“He spends more time in Dubai than in Russia. He never gave that district any attention. It’s a slum filled with broken people. When my mouse came for them, they were starving and pickpocketing other broke people.”
Pavel maintained a neutral expression.
This was why I wanted him. He was thinking the position over.
The Bratva now had three high authority positions open—someone on my left, right, and a person to stand directly behind me. All jobs would come with high salaries and immeasurable benefits. They would be helping me run the world and become my closest confidantes.
If they didn’t lose their way in the process and try to kill me.
All would be eager for a promotion and excited to be closer to me—if only to smell the throne before they died.
Who will be ready to serve?
I studied Pavel.
Like a flirty woman, Pavel tossed his hair over his shoulder. “This may be a good time to join you. Your enemies may be quiet for a while due to your mouse and hanging Sasha’s body for all to see.”
“They should be.”
“But will the French be quiet?”
“They’re probably off somewhere baking pies. None of their men are in St. Petersburg or Moscow. All left the next day.”
“Good.” Pavel winked. “Those perfumed pansies are too sweet for our country.”
The French Mafia was known as the Corsican, but we referred to them as perfumed pansies. My father had coined the term. For decades, the Bratva never had a reason to take them seriously.
Their supposed leader was Jean-Pierre, but many weren’t sure who ruled. I hadn’t dealt with Jean-Pierre much. He might’ve been in the room when I’d done a few arms deals. Once or twice, the Bratva aligned with the Corsican to go after the Yakuza for some territory in Tokyo. But it had been long ago. I imagined we were pretty young to this world then, if he’d been around at all.
And then three years ago, Uncle Igor had become bored and started a fight with them. He’d given support to one of his mistresses named Celina and asked me for some of my men and guns. He’d explained that a low-level Corsican leader had been stalking the mistresses’ niece in America. Due to that, I’d given my uncle all he’d asked for and assumed the conflict would end in a week.
But this low-level gangster had been Jean-Pierre—a name that had meant nothing then. After three years of dodging my uncle and slowly killing off my men, he’d become an annoying thorn in my side.
They were now calling him the Butcher, and I’d seen some of the pictures of the men he’d tortured. He’d definitely earned the name.
But what’s a butcher to a lion? Just a soft fleshed little man holding a sharp object.
Last year, the Butcher’s name rose in our world. His exploits had earned him the top position among the Corsican. He’d even become bold enough to step into Russia and bring his men my way. His three cousins had helped. They’d injured many and killed a few, but nothing to make them top priority with me.
What was the Corsican next to the Bratva?
Pavel twisted the cigar in his hand. “You don’t see any problems with the perfumed pansies?”
“No.” I thought back to the first time I’d heard his name. It was when my Uncle Igor had asked for help. Valentina had been at the table. He’d set four pictures in front of us. Each showed Jean-Pierre and his three cousins walking in some street in America and causing dismay.
I glanced at the pictures and looked away. “What has Jean-Pierre done?”
“This Butcher guy has been stalking Celina’s niece, sneaking into her place and watching her while she sleeps. Sick things like that.”
Valentina picked up one of the pictures and grinned. “It all sounds romantic to me. Maybe he’s courting her.”
“He’s not.” Uncle Igor hit the table in annoyance. “Celina’s niece is a nice girl. She has no idea Jean-Pierre is breaking into her apartment and watching her sleep.”
Valentina shrugged. “Then, who’s really harmed in any of this?”
“What’s wrong with you, girl?” Uncle Igor shook his head. “Is this the type of men you like?”
Valentina screwed up her eyes. “This from a man who sits on his dead wife—”
“Enough.” I picked up a slice of bread and looked at Uncle Igor. “Has Celina talked to Jean-Pierre and tried to settle this herself?”
“Of course. Celina is fair after all. She said Jean-Pierre was disrespectful and threatened her.”
While I didn’t care about this Celina, barely knew her among all of Uncle Igor’s other mistresses, I tried to give my Uncle the proper respect and follow along with the problem. But, in the back of my mind, I was already wondering which of my own mistresses I would fuck that evening.
Uncle Igor disrupted my thoughts. “Do you see why I need your help, Kazimir?”
I nodded.
For Uncle Igor to ask me for help must’ve taken a lot out of his ego. He was from the old school where he’d never had to ask for anything. And now to handle some French, he’d needed to lower himself and come to me.
I took a slice out of my steak and ate. “What do you want, Uncle?”
“Their deaths.” He scowled. “I want Jean-Pierre dead. His cousins too—Rafael, Giorgio, and Louis.”
“Please, don’t kill them.” Valentina pouted. “They’re so cute. They bring color and elegance to our world.”
Uncle Igor argued, “They deserve to die. They disrespected Celina.”
“But you don’t even care about Celina.” Valentina rolled her eyes. “You’re just bored and want to bother people.”
Uncle Igor turned to me. “Will you help me, Kazimir?”
“Don’t.” Valentina whined and flashed the picture of Jean-Pierre in front of me as if that would do the job. “The Butcher is such a cutie. I love how he struts around with his gun.”
Uncle Igor huffed.
