Dirty Obsessions: An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse Book 5.5) Read online

  Rolan stroked his goatee. “That doesn’t sound like it allowed for many lovers. Did anyone take care of you?”

  Mrs. Jones opened her mouth in shock.

  Just when I was about to set Rolan straight, the shock left her face.

  A wicked smile appeared. “I had my lovers.”

  Rolan pushed on. “And are they still around, taking care of your needs?”

  “Do you always ask women these questions when you first meet them?”

  “Only the gorgeous ones.”

  Thankfully, the limo slowed.

  “And we’re here.” I sneered at Rolan. “You should let us out, batya.”

  He opened the door, stepped out of the limo, remained at the side, and held his hand out to Mrs. Jones. “Come, babochka.”

  She took his hand and slowly left the limo. “I didn’t give you permission to call me that.”

  “A man like me doesn’t need permission.” Forgetting about us, Rolan shut the door behind her and escorted Mrs. Jones away.

  Stunned, I stared at the closed door.

  Maxwell spoke, “I’m going to have to up my game with Mrs. Jones. Dude is an OG.”

  “I thought I explained to both of you that Mrs. Jones is off-limits.” I scooted over to the door, opened it, and climbed out. “I have enough problems. I don’t need you two trying to stick your cocks in her.”

  “Come on, homey.” Maxwell followed me out. “It would be a friendly competition between your godfather and me.”

  “Friendly competition with Rolan?” I laughed. “He seems very nice, but be careful.”

  Maxwell walked on my side. “Hey, I did see her first. I should get first dibs or something. Maybe this would be fun to battle it out with Rolan.”

  I stopped and turned his way. “You’re not serious about Mrs. Jones. And hopefully, Rolan isn’t serious either. But if he is serious about her. . .stay clear. And that’s a real warning.”

  Maxwell quirked one brow.

  “He may seem like a jolly old man, but they don’t call him the Big Bear due to his height and shape. One time I watched him torture a guy. He delivered one blow to the back of the guy’s neck and injured his spine enough to instantly paralyze him from the neck down.”

  Maxwell touched his own neck.

  I continued, “Then Rolan lay the man sideways on the ground and continued to ask him questions. Once he had the answers, he stood up and stomped the guy’s face out.”

  “Damn.”

  “And that wasn’t the scary part.” I directed my gaze to Rolan and Mrs. Jones strolling several feet in front of us. “The whole time he ate gummy bears while doing it. As if he was watching a fun cartoon or something.”

  “Gummy bears? The candy?”

  “Yeah.” I returned to walking. “He had just come back from Germany. That’s where they originated from. Anyway, I’ve never been able to eat a gummy bear after that. I always see that man’s mangled neck and stomped-out face.”

  “I think you just fucked up gummy bears for me too.”

  We headed into the theater.

  Chapter 2

  Ava

  It was an hour before the performance. I sat at my vanity table and finished my makeup. “Okay. That’s done.”

  The report of my becoming prima ballerina had finally hit international news. Family had been calling all day. Although my uncle in New Orleans wasn’t a fan of talking on the phone or ballet, he texted me a message. It read, “Baby girl, show them white people who you are!”

  Ballet friends from New York texted and emailed too. Old high school buddies began adding me as friends on Facebook, even though we hadn’t talked in years.

  I squinted at the vanity mirror and turned my head from side to side. “Bun is in place.”

  I looked at the wall and smiled at the framed picture of my grandmother and me. It was taken after my last performance in New York. She’d bought me daisies and wore her favorite wig. Shirly Temple curls outlined Grandma’s face. In the picture, she beamed with pride right next to me. She had to work three double shifts in a row with the cleaning company, just to get time off to see me dance.

  Everything is different now.

  Now she had a bag of money from Misha. When I tried to ask how much was in there, she told me to mind my business. This morning, she explained that she had no intention of returning to New York anytime soon.

  I have lots to plan now.

  During the theater’s break, I would figure out my next step. Maybe, I would get a new condo for Grandma and me. I still didn’t feel right staying in Misha’s place. Additionally, I promised to help him bury his father. Grandma would come too.

  I directed my view to the silver-framed picture under Grandma’s and my photo. It was the only image I had of my dad and mom. In the photo, Mom held me in her arms. Dad smiled wildly at the camera. I had my father’s eyes. Grandma had them too. It was a Jones thing.

  Grandma had given me the original photo. I’d made a copy and gifted it to her. She’d taken it with a sad smile. The next day, I found that copy in the trash, pulled it out, and hid it in my room. I never asked Grandma why she threw it away.

  Who knows why Grandma does things? Finish getting ready.

  I grabbed my small medical bag off the table, checked my toes, and stretched them back and forth. I had a new blister on my right pinky toe from morning rehearsal. I slapped a band-aid on it and assessed the other foot. There were no blisters, cracked nails, or other issues.

  A small amount of stage fright came, but not as much as usual. So many other things bounced around in my head. Would Misha get off free for killing those three rich creeps? Would the families seek revenge? Would the theater continue to perform with me as their prima ballerina?

