Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

  “I don’t want to leave and abandon everyone. I just don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

  “We would understand either way,” Boris said. “And we would always follow you no matter where you are.”

  Maxwell glanced back at the house. “The lion is staring out the window. This shit won’t be easy, Em.”

  “At least he’s not bombing anything. If he’s busy watching me, then maybe he’ll stay out of trouble.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.” Max grimaced. “The other way is that this motherfucker is going to kill everyone around you and then lock you under the cells below his house. Have you seen that shit? Only you would get with a guy that has a jail under his house.”

  “Max. . .”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “We leave Moscow.”

  “Go to New York?” Max asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Man, I already said why we couldn’t. What about the serial killer case?”

  “I can hide.”

  “They might have your name on alert for questioning.”

  “Kaz handled that.”

  “But is it still up.”

  “Then, we might be fucked.”

  “Maybe we can go to Jamaica.” Maxwell bobbed his head. “Yeah, mon! Jamaica. Warm weather. Blunts for days. Brown skinned beauties with big asses.”

  Boris smiled for a second.

  I glared at him.

  Boris straightened his face.

  “We still have Xavier ashes too.” Maxwell shrugged. “X would love to go to the Jamaica.”

  “Okay. Maybe, Jamaica is the destination.” I sighed. “And good point on the ashes. They’re upstairs in the bedroom in my last drawer. Send someone to get them for me, Boris. Max and I will head to the airport and get tickets.”

  “How many of your men are going with us?” Max asked.

  “I could probably do twenty. If we stick with a good budget then we’ll be fine and can send for everybody else.”

  “True. Make some money, when we get there,” Max said. “Send for a few more, if necessary.”

  I considered this new reality. “There’s a lot of Shower Posse connections out there. It should be no problem to keep our head afloat. I mean fuck we lived in a sewer for a year.

  Boris nodded. “We also know how to starve too. I’ve found a love for a good trash-can-roasted cat.”

  Maxwell shook his head. “Okay man. You won. And I’m not cooking no cat in a trash can. Shit won’t be that bad.”

  “Then let’s do this.” I walked off. “Jamaica bound.”

  “Jamaica it is.” Max strolled on by my side. “And the main mission is to tame the lion.”

  I stopped and looked at him.

  “What, Em?”

  “Why did you say it that way?”

  “Tame the lion?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what you’re doing. Oh, you think it’s over? No. This moment with him and you aren’t done. Your leaving is taming him. That’s what you’re doing.”

  “You can’t tame a man like him.”

  “You can.”

  I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  Jean-Pierre thought I could tame the lion. Max apparently did too. But as I glanced back at the house and spotted Kaz taking up most of the window and glaring, I knew they were all wrong.

  No one can tame, Kaz, but him. And he’s too goddamn stubborn for it.

  Chapter 2

  Gone

  Kazimir

  I gazed out the window.

  Emily walked off with her men. Maxwell and Boris remained at her side, while a large group of Kapotnya hooligans followed behind.

  Stand your ground.

  The voice in my head reminded me of my father. I didn’t think about him much. It always hurt to consider him. All my memories came from my youth. Yet, my father’s voice rang loud.

  She’s a woman. She doesn’t understand.

  The French had taken her. Others would, if I didn’t act with force. If I gave Jean-Pierre a pass, then it would lead to destruction. All had to fear me now. My baby had died. Hope taken within seconds. None of the French could rest easy in their beds.

  Others would come for her—the Yakuza, the Italians, hell even the Nigerians.

  To stop that, I not only had to be the most powerful, I had to trigger fear within all. That meant blood loss and explosions. Holes in cities and crowded graves. I had the nukes. I had the men. I had the rage exploding within my chest.

  I would show them all and make the French an example.

  Still, my mother’s voice drowned my father’s reasoning.

  Don’t lose her. Don’t let her leave.

  I missed mother so much. Her soft voice was a welcoming sound among the pain. In my head, she told me to run after Emily. Stop the war and the bombing. What was there to be gained by being stubborn? Would I rather have my mouse in my arms this evening, then stand in my war room dropping more bombs?

  The idea of Paris in flames tempted me,

  but no joy came,

  if it would leave me alone.

  No. I’m right. I must be.

  My mouse was a beast like me, but in this matter she was being too soft. I didn’t know what Jean-Pierre had done. He’d wooed her somehow. Convinced my mouse that he was a friend, some sort of ally. She was putting her faith in the wrong person. The Corsican had named him Butcher after all. What kind of friend would he be?

  Mysh.

  I watched her walk away and this sense of loneliness swarmed around me. Never had I cared, if a woman left or stayed. Never did I worry. Never did I lose sleep or even look in the direction as she headed away.

  But when it came to my mouse, there would be many firsts.

  If you think this is it, mysh, then you really have not been paying attention.

  I would never let her go. She could sneak away, but she could never hide from me.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed my cousin.

  Misha answered on the first ring. “Kazimir?”

  “I need you.”

  “Aren’t you in Moscow? My men have eyes on you.” Concern coated Misha’s tone. “And then there’s the hole currently in Paris. You getting steam off your chest. I assumed that would be the end of the whole situation, although I’m surprised it was only one bomb.”

