29. What Would the Mouse Do?
Chapter twenty-nine
What Would the Mouse Do?
Emily
Our little convoy strolled through the multicolored streets of the French Quarter—Kaz, Emilio, Max, Paolo, Harlem, me, and a whole army of tattooed security, wielding guns at their sides.
With each block tons of women stole glances at Kaz, and crowds of surprisingly already drunk people instinctively gave way to our imposing entourage.
It was super interesting how most received us.
The curious glances from onlookers ranged from subtle double-takes to more overt stares as they tried to reconcile the sight of our family, accompanied by such an armed entourage.
Many people pointed and gazed our way, probably wondering who the hell we were.
Others took out their phones to capture a video or picture. Kaz’s men promptly grabbed their phones, scrolled through their galleries, and deleted any such video or photo.
Meanwhile, the whole walk, I summarized as much as I could for Kaz—the Colombian’s black-market organ harvesting, the Mexican’s wanting their leader out of the US prison, and the billionaire who would do anything for a heart.
The whole time, Kaz remained silent.
And in between yapping, I took in the Quarter.
Brightly painted buildings—in pastel hues of pink, green, and yellow—lined the cobblestone paths. Each building boasted ornate wrought iron balconies, some adorned with potted plants and colorful window shutters.
Jazz melodies twirled and danced within the sweltering Louisiana air.
Kaz—the new doting father—pushed the stroller with a huge smile on his face, even as I broke down every gruesome detail from J.P.
Emilio, lay comfortably ensconced. Occasionally, he reached out his tiny hands as if to grasp the colors and sounds that swirled around him.
Up ahead, Max, Paolo, and Harlem were a whirlwind of energy and laughter, engaging with the world in a way that only they could.
My heart swelled with love for this moment—so simple, yet so rich in sensations and emotions.
We stopped by a congregation of street artists.
Here, the scent of oil paint ran thick in the air.
Each stationed themselves before large easels. Their canvases displayed the life and soul of New Orleans.
I finished unloading the heavy details to Kaz, and a sudden fuss from the stroller caught our attention.
Emilio whimpered and scrunched up his tiny face in discomfort.
“Aww.” I tried to walk to the front of the stroller.
“No, mysh .” Kaz held up his hand to stop me. “Mommy always consoles. Sometimes the Lion wants to calm his cub.”
I smiled. “Okay, baby.”
Kaz moved to the front of the stroller.
As he leaned down, his biceps flexed.
Emilio sobbed some more.
With a gentle ease Kaz lifted Emilio out of the stroller and spoke in Russian, “What is wrong? Tell papa.”
Emilio’s transition from discomfort to calm was immediate, as if our son recognized the security in his father’s arms.
Emilio sniffled and looked up at him.
Smirking, Kaz wiped Emilio’s tears. “The stroller is not as comfortable as my arms?”
Emilio rested his head against his chest and relaxed.
“You are becoming as spoiled as me.” Kaz chuckled. “Can our mouse handle two spoiled lions?”
A group of women nearby, who had been casting stolen glances in our direction, suddenly became more animated and pointed our way. Their excited sighs and murmurs filled the air, and I knew that their attention was fixed not only my adorable baby but on the man whose huge, muscular arms cradled him.
Some of these chicks are about to get shot. Like. . .it’s too much.
I gazed back at my two babies, gushed at the sight too, and decided to leave the women alone. The display of masculinity and tenderness was just too much of a panty-wetting combination for any healthy women to resist.
Fine. I’ll let them live.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of possessiveness mixed with pride. Kaz was mine, and our family unit was a sacred circle that others could only ever gaze upon from the outside.
Kaz put his view on me. “So, we have black market organ harvesters in Colombia?”
“Yes, the Cali Cartel.”
“Then, there are the Mexican transporters.”
“From Sinaloa Cartel.”
“Next, we have the. . .what did Jean-Pierre call him?”
“The bankster.”
“Yes.” Kaz gently rocked our son back and forth. “The bankster.”
“Meanwhile, J.P. is on his way to be the new broker, since the Alligator Don is dead.”
