Dirty Passions

by Wright, Kenya

Jean-Pierre lifted his hand and wagged his finger. “Patience is a virtue.”

  “And Eden is paradise.”

  Jean-Pierre’s face twisted into rage.

  “Did you know that since the moment Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, man has desperately been searching for that location. They believe Eden is still here on this planet.” Kaz circled him, prowling like the creature he’d been named after. He took his time and then stopped in front of Jean-Pierre again. “Scholars have searched for Eden. Some have looked at the head of the Persian Gulf, in southern Mesopotamia, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers run into the sea. But do you know what?”

  Jean-Pierre looked close to killing him. “What, Kazimir?”

  “I know exactly where Eden is—your paradise. She’s in a large house in Nice, overlooking a beautiful ocean with some lovely aunts of yours.”

  Giorgio got to Jean-Pierre’s side. But it didn’t look like he was there to help fight. He appeared more than ready to make sure Jean-Pierre didn’t charge and attack.

  Kazimir scowled. “These games run both ways, little pansy. You do anything to jeopardize Emily and my child, and nothing will save you, not your cousins, or the Corsican. And believe me. All paradise will be lost. I will flatten your country. I will kill everyone you love. Your cousins. Your men. Your aunts. And especially your flute player.”

  “Violin!” Jean-Pierre’s face reddened. He breathed in and out, adjusted the top of his tie, and then cleared his throat. “It is a goddamn violin.”

  I walked over to Kaz and Jean-Pierre, before the situation got worse. “Okay. Everyone must relax.”

  They both turned my way.

  “J.P. wants to help us find the monkey head guy.” I looked at Kaz. “For that, J.P. wants forgiveness.”

  “And perhaps a new nickname,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

  Kaz grumbled, “I won’t be muscled by a guy that drowns himself in perfume and has taken great care in disrespecting me—”

  “I admit kidnapping your mouse wasn’t a good idea.”

  “You did more than kidnap her. She lost one of our twins.”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Kaz roared, “Would it have changed things?”

  Jean-Pierre blinked. “Perhaps.”

  I got to Kaz’s side and held his hand, hoping he would calm down. If he made a move for Jean-Pierre, Louis would pull the trigger. Out of all the cousins, Louis was the last one that should have been holding the rocket launcher. Everything about Louis meant business. There would be no middle ground with him. For once, I missed Rafael’s funny, laid back sense of humor.

  I leaned Kaz’s way. “Baba talked about a King of Diamonds protecting me.”

  Kaz groaned.

  David quirked his brows at me but kept his gun steady.

  And Jean-Pierre looked utterly confused.

  “I know this isn’t how you do things, but. . .” I swallowed. “He has the names—”

  Kaz turned to me. “Give him free reign to kill my brothers?”

  Jean-Pierre smiled. “Lucky for me, they’re not all Bratva. Perhaps, I’ll let you handle the one.”

  Kaz growled, “Who are the others?”

  Jean-Pierre didn’t flinch. “I want free reign in Russia to locate and secure them.”

  I jumped in. “You get free rein to grab the men, but you don’t kill them. If you bring a bunch of dead, skinned up bodies our way, how the hell do we know they’re the ones that did it?”

  Jean-Pierre nodded. “I’ll bring them to you alive.”

  “And able to talk and see. A tortured man will say anything.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I want proof that they’re the ones involved.”

  “You’ll have your proof and the men. I just need your lion and his people off our backs.”

  I looked at Kaz. “Thoughts?”

  “You think you’re up for the task.” Kaz continued to glare at Jean-Pierre. “I’ll give you free rein, but like Emily said, I want evidence and the men wrapped in a pretty bow.”

  “A pretty bow?” Jean-Pierre smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Don’t be cute.” Kaz took my hand. “You have forty-eight hours.”

  Jean-Pierre quirked his brows. “Forty-eight hours may be difficult to manage.”

  Kaz shrugged. “That’s all the time that Eden has.”

