Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
“To round up several platters of blinis topped with our best smoked salmon and caviar.”
Kaz slowly smiled. “Very good, mysh.”
“And I won’t forget the vodka.”
“We will need lots of it.”
“We will.” I got on my toes and kissed him. “Be good, baby.”
Max let out a long sigh behind me.
“Be safe, mysh.” Kaz licked his lips, headed away, and scowled at Max. “Idiot.”
“Yo. You need to chill, man.”
I relished in the view of Kaz’s muscled ass moving under his pants. Wassily and several guards headed after him.
I got myself together and turned around.
Okay. What a long fucking horrible day. Let me. . .somehow. . .make sure it all ends with some form of peace.
Max picked up Lemonisha and got to my side. “Him and I are going to be fighting a lot in New Orleans.”
“No you are not. Today, he is just tired and grumpy right now—”
“Man, we all are fucking tired. Lunita had us up all night.”
More guilt came.
I gritted my teeth.
Max continued, “That doesn’t mean he can just be ill to everyone.”
“You are also irrationally overprotective of that lemon tree.” I walked off in the opposite direction. “Just put Lemonisha up, so I can somewhat salvage this day.”
My guards followed.
I looked at him. “We have enough going on, Max.”
“I just need Lemonisha respected. Is that a lot to ask for?”
“Lemonisha is respected.”
“Cool. She doesn’t need to be around cigar smoke anyway.”
“Good.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “You’re always eating and partying with Misha. What other hors d’oeuvres should I ask the chef to prepare for everyone? Everything has to be perfect.”
“Why?”
“Are you serious, Max? It’s been a fucking nightmare for the past days—”
“Not because of you. That was on Lunita.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try my best to make sure everything is better.”
“The only way shit will be better is if you take care of yourself.”
I tensed.
And who will take care of Kazimir? Emilio? Paolo?
I increased my pace. “Help me out, Max. What other hors d’oeuvres should I get the chef to make?”
“Misha be ill with his spread.”
I rolled my eyes. “But what does he usually have?”
“Pickled herring. Garlic cheese. Stuffed eggs.” Max kept my pace. “And Piroshki. Got to have that. Make sure it is stuffed with beef and cabbage.”
“Very good.” I checked my watch. “Emilio may be hungry soon. Can you rush to the chef and tell them all those dishes?”
“I’ve got you, Em.”
“Thanks.” I hurried some more. “When you head back down to the casino, stay close to Kaz, please, until I get there.”
“Okay.”
We hit the end of the hallway.
Max and Lemonisha went left.
I turned right and rushed up the stairs.
I should get his best cigars out too.
My guards continued with me.
What else would his mother have done?
I let out a long sigh.
These past days weighed heavy on my shoulders.
Will ending Lunita finally bring us peace? And. . .what is ending her?
Finally, I reached the nursery where Emilio was sleeping soundly in his crib.
Ten men stood outside the door.
I headed in and spotted Paolo sleeping on Baba as she rocked in my nursing chair.
I smiled.
Baba whispered, “I tired them out.”
“You sure did.” I tip toed over to the crib and gazed in.
My sweetie lay in the crib, wrapped in his favorite yellow blanket. Soft gurgles left his little lips.
What are you dreaming about?
“Paolo drew a picture of Emilio and him together. We placed it in your bedroom, right on the nightstand.”
“Thank you, Baba.” I gently reached into the crib to stroke his cheek. “Enjoy your sleep, baby.”
Slowly, I left the crib, went over to Baba, and held out my hands. “I can pick Paolo up and put—”
“No. Let him rest. I love his energy—so pure and sweet.” Baba’s eyes watered. “These two helped me make it through the day. This morning was a hard one.”
Guilt shivered through me.
I stepped back. “I am sorry about Olga.”
“You are not the one that should be apologizing.” Baba gestured to my gloves. “The maids have been whispering all day about how the Mouse hurt herself.”
I frowned. “It was a low moment.”
“Let us not have any more of those moments.”
“Baba. . .”
“I understand, Emily.”
I sighed. “I talked to the woman in New Orleans.”
Baba stared at me.
“She says that she will be giving me something that could mess up my milk.”
“Then, she is a careful practitioner and takes her craft seriously.”
“I will need either a wet nurse or. . .change Emilio to formula.”
“Consider both.”
“And. . .”
Baba ran her fingers along Paolo’s cornrows. “I already know what you are going to say, Emily.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Are you sure you know?”
Baba nodded. “You want to tell me that the Lion and you are going to New Orleans and that you want me to stay in Moscow.”
“Damn.” Sighing, I lowered down to the carpet and then crossed my legs. “You’re right.”