any other person, it would’ve been completely normal for us to start tracking and snooping on everyone around him, especially his sister. Where I was worried about the guys joking and drinking the whole ride, they were a hundred percent on the job.
And I was taking in the sights and enjoying the scent of my lion.
X continued as the second limo arrived. “We’ll see what pops up.”
It meant X had also ghosted Valentina and Oleg’s phones. Whatever they saw on their screens, he would see too. He could monitor everything from his own phone—texts, emails, Google searches, anything they liked or disliked on social media.
I swallowed and turned to Maxwell. “Thoughts?”
“Why are we here?” Maxwell whispered.
I leaned in closer. “Kazimir wants to make sure no one else helped Sasha.”
“So, everyone that is smiling could be his enemies?”
“Pretty much,” I muttered as Luka appeared out of the shadows and got to my side, ending our conversation.
The bear of a man didn’t appear taken aback by the scene. He’d probably been here many times. I tried to picture Kazimir and him escaping from jail. He looked at me and I turned away.
How much of a demotion is babysitting me, Luka?
After our whole party arrived, Kazimir ended his conversation with Misha. I didn’t know what they said, but both men turned my way.
Kazimir held out his hand. “This is Emily, Maxwell, and Xavier. They’re my friends from Harlem.”
“Nice to meet you.” Misha’s gaze hit Maxwell and X’s face and then stayed on mine. “We’ll have to give you a table for tonight. Kazimir doesn’t usually make new friends.”
Kazimir raised his eyebrows. “Uncle Igor is having a feast?”
“Now, it will be.” Misha wrapped his arm around Kazimir’s back and led him forward. “Before, it was the Mourning Sun ceremony, but there will be no mourning today.”
We all kept a few feet behind them.
“I understand.” Kazimir walked forward. “Does he know I’m alive?”
“No.” Misha removed his arm and ran his fingers through his hair. “I already told you I thought it would be Sasha and Valentina leaving the limo.”
“No.”
“Sasha would not have come for you by himself.”
“Valentina did not help.”
Misha didn’t appear convinced. “Still, I will keep my eyes open.”
“Thank you. Have you heard from Sasha?” Kazimir asked.
“No, but he’s already talked to many at the top. He would be due to come here soon, but he knows where our loyalty lies. He would want the others’ support before he came anywhere near father’s planes.”
“By the way, thank Uncle for not shooting us down.”
Misha smiled and glanced over his shoulder at me. “Of course. I see you have precious cargo.”
Kazimir’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond to that.
“What will you do with Sasha?” Misha asked. “Can I kill him?”
“No. I would like to have a conversation with him myself.”
“So, you will not be here for long?”
“No. Only one night. Sasha will be heading back,” Kazimir corrected. “First, he will foolishly visit Moscow. He’ll wait to come to Uncle Igor.”
“Such a bad first move, if he’s trying to take control. Prague would be my first stop.” Misha nodded as if he’d thought about stealing power many times before.
Kazimir eyed him.
Misha cleared his throat. “But, only you understand where the heart of the Bratva lives. You know that one must talk to father.”
We all headed up the steps.
Kazimir and Misha continued in Russian. Every few steps, Kazimir glanced over his shoulder and looked at me. I didn’t know if he was checking to make sure I was still near or telling Misha something about me.
“Yep.” Maxwell sighed. “Definitely Chinatown. Your Russian can’t keep his eyes off you.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Chinatown, and he’s not my Russian.”
“Tell him that.”
The doors opened.
Kazimir and Misha went in, and we dragged behind, unsure of what we were walking into. And even if I had known what was going on before stepping inside, I wouldn’t have believed it.
What the fuck?
I definitely wasn’t prepared for the view that greeted us.
We entered a massive space. It was mainly dark, except for the hundreds of candles on the ground. People kneeled in long black robes. Those furry animal masks decorated their faces. A large man sat on a throne at the center of the room. He had the nerve to be on a small wooden stage, above everyone. Tiny fanged-faces had been engraved into the woodwork. They were all on the stage’s floor and even cut along the sides. It gave the appearance that he sat on his throne held up by tiny people.
Kaz, you said your uncle is eccentric. That was definitely a good word to describe him.
A crown of thrones sat on his head. I focused on the man’s face. He reminded me of John Malkovich, but that probably wasn’t a fair description. Most of the Russian movies I’d seen had starred the actor as a Russian oligarch killing and dominating many. He was old—gray hair and tired eyes. But when he looked at Kazimir, youth returned to his face. It w
as almost as if wrinkles disappeared.