I finished my steak and wiped my mouth with my cloth napkin. “There’s no need for me to personally deal with the Butcher. He’s nothing to you or me.”
Uncle Igor kept a straight face.
“But I will give you as many brothers as you want and all the guns you need.”
Uncle Igor smiled. “That would be enough.”
“He’s nothing to you, Uncle, but if you need more, feel free to ask.”
Uncle Igor smirked at Valentina.
“Fine,” Valentina said. “This is actually better. It’ll give the Butcher a fighting chance.”
Uncle Igor and I laughed.
“What?” she said.
I grabbed my wine. “Against our Uncle, I doubt Jean-Pierre will survive the next week.”
“He won’t.” Uncle Igor grabbed his own wine and raised his glass. “To dead pansies.”
But Jean-Pierre had given my Uncle Igor a real fight, one that lasted for three years. By the time of Uncle Igor’s death, there’d still been no solution from the problem or peace between them. I just hoped their conflict would not continue to spill into Bratva business.
Does Jean-Pierre, of all people, require my attention? No. He’s too wet behind the ears to be coming my way.
I was confident that any of my lower level men could deal with him. A perfumed pansy was still a sweet smelling flower, even if it could kill.
One of my guards knocked.
Pavel and I looked at the door.
He entered, “Everyone has arrived.”
“Everyone?” I asked.
The man grimaced. “Sir, we still have been unable to contact Misha, but everyone else has arrived.”
I held in my disappointment at Misha’s absence. “Have them seated and let the band begin.”
“The mouse is leaving her room.”
Nodding, I turned to Pavel. “I’ll see you at the party but think about it.”
“I’m not the man I was, Kazimir. I don’t take orders anymore.”
“Perhaps that’s what I need now.”
“Regardless, I can’t wait to meet
your mouse.” Pavel gave me a weak smile.
“Just keep your little sweet-smelling tresses away from her.”
“It would be difficult to stop their glow.” He did a dramatic toss of his hair and left.
Only Pavel could pull something like that off. A giant of a man dithering about like a female. No one would dare laugh at someone who could kill them in seconds.
Will Pavel take the position?
I’d expected more excitement at the offer. Granted, I’d killed Sasha and hung him on a flagpole for betraying me. That would cause most men to pause.
Pavel will come through. I trust him. Most of all because he doesn’t want to do it.
I headed out of my office. Several of my guards outside the door straightened and followed me.
I walked past the ballroom and spied several men and women strolling in. I’d told my men to bring their wives and girlfriends, letting them know it would be an evening of celebration.
All friends or some foe?
In that room, there were people who may have helped Sasha. Because they’d lost, they would probably take that secret to their graves. I hadn’t decided if I would search them out and kill them. Sometimes the threat of death created the most dedicated loyalty. If I left them alone, they would sit in their territories worried, always thinking I might suspect them. It would cause the traitors to work harder and present bigger shows of loyalty.
This week will be interesting. Who will go above and beyond their usual to show they’re my true friend?
Chatter flowed out of the ballroom’s entrance.
I continued past, searching for my mouse.
Has she come down yet?
I went to the staircase, paused, and looked up.
There, my mouse stood at the top. Nervousness covered her face, but that was the only sign she wasn’t a goddess.
My gaze traveled down her body.
Gorgeous.
I’d picked out the gown, and she’d obliged. Gold glitter hugged her body. At the top, the gown dipped into her full cleavage. Her shoulders were exposed. My focus went to her waist as the gown narrowed and then flared out over those curvy hips. A long split was on the side, exposing a lovely leg. It was timeless and elegant.
But there was a new addition to her ensemble. Long crimson curls fell around her. The effect of this new wig was daunting.
What disguise is this, mysh?
She would be the goddess of the party. Pure royalty. Gold wrapped her body. Blood red topped it off. Royal, yet deadly. Regal, but ready to murder everyone in the place. With her presence at my side tonight, all would know she was no typical lover.
She was mine.
The most precious person in my life.
If any of these men wanted to live the rest of the year, they’d have to stand behind and protect her. There would be no compromise on that matter.
She gazed down at me and the nervousness left her face.
Good, mouse. Never worry, when I’m around.
Slowly, she walked down, taking her time and damn near floating down to me.
Oh, mouse, I’m going to fuck you in the middle of this dinner. I hope you’re not too hungry.
Her top two men followed behind her—Boris and Yuri.
Annoyance hit my chest, but I pushed it down. They were there to protect her, but still I didn’t like too many men around her, especially ones I didn’t know personally.
Boris had dark brown skin. His hair was cut low. Tiny crosses covered his chin and neck. Young and huge. He was close to my height of 6’4.
Yuri barely hit 5’9. However, his width made up for it. Huge arms, massive fists. I was sure he had no problem in any fight.
Although both men towered over her, Boris and Yuri followed her around the property like lap dogs.
What was I thinking, putting these thugs around her?
At the time, I’d been worried about Sasha getting too close. I wanted Emily to have her own people in Moscow. Now, I wasn’t so sure she needed them.
