Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,113

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 bored 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?”

“What happened to him?” Rolan stirred. “He’s no longer naked, and definitely not on the floor connected to anybody’s chain. And if he knew this picture still existed, he could start a war between Nigeria and Russia. Not that President Smirnov would worry, but the brotherhood would because all drugs to Europe would cease.”

I leaned forward. “Who is he?”

“Fela Oni.”

My head throbbed in pain. “The leader of Black Axe.”

“Yes.” Rolan nodded.

Emily turned to me. “Black Axe?”

Things are starting to make more sense.

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Black Axe is a Nigerian gang—”

“Black Axe is bigger than a gang now.” Rolan pushed the picture further away as if it could infect him. “Black Axe is being called the new mafia. It’s rumored that they’ve been giving