  “There will be more.”

  “How many more bombs?” Misha asked.

  My mouse climbed into the back of her car—Silver gray Mercedes. Boris got into the driver’s seat. Max sat in the passenger’s side.

  “Kazimir?”

  I put my attention back on the phone. “Emily stopped the other bombs.”

  “Interesting.” Misha’s voice shifted from concern to humor. “How did she stop them?”

  “She threatened to walk away, and then she did.”

  “Now, I know why you called. You want me to watch her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised you let her leave the property.”

  “Me too.”

  “The lion is changing.”

  I swallowed my defeat down hard. “Apparently.”

  “But the bombs are still in place?”

  “For now.”

  “Maybe, you should move them.”

  “I’m thinking I can get her back without doing that.”

  “I don’t know your mouse that well, but if she’s half as stubborn as you, then. . .”

  I groaned. “Just keep a satellite on her. Have your people call Pavel or Zahkar, if she gets close to leaving the city. Any airport, bus terminal, train or port.”

  “There must be another way. That will keep my men busy.”

  “Good.” I hung up.

  Emily had many options, if she wanted to leave the city.

  Moscow's three international airports were Sheremetyevo, Domodedovo, and the closest Vnukovo. All three airports were connected with the city center by Aeroexpress trains and also public buses, minibuses, and taxis.


  The Moscow Canal connected the Moskva River with the Volga River. With the canal, Moscow was connected to Russia's Unified Deep Water System, a large system of canals and rivers in European Russia, which created access to five seas—the White Sea, Baltic Sea, Caspian Sea, Sea of Azov, and the Black Sea. This was why the city was called the “port of the five seas.”

  Due to all of this, my next call would be to Russia’s Ministry of Transport.

  I won’t let her leave. She’s mine. No one else can have her.

  I had changed. In the past, I had been a loner. Now I needed my mouse by my side.

  Her car drove away. Several vans left too.

  They better guard her, until I get her back.

  Once again, she was gone from me, but this time it was from my own actions.

  I smelled tobacco and smoke.

  Zahkar got to my side. I hadn’t even heard him enter my office. He turned my way. “The bombers in Paris want to know what their next plan is.”

  “Tell them to go back to their hotels and wait.”

  “No more bombs today?”

  I clenched my jaw. “I’m busy.”

  “This may not be a good time to remind you. . .but we have a lot hysteria happening in Sasha’s territories, especially Italy. We need someone negotiating a new deal between the Sicilians, ‘Ndrangheta, and Nigerians.

  Tension ached around my neck. I raised my hands to massage the stress away. “What’s wrong in Italy?”

  “A dispute over the drugs. It looks like Sasha had his own side deals going. One of the groups anticipating a change in brotherhood leadership.”

  “Which group?”

  “I do not know for sure. However, now that Sasha is gone, chaos has ensued in Calabria.”

  I dropped my hand and stared back out the window as if there was a chance Emily would turn around and come back.

  “Kazimir?”

  “What?”

  “Do you know who you have in mind to take over Sasha’s territories? The Sicilians want you down in Italy to handle this.”

  I remained silent.

  “At least, you could assign Italy to someone.”

  “I’m busy.”

  Zahkar exhaled from his pipe and left. Burnt tobacco saturated the air.

  I have too much to do for the brotherhood, but all I can think about is you, mysh. Come back to me.

  Calabria, Italy was Europe’s Cocaine Capital. The Gioia Tauro port in the Calabria region was considered a major hub for international drug trafficking and was allegedly under the control of the ‘Ndrangheta which was currently the most powerful of Italy's three traditional mafia organizations. They had outmaneuvered the Sicilians.

  The ‘Ndrangheta set the prices and transport of drugs for Europe. And this way of life was deep within their blood. When the men were arrested, the women took over. Therefore, ‘Ndrangheta marriages weren’t just about love or honor. Everything represented business. Some brothers wedded their sisters to keep the money loyal and in the family. Those marriages bred kids.

  Regardless, the Sicilians had been trying to get back domination in the drug trade, and it failed many times.

  The Sicilians want me down there. Of course they would. They haven’t had control since the good old days.

  But the ‘Ndrangheta and Sicilians weren’t the true problem.

  Years ago, direct shipments from South America raised red flags with authorities. Uncle Igor and I came up with a solution. We introduced the West African Hub. It gave the Italians and others the idea to make countries of West Africa waypoints in the cocaine trade to Europe. Additionally, I would provide safe passage, boats, and men from South America to West Africa. From there the Nigerians would take over the shipments and deliver to Calabria, Italy.

  Africa’s Ivory Coast became one of the major hubs. All began to run numerous routes at once, switching and adapting in response to law enforcement action. And everyone gave Uncle Igor and I money and respect for the decision and planning.

  But through the years, this new hub brought African migrants over to Italy—mainly Nigerian. And the Nigerians began to realize that they didn’t just want to be delivery boys anymore. They wanted a bigger cut and more power.