He stood up with a fierce joy blazing from him. “He’s…alive!”
People turned one by one, some whispering, some shrieking. Others prayed over and over into their clasped hands, probably thanking whatever God they served.
I wished I could see Kazimir’s face. I had so many questions that could’ve been revealed from his reaction to the scene. First of all, was this normal in any way? What was really going on? Did they think he was a king? Or did he think he was their king?
Kazimir walked through the crowd. People hurried and separated. Many stood back in awe. One old woman took off her mask and drew an invisible holy cross in front of her.
Meanwhile, when some saw our faces, they twisted their expressions.
Hey, we’re just visiting.
No one appeared welcoming. Several big men took off horse masks and damn near growled at us.
Maxwell whispered, “This place isn’t big on strangers.”
“Or blacks,” X added.
“Or sanity,” I included.
Still, we followed Kazimir and the rest of his men as he headed to the throne and hugged his uncle. The two men remained there for a while, both embracing the other and speaking in a language that didn’t have the bite of Russian.
How many languages does Kazimir know?
Still, the crowd all watched us. The only reason we were still alive was probably because they knew we came with Kazimir. Maybe they thought we were his prisoners or something. They sure didn’t seem like they got out much.
X leaned my way. “We need guns.”
“Yes. We do.” I spotted an old woman looking at me and then spitting on the ground. “I sure would be happy with a gun right now.”
X ignored her. “Give me a few hours.”
“Perfect.”
Maxwell whispered on my other side, “Do you know when people say that they’re between a rock and a hard place?”
“Yes.”
“This is that place.”
“Let’s hope this isn’t a setting symbolizing foreshadowing.”
“If this was a book, I’d throw it away and grab a comedy.”
“Why?”
“I hate horror. Seen too much of that shit in real life.”
“Don’t worry. This won’t be a horror. We’ve got it. Stay close. Stay safe. Eyes and ears open.”
“Always.”
And then Kazimir let go of his uncle and turned to us.
We don’t need an introduction, Kaz. Just show us to our rooms. We just want our guns and to get the fuck out of here.
But Kazimir had other plans. He held his hand out to me, muttering something in Russian. The only thing I caught was mysh and my name. Uncle Igor grimaced at the word and then turned to me, squinting.
“Mouse?” Uncle Igor laughed and signaled for me to come. “This is no mouse, lev. This is a beautiful woman.”
Due to Kazimir’s sexual Russian lessons on the plane, I knew lev meant lion.
Uncle Igor took my hand. His fingers were calloused, but warm. “Hello, Emily.”
“Nice to meet you.” I tried to shake his hand, but he lifted mine to his mouth and kissed my fingers.
Maybe you can introduce Max and X, so it won’t look like I’m your woman.
Maxwell coughed, “Chinatown.”
A few stirred.
When Uncle Igor let go of my hand, he actually bowed a little at me. “You’re welcome here.”
Not sure of how else to respond, I bowed back. “Spasibo.”
I think that’s how you say thank you. Is it? Damn it. Next time, I better know for sure.
Uncle Igor’s gaze lit up and he clapped. “Perfect accent. Do you know more?”
Kazimir shook his head a little at me.
Yeah. I don’t think this is a good time to tell him, “I hope his kids shit in his soup.”
“Nyet,” I said. “Just a few Russian words here and there.”
Uncle Igor studied my face. “You’ll learn a lot with Kazimir.”
I bet.
Uncle Igor turned to the crowd. “There will be no Mourning Sun!”
Finally, I could check out Kazimir’s expression. If anything, he appeared embarrassed and close to grinning. I quirked my eyebrows at him as if asking, “What the fuck?”
And then the grin broke out on his face and he shrugged.
Basically, your uncle is crazy and has enough money and power in this country to have people worshiping him like a king. Got it.
Uncle Igor left the stage with Kazimir, treating Max and X more like my bodyguards instead of my equals. He hadn’t even given them a second look.
It was what made Chinatown work. With me in the limelight, everyone would whisper and focus on me. We’d learned this working with the Triads in Chinatown.
As we followed the men out of the dark room of animal masked strangers, we rounded the corner to a long marble hallway. Kazimir and Uncle Igor shifted to that ancient language.
Luka walked close to me, staying by my side like he usually did as if feeling left out.