  Jean-Pierre didn’t appreciate that answer. “That’s not a threat you want to say. We both know I don’t act accordingly, when she’s threatened.”

  “You’ve put yourself in this situation.” Kaz squeezed my hand and guided us away. “Forty-eight hours, Butcher. Get it done and then get the fuck out of my city.”

  Chapter 26

  Demons and Angels

  Kazimir

  Where will all of this take us? What should we learn about this moment? This battle with the French and all our hidden enemies?

  Emily and I went back to the office in our penthouse.

  It was an oddly decorated space.

  Some parts appeared normal. Grey paint covered the walls. There were two floor-to-ceiling windows that gave breathtaking views of the Golden Mile in different directions. The black desk displayed an uncluttered glass surface. There was a simple, fully stocked bar in the corner finished in mahogany. It included a beautiful granite top, decorative panels, glass stemware holders, storage shelving, and a small fridge.

  What made the room appear strange was the chairs and bookcase. Both chairs were dark mahogany—wood as deep and dark as blood. Meanwhile, someone had carved cherubs into the chairs’ sides. Plush violet cushions provided us with comfort. The bookshelf was simple shelf typology but with a twist. Chic and contemporary. It was clearly inspired by DNA. The stylish structure represented the shape of a double helix, twisting around. Each packed section served as a metaphorical statement on how the books one places on their shelf defines a significant part of their personal identity. In some ways, many people’s bookshelves showcase their DNA.

  Emily sat in her violet and mahogany cherub chair. Harlem lounged on her lap as if that was his proper place in the world.

  I walked over to the odd bookcase for a closer look. Books were stacked in neat rows. All orderly arranged and aligned. Back-to-back. Placed so that the insides could not be judged by the covers.

  I saw Tolstoy’s top novels—War and Peace, Resurrection, and Anna Karenina. Further along, I spotted other Russian classics Dr. Zhivago, Crime and Punishment, A Hero of Out Time, and the Funeral Party. Each book held its own world of wonders and thought it had answers to lifelong questions about humanity.

  My mother had made me read these works. Fiction-writing in Russia had always been serious business. In a society without freedom, writers served as the truth-tellers. The voice of the voiceless. The conscience of a nation. The capacity to engage readers in deep, personal reflection about life.

  Emily’s soft voice sounded behind me. “What are you doing?”

  “Wishing I could escape with you, grab your hand, open book, jump inside, and get lost in another world.” I turned away from the shelf and walked over to the only art hanging in the room. It was a print of the famous work.

  It showed a demon sitting atop a mountain. A scarlet sunset occurred behind him. His flexed musculature and wrought hands contrasted with his slumped body. He had a sad facial expression—one that suggested the creature was desperate for love. His body displayed a competing view. Masculine and feminine. Long hair yet Muscular frame.

  I continued to stare. “Do you know what this painting is?”

  “It’s called The Demon Seated, but I don’t remember the name of the artist.”

  “Mikhail Vrubel.”

  “Yes, that’s his name,” Emily said. “What I do remember is that Vrubel had a unique style that we can’t truly see with the print. He created an effect of crystal edges, which made his paintings look like stained glasses or panels.”

  “How do you think he did it?”

 
; “He did plain strokes with a painting knife, instead of a brush. Sometimes you have to use a different approach to get a different effect.”

  “It’s what we will be doing with Rolan. Asking things that I know he won’t want to discuss.”

  “Do you think Rolan will be embarrassed about the picture?”

  “I hope so.” I massaged the back of my neck, pushing away the constant strain that this week had brought it. “If Rolan isn’t embarrassed about that picture, then it will change how I see him—everything I know about him.”

  Movement sounded.

  Then, Emily stood by my side.

  Harlem trotted over to my feet and sniffed at my leg.

  Emily studied the painting. “This piece was harshly criticized during his time.”

  “Like many works are.”

  “But it took him into a higher realm of artistic expression.”

  “Do you know the story behind this?” I turned to my mouse and gathered her in my arms.