  Little by little, these migrants organized and encroached on the illegal trades. Eventually, the Nigerian gang, Black Axe took over all operations in these past years. In Calabria, the ‘Ndrangheta have been battling Black Axe for respect. But in Palermo, Sicily, there’s an uneasy alliance that exists between the traditional Sicilian mafia and Black Axe.

  Only God knows who Sasha made side deals with? He may have promised Black Axe men and weapons. Or ‘Ndrangheta that he would get rid of the Nigerians. Or maybe he told the Sicilians lies too.

  I gazed out of the window. My empty private road lay ahead. And then a few of my men drove off with Pavel. Earlier, I’d instructed them to follow her, but keep a good distance.

  Maybe, I should send those extra bombs to Calabria and Palermo.

  Alone in my office, I felt like I stood on a deserted island’s shore, watching the endless glow of receding shapes on the horizon. No rescue boats near. No helicopters hovering above.

  Why did she have to leave?

  I wanted to curse the sky, strangle the sunlight, and block out the moon. I had rage to unleash on Paris. I planned on doing it all day. Then, my mouse arrived in blue pajamas and ended it all.

  I knew she had been dangerous this whole time, but I never realized how much power she would have over me.

  A knock sounded.

  I’m going to shoot this person.

  Annoyed, I turned, ready to grab my gun.

  Baba strolled in, shuffling a deck of gold tarot cards. “I assumed you would want to see me.”

  I went back to the window. “Why?”

  “Because your mouse left.”

  “Will she come back?”

  “If you let it go, she will.”

  Let it go. . .

  My nostrils flared. “You told me that she was pregnant.”

  “She is.”

  “And now she isn’t.” I kept my back to her. “I don’t care about your cards. Leave my office.”

  “You should care about the cards. They have a lot to say.”

  I left the window and faced her. “Get out of my office.”

  Lounging, she had already positioned herself across from my desk and shuffled the cards some more. “Come, lion. Baba will read you the future. It may help you get her back quickly.”

  I glared at her. She was the second woman today who had interrupted my moment of rage and shifted the plan. I stared at her cards.

  She set the deck in the center of the desk and waited. “Come on, lion. You can’t run from your future. You might as well walk into it with some guidance.”

  Groaning, I sat down.

  “You want to know, if she’ll be back.” Baba placed her hands on the desk and knitted her fingers together. “I don’t need the cards to tell me that the answer is a yes. However, you’ll have to leave the bombs alone.”

  “I want her safe.”

  “She’ll be safe, if you stop bombing.”

  “The Corsican will not—”

  “The Corsican is running far away from Paris at the moment.”

  “You see that in the cards?”

  “I saw that in my dreams. The French fled. Meanwhile, the mouse rode the lion’s back with pride. The little creature held strands of the mane like it was a horse’s leather harness.”

  “Will she be back tonight?”

  Baba gestured to the cards. “You must touch them to begin.”

  Scowling, I picked up the cards, shuffled, and then set them back on the desk. “Okay. What do they say?”

  “Patience.” Baba set the first card on the table.

  I looked down at it.

  On the card, a large glowing moon hung in darkness. Wolves looked up and howled.

  “The Moon. Everything is not what it seems. The moon says to trust your dreams.�
�� She touched the card’s edges. “Your fear overwhelms your decisions. There are illusions and distractions all around you.”

  “Everything is not what it seems?” I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t believe you.”

  A smile covered her face. She flipped the next card over.

  On the card, a man stood near a table, holding a double ended candle in the air. It burned on both sides. Stars glowed around him.

  “The Magician.” She studied it, grabbed a long silver stick with a purple gem at the tip, and touched the card with the jewel. “You have all the skills and abilities to be successful in everything that you want.”

  “I don’t have my mouse. You said she would be safe.”

  “The magician tells you that you can manifest all you’ve dreamed of without exerting much energy, but again. . .you must be wary of misdirection.”

  Done with her cards, I leaned back in my chair, raised my legs, and set my feet on the side of the desk. This way I could see her silly cards, but within complete relaxation. “Without exerting energy? I want Jean-Pierre dead. Are we saying that he’ll choke on something and everything will be fine?”

  Baba’s smile left as she ignored my question and turned over the next card. “Aww.”

  “Aww?” Skepticism sat on my face. I directed my gaze back to my window, wondering if Emily would drive back onto the property.

  Where are you now?

  “The Devil.”

  I shifted my attention back to Baba, took my feet off the desk, and leaned forward to take in the card. There the red monstrous creature snarled back at me. It’s two black horns shined like polished obsidian. Wings of fire expanded from his back. At his feet, a naked man and woman lay on the ground in pain.

  A chill hit me.

  “You must be wary of the Devil too.” Baba tapped the card with her jeweled stick. “This is literal and metaphorical all at the same time.”

  Pressure built in my chest. “Meaning?”

  “Metaphorically, your shadow self is dark. It walks with you, feeding off your negativity and hate. It grows the more you seek revenge.” She looked at me. “And then there’s the Devil that you have chained below this house.”

  “Did David tell you that?”

  “No. I know things, Kazimir.”