  My nerves flared.

  Misha isn’t worried. But should he be? This is all out of my element.

  I left the chair and made sure I had on underwear.

  Okay. Panties on.

  My phone rang.

  Who’s that? I hope everything is okay.

  I answered, “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice came on the line. “Hello, Ms. Jones. I’m so sorry. I thought I would be getting your voice service since it’s so close to the performance.”

  “Okay.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m Mrs. Hightower. I wanted to know if you have representation. If not, I would love to manage you. I know the theater will be closing for some time, but that doesn’t mean that you will be out of work or opportunities. I would love to talk to you after the show or—”

  “I won’t be able to meet after the show.” My heart sped up. “But I will call you in a few days with a meeting place.”

  Shock hit her voice. “You will?”

  “Yes. You represented O. I mean. . .Olesya. Right?”

  “I did.”

  “We were close.”

  “Oh. I think I remember you tagging along to one of Olesya’s meeting.”

  “I did, although I remained quiet in the background. Often, I sat at another table to let you both talk privately. However, I would love to talk to you in the near future.”

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Jones. We will definitely have that talk. Until then, may you have a great performance!”

  “Thank you!” I hung up and stared at the mirror. “O-kay. I. . .have an agent.”

  Excitement buzzed in my bones and mingled with worry. Everything was happening so fast.

  My phone rang again.

  Oh my God. At some point, I’m going to stop answering my phone.

  I checked the screen.

  Natalie: I’m so proud of you. Look what I printed out.

  Next, my cousin Natalie sent a picture. I pressed on the screen to blow it up. She must’ve saved one of the images from an online article about a prior theater performance. It was an old image. Olesya stood in front, but I was on pointed toe in the back. From there, she made the image into a poster and drew a crown over my head.

  “You’re so funny.” I t
yped a response.

  Me: Thanks, cuz!! That’s so cool!

  Natalie: I saw you on the news! I couldn’t believe it. You were on TV in Paris.

  Paris? What is she doing there?

  I dialed her. I didn’t have the time, but I was being nosy. It was nice to have a distraction from my craziness. The phone rang twice.

  Natalie answered. “Oh my. I must be important.”

  “You are.” I laughed. “Thanks so much for all your support.”

  “Come on, Ava. I’m your biggest fan. I must come and visit. Did Aunt Jackie tell you that we’re in Paris?”

  “No.” I checked my watch and saw I only had forty minutes. “How long have you been there?”

  “A few months.”

  “Is Gwen with you?”

  “Yep. And my son.”

  I sighed. “I still have to meet him. It’s a damn shame.”

  “Girl, you’ve been in Russia doing big things. That’s okay. But we’re closer now.”

  “I’ll visit you soon. The theater is closing for the season. I’ll have a few weeks off.”

  “They’re closing? Why?”

  “Uh.” I tapped the phone. “There was an accident and some men died in the theater so. . .they’re closing as a sign of respect.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but will it mess up any of your performances?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Me either.”

  “Anyway, send me your address in Paris. Perhaps I can come this week.” I thought about Misha’s father. “I do have a funeral to go to, but. . .”

  “The men’s funeral?”

  “Oh no. My boyfriend’s father died. The funeral will be in Prague.”

  “Wow. So he’s an international man?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I need to find me an international boo too.”

  “Have you been dating over there in Paris? French guys are hot.”

  “Not yet. I’m focused on dancing. I may not get to where you are, but I’m going to do something.”

  My tone went serious. “Don’t ever say that, Natalie. You are a great dancer. And your path could take you well beyond us all. Especially now that you have some connections in the ballet world.”

  She giggled. “Connections?”

  “That’s right. St Petersburg should have never let me in the door. Now I’m bringing my whole family with me.”

  “I hear you, Ava. And I’ll be stepping right on through.”

  On her side of the line, a child cried off in the distance.

  “Ava, I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

  “Oh no. That’s fine. I do too.”

  The boy’s cries rose.

  “I see you later, cuz.” Natalie sounded out of breath. She must’ve been walking fast. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  She’d already hung up.

  I put the phone down, leaned back in my chair, and studied the vanity table. Hours ago, Misha had me bent over it. Tights and leotard ripped and dangling over my body. Moans spilling out of my parted lips.

  God, that was so good.

  A shudder of pleasure moved through me. I touched my mouth, remembering his full possession of my body.

  I can’t wait to see him. This performance can’t be over fast enough.

  Long ago, my only anticipation came from dancing. Now Misha rose to the head of the list.

  His face flashed in my head. Misha had a sexy nerd look. Hot CEO. A dark techie vibe. His face didn’t say killer, it said I could make those panties wet, fuck you hard, make you cum twice, and after that fix your computer.

  But I knew that it was a lie. He was a killer. That fact scared me. There was no way around it. Although he had a successful company, he also dealt in crime. He was right up there with his cousin, Kazimir.

  But in the end, I couldn’t be without him. It was hard to make sense of that. I felt safe with Misha and so loved my soul burned. Due to that, I would ignore the slight terror and the worries of our future.

