Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,4

Instead, he continued conversation with Roman—a skinny, tanned skin man, that I had barely met.

Nikolay nodded at me. At the party, he had looked like an evil sorcerer. He had worn a heavy black fur cloak around his shoulders along with a top hat. Meanwhile, his wife had been dressed in this sheer white dress with gossamer and feathers. She reminded me of a swan princess. Although they appeared passionately in love.

Today, he had on a simple dark blue suit—no cloak or top hat. He almost resembled a normal man, if not for the dark tattoos covering both of his hands. They were symbols of crosses all over his fingers and palm. Each cross was different in some way. Some were very small. Others somewhat big. Many had names or words written in them.

Nikolay was one of the few men in this room that hadn’t grown up with Kaz. They’d met at his stepfather’s funeral.

Five more Russians stood in the far back, looking like Kaz’s typical security and errand guys.

Everyone continued to remain silent.

I took in the space some more.

Who the hell is that? And what is his problem?

On the other side of the war room, a strange man sat in a chair. Chains clinked around his ankles. A plastic mask covered his face, but I could tell that whatever was under the shield was horrific. Scarred tissue and chewed flesh. He had a dog collar around his neck and a leash hanging from it.

What the fuck?

I spotted the massive table next the masked prisoner. It was a large scale model of Paris. The Eiffel tower was on the right. The Louvre on the left. Other attractions were there too—Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, and others. A blue glitter depiction of the Seine River moved along.

Slowly, I walked over to the model.

How long did I sleep? He got someone to put together a damn mini Paris?

I looked back at Kaz. “We should have a conversation.”

“We should.” Kaz’s expression softened. “Go to your room and lay down. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Go to my room?”

“Our bedroom.”

“You said my room.”

Kazimir expression shifted to a confused look. “It was a mistake.”

“Was it?”

A few men stirred at the table.

Why did he say, ‘my bedroom,’ instead of our bedroom. Am I going crazy?

For some reason, every word was important. Perhaps, I was feeling insecure, after this loss. Maybe, he found me guilty too and was mad. He had said my room like it wasn’t ours, like he was done with me, like I was now an annoying child to get rid of when I bothered him.

Get ahold of yourself.

With my arms still crossed, I took two steps his way. Anger covered my face. “We need to talk now.”

“There’s no time. We can talk later.” He stayed where he was. “Go to our bedroom and I’ll—”

“You should excuse your men. I want to talk now.”

His jaw twitched.

Noise came from behind me.

I turned that way. Three guys dragged a huge tv with wheels at the bottom. On it was footage of a massive building. I turned around and studied the tv screen.

Are you kidding me?

I leaned my head to the side to get a better look. “Is that the mall that we were just at yesterday?”

“We’ll talk later, mysh.”

Zahkar walked in with his phone to the side of his ear. “Kazimir, the bombs are in place.”

Zahkar stopped talking when he spotted me. Out of all the Bratva, Zahkar looked the most like a professor. Tortoise shell glasses. Classic leather watch. No diamonds or gold. No tattoos peeking up from his neck or wrists.

When I talked to him at the party he smoked from a cigar. Today, he had a wooden pipe in his other hand. A stream of smoke left the top.

I spun around and scowled at Kaz. “Did Zahkar just say bombs?”

Kaz massaged the back of his neck “We will talk later.”

“Fuck that! Talk later my ass. You’re in a war room with a fucking mini-model of Paris. What are you going to do. . .bomb the whole city?”

Rage radiated from him. Kaz lowered his hand and prowled my way, not appearing like he would calm anytime soon. “Let’s talk outside.”

“No.” I uncrossed my arms. “Tell your men to leave. We can talk in here.”

“Would it matter?”

“Yes. I feel like if we leave this room, they’ll continue with whatever you’re trying to do.”

“They will regardless.”

“Not after we talk.”

He leaned his head to the side. “Mysh, I’m not in a patient mood right now. I would like you

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