“Which is all a cute coincidence.”
I quirked my brows. “What do you mean?”
“The victims are Haitian migrants?”
I nodded.
“King David was uneasy about our meeting with Delphine and had a huge investigation done on her, before we planned the trip.”
Shock came out how all of this could connect to Delphine.
“ Mysh , did you know that over five million people practice voodoo in Haiti?”
Tension gathered in my shoulders. “I didn’t.”
“That fun fact came from David’s report, explaining why Delphine life’s work has extended far beyond New Orleans and over into Haiti.” Kaz lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss against each of Emilio’s chubby cheeks, eliciting gurgles from our son.
“Do we know what she would do when she went to Haiti?”
“While many reported to David that Delphine would bring tons of boxes over, she also spent her time buying artifacts and ingredients essential for her rituals. She even participated in many ceremonies, suggesting that she has a lot of friends there.” Kaz looked at me. “David saw them as her missions of compassion aimed at supporting the people of Haiti.”
I thought about the recent events this year for that country. “It’s been a lot of political unrest, economic struggles, and natural disasters.”
“Which all halted her trips this year.” Kaz grinned at Emilio. “Misha looked into her finances. Almost fifty percent of her income goes to providing aid, comfort, and spiritual support to the Haitians.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this?”
“I did not see how it would relate to her ability to heal you.”
Emilio balled his fist and began sucking on it.
I considered this new angle.
The political instability, characterized by violent protests and government upheaval, had plunged Haiti into a state of uncertainty. Due to that, gang violence had surged, further complicating safe travel and the distribution of aid.
Then, natural disasters—from earthquakes to powerful hurricanes—came along, leaving deep scars on the landscape and its people.
These conflicts would not only have hindered Delphine’s ability to visit Haiti but may have also impacted her practice in New Orleans.
But more so, I bet Delphine’s heart ached for the people of Haiti.
Kaz spoke, “David made note that at times, Delphine had served as a sort of hub for Haitian migrants coming to the US, helping them get not just food and lodging, but jobs and fake visas.”
“Then, she would have heard from the migrants about missing people and probably knows about the whole organ harvesting situation.”
Kaz widened his grin.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Delphine’s story of wanting to heal you was missing something. Curse on her family? If that was true, why not go to New York years ago and heal you?”
“Good point.”
“Now, perhaps she has Baba’s talent and can see visions of the future. Maybe, she understands that healing you is a huge card that she would not want to play until it would be truly impactful.”
I pursed my lips.
“Regardless, mysh , magic cannot battle two cartels and a billionaire who will kill as many Haitians as he wants for a good heart.”
I sighed. “But the Lion could battle them.”
“Not just the Lion, mysh . The Mouse most definitely would battle.” Kaz placed a thick finger in front of Emilio and our son snapped his view to it and grabbed the digit fast. Soon those tiny fingers were squeezing Kaz’s fingers.
The Lion chuckled. “My cub will run our empire on a throne of skulls, blood, and violence.”
I rolled my eyes. “Emilio is going to be a playwright or author. Award-wining and celebrated by the world.”
Kaz frowned at me.
I winked at him. “All of the violence and death ends with us, baby. We will not pass it on to our kids.”
“Nonsense.” He waved me away and returned to playing with Emilio.
I let out a long breath. “Kaz?”
“Yes, mysh ?”
“What are we going to do?”
Kaz put his attention back on me. His expression shifted to neutral.
I raised my eyebrows. “Are we going to let J.P. broker the deal? It keeps everything calm. A new heart will put it all back in motion. The Colombians, Mexicans, and bankster get what they want.”
Kaz remained silent and watched me some more.
I shrugged. “Say something.”
“You are my moral compass, mysh .”
“So?”
“You are also going to be my wife very soon.”
“O-kay.”
“What does that mean, Emily?”
“We will love each other forever.”
“And you will rule by my side forever too.”
I tensed.
“You are no longer pregnant, so what are we going to do?”
“That’s not a fucking answer, Kaz. I want you to clearly say what we should do.”