  Someone knocked at my dressing room door.

  I checked my watch.

  Thirty minutes left.

  I rose from the chair and opened the door.

  My four guards stood outside. Two on the left and two on the right. In front of the doorway, Akiva glared at me. He had his own two guards on his side. No humor covered Akiva’s face. He wore a tuxedo. His hair was slicked back. He held a crystal vase with dark red roses inside it.

  Many called him the King. Tonight, he looked like his other nickname—the Bull. Unfortunately for Akiva, I no longer feared him.

  “Good evening, Ava.”

  I frowned.

  “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

  “Go ahead and talk.”

  “I would like to come into your dressing room and speak privately.”

  “That’s not happening.”

  “It’s tradition for the artistic director to share private words with his prima ballerina.”

  “And?”

  He gazed up at my guards and then returned his view to me.

  “What do you want, Akiva?”

  “Did you get my text today?”

  “The one that said Misha couldn’t save me? I did.”

  He smirked. “And what did your boyfriend think of my message?”

  You think you can trap Misha so easily? Not happening. I won’t allow it.

  “You’re not on his radar, Akiva.”

  “I will be.”

  I gestured to his guards. “That’s why you have security? I would have hired some too.”

  “I didn’t hire them. A certain family did. One that is upset with the death of their patriarch.”

  Fear sliced through me, but I made sure to not let it show on my face.

  “Anything else, Akiva?”

  “Have a good performance. It will be your final one as a prima ballerina.”

  I swallowed.

  He walked off with his men.

  I looked up at the guard on the right. He’d been with me from the very beginning of this journey with Misha. His body was large and massive. His face scarred. A dark shadow of stubble covered his chin.

  He turned my way.

  I spoke in Russian. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  His Russian words came out thick. “Misha told us to be nameless and faceless around you. We’re only to talk when absolutely necessary. No friendships.”

  “I still would like to know your name.”

  “It is Yefim.”

  “Can I ask you for some advice, Yefim?”

  He checked the other guards’ reactions. They remained staring in front. Shrugging, he bobbed his head.

  “I think Akiva is trying to taunt Misha and get him to act. This moment in the hallway is one of those examples.”

  Yefim nodded again.

  So. . .you agree?

  I looked off to wear the artistic director disappeared. “Those guards Akiva had today looked rougher than usual security.”

  “They’re Solntsevskaya Bratva.”

  “So. . .different from your Brotherhood.”

  He nodded.

  “They’re your enemies?”

  He shrugged as if to say that anyone that wasn’t from the Brotherhood would be an enemy.

  I shook my head. “Akiva said the family of the dead man gave him the guards. Maybe, they contacted this group.”

  “It would be a smart move.”

  I widened my eyes. “But would Misha be in danger?”

  Yefim smiled, lifting his scarred cheeks. “No danger.”

  “Could we tell Misha about Akiva’s visit once I’m with him?”

  He held a grim expression. “Misha wants to be updated instantly. Already, it’s been too long.”

  “I could tell him. I just don’t want him to worry—”

  “Focus on your performance.” Yefim pulled out his phone. “Lots of concentration is required to bala
nce on toes.”

  “I don’t want Misha to do anything while I’m performing. Can you please tell him that?”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you.” I closed the door, went to my chair, and sat down.

  Ignore him, Misha. Don’t let Akiva draw you into any bullshit.

  I drowned in anxiety. To calm me down, I checked my watch.

  Fifteen minutes.

  I plugged my headphones in and played slow classical music.

  It will be fine. Misha is smart. He won’t take Akiva’s bait.

  The soothing sound of the piano absorbed all my stress. My pulse decreased. My breathing slowed. Peace restored my mind and body.

  My phone buzzed, rattling on the vanity table and moving an inch. I grabbed it and checked the screen. Misha sent a text.

  Misha: Don’t worry.

  I tensed.

  Misha: Tonight isn’t about Akiva. My focus is only on you.

  I let out a long breath and typed back a response.

  Me: Good. I want your eyes and mind on me tonight.

  Misha: Only you. No one else.

  Smirking, I typed again.

  Me: I can’t wait to have you inside of me.

  My phone rang.

  Swallowing, I checked the screen. Misha’s name showed.

  I turned off the music, took out the headphones, and answered, “Hello, Mr. Stronz. How can I help you?”

  His voice was deep, rough, and sexy enough to soak my costume. “Send another text like that and I’ll be in your dressing room.”

  “No one is allowed back here besides the company and staff.”

  “Ava, you doubt my ability to get to you?”

  While I knew he was only talking about getting backstage, a sliver of heat rose in me. My thighs trembled with the idea of him being inside of me. I licked my lips. “No, Misha. I don’t doubt your ability.”

  “Are you ready to be Nikiya?”

  “I am.”

  “Mind clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Body relaxed?”

  “Yes, Mr. Stronz.”

  “Good. For now, you dance for St Petersburg’s high society. Later tonight, you’ll dance for me.”