  She smiled. “No.”

  “The Demon is from Mikhail Lermontov's poem.”

  “I’ve never heard of that poet.”

  “The poem talks about a demon that fell in love with a Georgian princess. Although he was a demon, he was romantic full of hope and searching for harmony in the world.”

  “Did the princess love him?”

  “Yes. And in this moment, one believes that the demon has finally fulfilled his life longing. That he will be changed and uplifted.”

  She widened her eyes. “What happened?”

  “The demon kisses his princess for the first time, and she dies from it.”

  She tapped my chest. “That’s sad, Kaz.”

  “I didn’t write the poem.”

  “Still.”

  I leaned in to kiss her, but David interrupted our moment by opening the door. I turned his way. “Do you still have eyes on the French?”

  David walked and stood on the other side of the desk. “Yes.”

  Emily left my arms. Where for a few minutes she looked relaxed, she now appeared on edge.

  I looked back at David. “Who’s following them?”

  “My men from Paris. Not any of yours like you said.”

  “Good. Unfortunately, I trust your people more verses mine.” I let out a long breath. “And what’s Rolan’s status now?”

  “He just arrived. He is on his way up in the elevator now. He had a big box. My men tried to take it just in case there was something dangerous inside. He took their guns and knocked them both out with the handles.”

  The Big Bear.

  I smirked. “It’s fine. Knowing Rolan, that box is probably full of candy. He’s very serious about his gifts. Bring him in here immediately.”

  David left and shut the door.

  I sat down in the cherub chair, turned to Emily, placed my hand on her hip, and pulled her over to me. “Come, mysh. Sit on my lap.”

  Her worried expression shifted to a smile. “Sit on your lap?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Rolan?”

  “He’ll knock before he comes inside.”

  She lowered onto my lap and leaned against me. “You called it with Jean-Pierre. You were right about the Mafia Politics. Jean-Pierre wanted free reign of Russia to get the responsible people for us.”

  “Some things I called. Some things I didn’t.”

  “And then there’s Baba’s reading.” Emily blinked. “Is it stupid to listen to her?”

  “It might be stupid not to. She’s been right about many things.”

  She frowned. “Regardless, I’m scared that this new friendship with Jean-Pierre may put you in danger.”

  My lovely mouse. I’m lucky to have her.

  I grinned. “Puts me in danger? I’m only worried about you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. Anytime I’m with you, I’m safe.”

  “Not all the time.” I placed my hand on her stomach. “And now there will be more to worry about in the future. More to protect.”

  “And if Jean-Pierre delivers?”

  “Then, I’ll be happy.”

  “Kaz.”

  “If he delivers and has proof, then he’ll get his peace between the brotherhood and Corsican.”

  She let out a relieved breath.

  “But I have a question.” I rubbed her stomach a little. “Why did you want to be the god mother of his child?”

  “Baba said our daughter left to go with the King of Diamonds.”

  Annoyance hit me. “Perhaps, Baba isn’t correct about everything.”

  “It’s weird, but if Jean-Pierre has a little girl. . .I will want to be close to her. It would make me think Baba’s reading is true. That our twin found a home in France. I would be okay with that.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Hmm. My little girl would never choose Jean-Pierre over me.”

  Emily shook her head.

  “I’m better.”

  “Either way, Kaz. If Baba’s crazy theory is true, I want that little girl to have an awesome life. That means. . .not killing Jean-Pierre or Eden. We both know how it feels to lost a parent too soon.”

  Then, I hope Jean-Pierre has a boy.

  I slipped my hand along her back. “And what will I get for all this kindness toward the French?”

  “Whatever you want.” She leaned my way and kissed me.

  I groaned against her mouth.

  When she moved, I yearned for another taste.

  “Mysh, I’ve already told you that your pussy won’t get you everything you want.”

  With a wicked expression, she winked at me. “You’ve said it, but you haven’t proven it yet.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  She rose and sat in the other cherub chair.

  What an odd room to question Rolan in—one full of baby angels and a love lost demon.

