Kazimir grumbled some more. “You’re barely clean. Come back in the shower.”
“You’re barely forgiven.” I decided to change in the extra bedroom.
Hours later, we rode toward the French countryside in silence. Kazimir didn’t know where we were going, and I was still pissed. I understood his mindset but didn’t agree. It was the same problem from Prague—him thinking he had to protect me from everything.
I thought we had this settled. Are we always going to be arguing about this?
I turned to him.
He was on the phone with Zahkar, getting updates. He looked gorgeous in the tweed blazer and leather trousers. A brown tie went with his white shirt. Everything blended together perfectly. Before he’d waken up, I’d even gotten some help from Valentina who knew his sizes by heart. They were such an odd bunch of siblings, but I loved them.
Every now and then, he glanced at me. I made it clear I was eavesdropping. How else would I get information?
I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about the chimpanzees.
From listening to his phone conversation, I’d learned our guards in Paris had caught wind of the French mafia following us. I didn’t know much about the Corsican and wondered why they would stupidly bother us. I glanced over my shoulder and confirmed what I’d heard from eavesdropping. Two white vans followed far in the back.
“I know we’re in France and this is Jean-Pierre’s domain.” Kazimir waited and then his voice boomed. “Fuck tradition. I don’t get permission from anyone.”
I looked out the window as a third van showed up further away.
Three vans. Damn. Are they trying to start something today? What’s going on?
“No. I did not call him. Why would I?” Kazimir looked out the window at one of the vans. “You’re not contacting Jean-Pierre either. If his pansies come close, they’ll be dead.”
Do we really need a war with the Corsican?
Keeping Kazimir calm was turning into a job. Had I not stepped in with President Smirnov and him, I swore it would’ve gone horrible.
I mean, isn’t there some punishment for stabbing a general in your hotel room?
Kazimir barked some more, “Jean-Pierre should stay far from me before I put blood on his dress.”
I smirked.
No wonder he messed with my phone and kept everything from me. He thinks he’s a god.
In a way, he was. We’d gone to Paris for dinner. He’d slapped one high level general and killed another. He’d rented out an underground burial city for the afternoon just as a light surprise. So far, I hadn’t seen Kazimir not dominate and take what he wanted.
“It may be unwarranted, but Jean-Pierre knows better. Get some men on him.” He shut off the phone.
I looked at him. “Why are the Corsican following us?”
“You’re talking to me now?”
“A little bit.”
“It’s my surprise date. You’re supposed to talk to me.”
“Your date hasn’t begun.”
“I’m wearing leather pants. It has surely begun.” He glanced down at his outfit. “However, I must admit this is comfortable.”
“Why are they following us?”
“Because their little leader, Jean-Pierre, has his panties in a bunch.”
“Must you refer to him in the feminine?”
“He reminds me of a woman.”
“Are you saying women are weak?”
“No, I’m saying Jean-Pierre should’ve gone into dressmaking, instead of a life of crime.”
I shook my head.
“It’s the truth.” He pouted. “I’m sorry about your phone.”
“Make sure it’s working.”
“I put in the orders.”
“You better or I’m going to put my foot in your ass.”
“So violent. Would you really let your foot mess up my nifty leather pants?”
I held in my laughter and tried to stay mad.
Why do I even attempt to be pissed with him? He’s so fucking spoiled and irresistible.
I sighed. “Have you figured out what we’re doing today?”
He studied me. “I have an idea.”
I wore an outfit similar to his—a classically tailored blazer for women with almost the same patterned tweed jacket, except mine had slits in the back and many elegant details to accentuate the timeless style.
“Give me your guesses,” I said.
“We’re going dancing.”
“No.”
He looked at my jacket and then his. “We’re starting a band.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Clown school.”
“Kazimir, the outfit is not that bad.”
“It is, but at least you’re talking to me.”
“Barely.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
Our limo traveled down a long country road and headed onto a private path. The vans of Corsican made a different turn. Surely, they would be parked off in the shadows waiting for us to come out.
“Why do you think they’re following us?” I asked.
“I killed Sasha and hung his body up. Now, I’ve flown to France. I’m sure their panties are in a bunch.”
“Enough with the panty metaphors, Kaz, and people don’t get nervous about things unless they’re guilty or...”
He grinned. “Or?”
“Or you’re the baddest motherfucker on the scene and it scares them. Basically, I would be nervous if you were visiting my country.”
“What are you saying?” He shrugged. “I’m an excellent tourist.”
“Your visit in New York changed the landscape of Manhattan.”
“That was Sasha’s fault. He bombed the building.”
“Prague will probably never be the same after the castle shooting.”
“In all fairness, Prague is used to that behavior after Uncle Igor’s oddities.”
I smiled. “Tell me about the Corsican.”
“I would rather spend my time talking about something more important.”
“Still.”
“Their little leader is named Jean-Pierre. He wasn’t the head until recently. In these past years, he gained a reputation. They’ve been calling him The Butcher.”
“Didn’t they used to call Luka, ‘The Butcher’?”
“Yes, but that was different. Luka earned it. Jean-Pierre is just a maniac with several special knives.”
“Why is Jean-Pierre rising in reputation?”
“Because he was fighting Uncle Igor for three years over another matter. I gave my uncle some men and weapons thinking Jean-Pierre and his cousins would be put in their place. It didn’t happen.”
I quirked my eyebrows. “He beat your uncle?”
“No, but Jean-Pierre definitely kicked his ass in their little war. Some of it spilled into Russia. They manhandled some of the brothers. It became embarrassing. I actually flew to Paris one time with Sasha to talk him, hoping he would stop.”
“Why not fight Jean-Pierre yourself?”
“It would’ve looked like I was helping Uncle Igor.”
“And your uncle wanted to destroy Jean-Pierre on his own?”
“Yes. And this all started over some woman. She played something, violin or flute. It doesn’t matter. Jean-Pierre was sneaking into her apartment and watching her sleep.”