Boris got to Emily’s side and gave her his arm. She was smart enough to not take it. Did she understand that as soon as they got to the end of the stairs, I would’ve broken his arm off?
Walking past him, she gave Boris a polite smile.
That’s my smile.
I didn’t think about that question anymore as she came closer. Her scent filled the space in front of me. I stepped forward, ready to have her in my arms.
“Am I late?” she whispered.
“The party begins when you enter.” I took her into my arms and kissed her.
A nervous giggle left her as she moved away. “I’m trying to focus.”
“On what?”
“This party.”
“No, mysh. Only focus on me.”
She smiled as if it was a joke. “Kazimir, it would be impossible to not focus on you, no matter how many killers are in the room.”
I’m glad you understand that.
“What’s the name of this wig?” I asked.
“Diana.”
“For princess Diana?”
“No, Queen Diana Ross.”
I lowered my voice so only she could hear me. “I’m going to fuck you with that on tonight.”
“I’m trying to focus, Kaz.”
“Focus on my cock.”
“Still,” she giggled, “I would like to know your candidates for your new positions.”
I grinned.
My mouse planned to hold her own approval process with them.
It felt good to have someone watching over me. And her concern wasn’t based off of fear or money. It was all love.
This is why men fall in love.
“How do you like your gown?”
“It’s lovely, but I wish I had a place for a gun.”
“You won’t need a gun this evening.” I gave her my arm.
“Let’s hope.” She took my arm.
“I’ll only bring up the men that I’m considering.”
“I should still know the other’s names.”
“No. You’re too high to waste your time.”
“But—”
“Trust me, mysh.”
She sighed. “Okay, but you’ll show me your candidates.”
“I will.”
“How many people are you considering?”
I guided her to the ballroom. “Five men for now.”
Emily appeared to do calculations in her head. “Misha and Pavel?”
“Yes.”
“And the other four?”
“Zahkar, Abram, Tisha, and Roman.”
“Okay. I’ve got it.” She looked to be mentally writing it down in her head.
“I will introduce you to them first.”
She tensed but said nothing as she walked along side me. Her gold glittered gown trailed behind her. I could understand her unease. The last Bratva party she’d attended had been at my Uncle Igor’s castle. On that night, she’d lost her closest friend, Xavier, and I’d lost my Uncle Igor.
“Don’t worry, mysh. Tonight will be boring at the most.”
She smiled. “Good. I’m starting to love boring.”
I glanced over my shoulder as her men marched behind them. While Pavel had been right about the shabbiness of their clothes, they’d probably been too proud to let their lady boss buy them tuxedos. Many looked to be trying to earn her respect. I could see the hunger on their faces. They were ready to prove themselves. It stank in the air. For her, they would do more than required.
Power-hungry men. I’m not sure if this will be good or bad for her. It doesn’t matter. I’ll kill them myself, if they step out of line.
I directed my view to the ballroom’s entrance ahead of us. “Let’s begin.”
“With the party?”
“With your first lesson.”
“I thought the ribbons were my first lesson.”
“No, mysh. That was just orientation.”
She laughed, pushing all of my small worries away.
&nbs
p; Chapter 2
Emily
We headed to the ballroom. I leaned Kaz’s way. “Any pointers before I enter?”
“They’ll try to talk to you alone as much as possible. They’re trying to get to know you, see what you need so they can give it to you. They’re hoping to make you a friend.”
“And will you let them talk to me alone?”
“Yes, but only tonight. I’ll be near, but I’ll make myself busy.”
I hated how weak my next words sounded. “Don’t go too far away.”
“Never, mysh.”
“Get a feel of the three candidates that are here. You already know Yuri and Misha.”
“Not well enough.”
Kazimir held a wicked grin. “You’ll get your time to question them too.”
Good.
“But more important, enjoy the party and the food. All five courses will be prepared by Vladimir Komm. He’s considered the best chef in Russia.”
“I’m excited.”
It was supposed to be a small dinner party, but when Kazimir had delivered the gown, I knew there wouldn’t be anything small about this night.
As soon as I entered, I lost my breath. “Wow.”
“Since my mother’s death and my sister leaving, we haven’t had parties in years.” Kazimir squeezed my hand. “I hope the staff didn’t go overboard.”
Usually, the ballroom was empty with a soaring high ceilings and clean beige walls. Tonight, the staff had gone above and beyond. I felt like I was walking through a fairy garden.
“Wow.” It was like an artist had come in with his paintbrush and executed a living painting. The space boasted striking beauty—rose gold tablecloths and crystal chandeliers. Cream roses covered the walls in an elaborate floral arrangements. Tables shimmered. Six foot candelabras guarded each of the four corners.
A six piece band played rock music in the far back. Their lyrics were in Russian. The lead singer wiggled his crotch as he strummed out a hard melody. A few couples danced in front of them.
Kazimir bobbed his head.
“What’s the name of this song?” I leaned his way.
“Soul Crushing.”
I grinned. “That sounds cheery.”
“This is one of my favorite bands, Crucifix. They came to play for me on short notice as a favor.”
Dirty Hearts: The Lion and The Mouse (Book Three) Page 3