  I looked at the door. “Come in.”

  Chapter 27

  Memory Lane

  Kazimir

  Rolan stepped through the office door with his big box—long, red, and shiny. “Emily, I brought the baby and you something.”

  “Thank you.” Emily widened her eyes and grabbed it. “I. . .I wasn’t expecting a—”

  “Always expect a gift from the Big Bear’s arrival. I’m better than Santa Claus.” Rolan marched over to my side, lowered, and yanked me into a hold. “Kazzy Bear.”

  Dear God.

  And then he went to Emily, pulled her into a hug too, and then let her go.

  He towered over us. Rolan’s head was cleanly shaven. His gray goatee shaped up. Those biceps pushed against his black and white checkerboard shirt. At least he wore black pants to quiet down the brash fashion sense.

  Studying my mouse, Rolan rubbed his chin, almost hiding the tattooed roses around his throat. “I was wondering what I would begin to call you, but I couldn’t think of a name.”

  “Emily is fine.”

  “No.” Rolan waved her comment away and went to his seat. “A baby mouse is called a pinky, but you’re not a baby mouse. And then a male mouse is called a buck, and a female is called a doe. Neither truly represent you.”

  “She doesn’t need another nickname beyond the mouse.”

  “Everyone calls her that. I want something else.” He tapped his chest. “I’m Rolan.”

  “Yes. We know that.” I sat up in the chair, ready to get to business.

  Rolan gestured to the box. “Try some, Emily. The baby will really love it. It’s Bird’s milk cake.”

  “Oh. I’ve never tried that before.” Emily lifted the box up.

  “Don’t worry, no birds were harmed in the process.” Rolan laughed. “It’s a thick slice of marshmallow covered in chocolate.”

  Before Emily could take a piece out and try it, I took the box. “We’re not eating candy right now, until we get answers to my questions.”

  “Oh yeah.” Emily moved her hands away.

  “This is serious business?” Rolan rubbed his hands. “I’ve been bor
ed for years. Brotherhood retirement is not what one would think. What do you need to talk to me about? Why couldn’t we simply discuss whatever this is over the phone?”

  “It’s a sensitive topic.” I took the picture out of my pocket, placed it on the desk, and pushed it over to Rolan. “You’re in this picture. Tell me about it.”

  Rolan leaned over and scanned it. His smile and joyous demeanor disappeared.

  In the black and white photograph, six men stood in suits. A few with tattoos peeking out of their jackets from their wrists and near their collars. One of the men held a chain. On the other end, a naked black man sat on all fours on the floor.

  Looking close to vomiting, Rolan picked it up like it was another man’s used condom. “Mother Mary. Where did you get this?”

  Emily spoke, “One of my men found the picture. And someone killed him over the it.”

  “Someone definitely killed him over this.” Rolan set the photo back on the desk and then wiped his fingers as if he’d contracted a disease. “You should destroy this image for many reasons.”

  “Name one reason why someone would kill over this,” I said.

  “It’s disgusting. I don’t know how much you remember of Zahkar’s father, Adrik, but anything that wasn’t a Russian man, he hated—women, different races, animals. Pretty much anything. They say he preferred the company of men overall, and secretly found pleasure with them. When those rumors rose in the brotherhood, he married Zahkar’s mother and had him. Still the rumors ensued.”

  I placed my hands on the desk and threaded my fingers. “Why did you all take this picture?”

  “Your stepfather, The King, had just become head of the brotherhood. He’d held a meeting to assign new positions. Your father served as his first in command.” Rolan crossed his legs. “Igor was asked to oversee most of eastern Europe, dealing with any disputes, or problems of territories on the King’s behalf. That day, I became Igor’s first in command. Adrik was given western Europe. He was expected to be next in line after the King’s death. You must understand, the dealings and territories weren’t as vast as they are now. Not so globally connected.”

  Emily cleared her throat. “And the naked black man on the floor? Do you know who he is? And what happened to him?”