Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,23

of common sense. I might have been shrewd and volatile, but I thought some things through. In this situation, I acted on the sensations of my heart. And in this moment, that organ was breaking.

But. . .our baby deserves more than that. She is worthy of three or four cities burning to ashes.

My mouse extended her hands across the table and placed them over mine. “I know your mad about losing the baby. I am too. Madder at myself than Jean-Pierre.”

I gritted my teeth. “Are you mad at him at all?”

“No. He could’ve killed me. He could have had his men rape me. There’s so many things that could have happened when he had me.” She brushed my fingers with her thumb. “As I told you before, he took great care with me. Even when I killed his men. Even when I dumped his head in the toilet.”

The image of her dousing Jean-Pierre with toilet water brightened my mood a little.

Her words came out soft. “Let it go, Kaz.”

I clenched my jaw.

“And if you must start a war, let it be short and calm.”

“Short and calm? This isn’t a tea party, mysh. That’s the very opposite of war. If I can’t bomb his country, then I’m going to take my time terrorizing Jean-Pierre and all of his men.”

She drew in a long breath. “Tell me how to reach your sense of logic and compassion for humanity.”

I wanted to spit at the floor but didn’t. “Compassion for humanity?”

“Where do you keep that? Is it in your heart? Your soul?”

“You should know. You have my heart and soul with you right now.” I motioned to those pajamas. “Take them out of your pockets. Tell me what’s in them.”

“Didn’t we already fight a war with your stepbrother?”

I raised one finger. “That was the past.”

“Is the brotherhood even ready for another war?”

“They are.”

She continued to argue her point. “You still have territories to hand out. Open positions. An uncle to bury. And we can’t forget about the guy putting monkey heads in our bedroom. We still need to kill that motherfucker.”

A whimper sounded from the big gift wrapped box.

A second later, it moved a little to the side.

She stopped arguing and directed her attention to the box. “What’s inside there?”

“Go look.”

She rose and rushed over to the box. “I hope it’s not a cat, after that conversation we had outside. A cat would be inappropriate in this place.”

Another whimper sounded from the box.

She pulled the top off and gasped.

A chocolate brown cocker spaniel puppy poked his small head out of the box. His little sad eyes gazed at her. He whimpered again.

Oh, relax. You were only in there for a few minutes.

Emily picked him up and gathered the puppy in her arms. “This is one of your bribes?”

“Yes. Granted, I don’t even know if you like dogs.”

“I don’t dislike them.” She rubbed the top of his ear.

“You can give him back, if you don’t—”

“No. I can’t give him back now.” She smiled at the puppy, brought it with her to her seat, and sat down. “Not with those sad eyes. It’s impossible.”

“What will you call it?”

She placed him on her lap and looked at me. “Harlem.”

“That’s a perfect name.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Puppy or not, Kaz. Do we have a deal? No women or children. No innocents. No bombings of major French landmarks like the Eiffel Tower.”

I can’t bomb the Eiffel Tower. Maybe, I should I have gotten her a diamond that was the size of a puppy.

Again, I had to push down my annoyance. I knew she was being rational, but I wanted pain. The French’s pain and agony. However, if it meant my cold revenge or her warm body. The choice would always be her.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes. We have a deal.”

“And. . .”

I growled, “And?”

“Perhaps, channel your anger to other things. Don’t start the war for a month. We have windows and doors open. X always said, you should close everything up before leaving the house.”

Aggravated, I picked up my glass and finished my wine. “I think that’s a stupid metaphor.”

“Still. . .we have a monkey head guy. And it wouldn’t hurt to make the brotherhood as strong as possible, before going to fight the Corsican. Put people in positions. Hand out territories. All that good stuff.”

“We don’t need to get stronger to fight perfumed pansies.”

“You shouldn’t sleep on Jean-Pierre.”

“If that sentence was a living animal, I would shoot it.”

“Lucky for me, it’s not.” She rubbed Harlem’s head.