Okay. I’m focused. We’re still surviving regardless of the craziness. Everything will be okay.
I thought back about that week in Chinatown.
Our contact was Pretty Tony—Anthony Lee Chung to his mother. He had a thing for women of color, always had one on his arm. The Triads asked us to smuggle stolen statues from China to New York through our gallery. I was fine with that but felt some sort of way about the cocaine we’d found inside of the statues.
I’d trafficked stolen goods, but not drugs which garnered more time and more heat from the Feds. We had to go into Chinatown and give Pretty Tony the news; just saying no would have been an error. We had to hang down there with him. I flirted while Max and X did reconnaissance, finding out as many secrets as they could.
It appeared that Pretty Tony had fucked up the usual way they moved drugs. His second-hand man, Won Yong didn’t like how everything was going. Won had ideas for the Chinatown Triads—ones that would put their group on a higher level than drug dealers.
We decided to put our vote with Won just like Russia was alleged to do with American elections. We snuck in, discovered the divide and added to the pot, whispering in ears, leaving things around to suggest another did it. After a week of hanging in Chinatown, Pretty Tony had been found dead in his bed.
My stomach twisted for some reason. A bad taste went to my tongue as I walked out with the rest.
What had the Triads done to Pretty Tony? Won Yong had shown me the pictures, pretending to not know either, but happy to take the new position.
The images were grotesque. Pretty Tony lay on the floor. There was a bloody smile cut into his face. Chinese symbols had been carved into his chest in between a few smiley faces. They’d stabbed out his groin and…
I felt like I was going to vomit, but still I pushed forward.
No way. No fucking way.
I tapped Maxwell’s hand and whispered, “Did I kill Pretty Tony?”
“Definitely. I assumed he got too handsy one night.” He nudged me as if to relax.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“No worries.”
“How many people have I—”
“Not important,” X interrupted. “Stay focused on the present and don’t kill no one here.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“Yeah, stay focused.” Maxwell watched Kazimir and Uncle Igor ahead. Luka continued to trail after them.
My mouth went dry. My head spun a little, but I refused to pass out or panic. It was what it was. I was fucked up. I had to get over that part. I’d ignored it on the plane. That needed to continue to be my way until we’d all got our revenge.
Maxwell disrupted my thoughts and nudged me again. “By the way, you killing people in Chinatown is not the part of Chinatown that we’re talking about.”
I gritted my teeth. “I got it.”
“I’m just saying. More sexiness and less knife work.�
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I fisted my hands but said nothing.
We followed Kazimir and his uncle into a dark hallway, lit by small torches on the wall. It felt like a medieval castle, something that King Arthur would’ve made love to Guinevere in.
An odd stench hit my nose. A strange sight came later. Two men played chess on a black and ivory table with red chess pieces. Behind them, a nude man was chained to the wall. He must’ve been in his thirties. His eyes were blank. None of them turned our way as we walked by, not even the two men. They simply focused on their game.
So, Uncle Igor has prisoners? Okay…
We left that hallway and entered a room full of mirrors. Every wall gave out a reflection. On one side, pale porcelain dolls lined the wall. The carpet and ceiling were black, giving the whole space a dreamlike effect. In the center, a little girl with black hair sat on the floor eating some sort of red-filling pie. Every time she stabbed her fork into her piece, red liquid spilled out of the torn crust.
In the corner, a woman that must’ve been her mother sat on the floor behind her. Elaborate silk clothes covered them both —something designer and elegant. But neither appeared happy or sad—just drugged and vacant.
Max whispered to me, “We’re definitely not in Harlem anymore, Dorothy.”
Fear sliced up my spine, but I breathed through it.
“Adjust,” was the only word I gave Max.
We paused as Uncle Igor gestured to Kazimir and said something. I wished I knew what the hell he was saying. The language barrier was killing me.
Who is this? Wife? Daughter? Niece? Are they prisoners or what? This looks odd.
The little girl giggled something and smeared the red stuff all over her face. Still, the scene wasn’t cute or adorable. She wasn’t a cute kid eating pie. She looked more like a demon-possessed little person dripping with blood.
Maxwell shook his head. “I can’t wait to leave this place.”
We left the room and moved on.
The whole time, Uncle Igor held a conversation in his thick-accented language, and my crew tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
We went down another hallway.
I got X’s attention. “We need a map of this place. Blueprints. Whatever you can get.”