He smirked. “Stop cursing.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you think we should do?”
“It is your call, unless you think that you are not capable of making the calls on this situation.”
I frowned.
“You are healing—”
“I can make the calls, but I’m still riding on training wheels when it comes to global conflicts.”
“You think so. I disagree.” Kaz returned to Emilio and gently poked his cheeks. “What do you think, little cub? How did mommy handle herself in Italy? You were also there.”
“I didn’t truly handle Italy.”
“I am comfortable with saying that in comparison to my maneuvers in Italy and yours, you gained us more power and territory, and I earned us more enemies and news reports of bombings.” He looked back at me. “So in this situation, what would the Mouse do?”
“Jesus Christ.” I shivered and turned my view back to the congregation of artists.
One was a Black woman with streaks of yellow paint adorning her right cheek as if they were intentional marks of war paint. Her braids were pulled back into a messy bun that contained every shade of the rainbow.
Her canvas was alive with the image of Jackson Square, the iconic St. Louis Cathedral rising majestically against a backdrop of a sunset that bled purples, oranges, and pinks into the sky.
The way she captured the light reflecting off the ancient bricks made the scene pulse with an almost ethereal energy.
I swallowed and looked back at Kaz. “The Colombians are killing and exploiting helpless migrants and it’s fucked up.”
Instead of responding, Kaz kissed Emilio again, walked him back to the front of the stroller, and gently laid him down.
“Our son could have been born in Haiti or some other country in a messed-up situation.” Rage rose within me. “Who is looking out for the people that have no one and nothing?”
Kaz widened his smile and spoke to Emilio, “Do you hear that, little cub. I am about to marry Captain America.”
Against my better judgement, I smirked.
Barely six feet to our right, Max stopped Paolo by another artist and admired the man’s work.
Harlem chose that moment to piss on the street.
I checked out that artist. He was an older gentleman, whose beard was as white as the clouds above. He sat there, painting the vibrant life of Bourbon Street. His canvas was a riot of color, capturing the blur of people as they meandered down the famous street.
Calm washed over me.
Max probably felt the same way I did because he gave Paolo a few dollars.
Beyond excited, Paolo skipped over to the artist’s tip jar, dropped the money in, and then clapped for himself.
The artist gave Paolo a toothless grin and a deep voice left him. “Much thanks, young sir!”
Paolo ran back to Max and giggled.
Kaz got behind the stroller and began pushing it.
I strolled beside him. “Kaz, you can’t say it’s on me. You must give me direction.”
“You know me, mysh . What do you think I would do?”
Explosions detonated in my head.
I sighed. “I have a feeling that you would kill everyone.”
A dark chuckle left him. “ You would fight the Colombians due to the migrants. I would fight them for the audacity of them thinking that I would ever need to solve their heart dilemma.”
I let out another long breath. “But, the kids are here.”
“They are.” Kaz nodded and guided us further into the Quarter.
“More men are on the way?”
“Tisha’s men and mine.”
“But that’s not enough to go after the Mexicans, they have way more people than us.”
“Unless we get rid of their leader in prison.”
I glanced at him. “What?”
“That is an option.”
“Killing their leader will piss them off, but. . .could we free this El Cazador?”
“From a US prison?” Kaz shrugged like I was asking him to get eggs from the store. “Yes. But it would not be a legal release. We could have our people go in and break him out. He would be on the run for the rest of his life, yet that would be nothing new to him.”
“Freedom is freedom.”
Kaz nodded again.
“We do that, then the Mexicans are out of the situation. They don’t care about the bankster’s heart. They just want their leader.”
On my left, two young dancers tapped their feet to an upbeat rhythm that echoed off the old stone and brick buildings.
Paolo dropped dollars in their jars, and they tipped their hats to him.
He giggled some more and rushed back to Max.
We continued.
I thought about our current situation. “Alright. We get the Mexicans out of this conflict, and now we have the nasty ass organ harvesting cartel—”
“The one that Delphine probably wants us to destroy.”
“I’m not hating her on that.”
“Yes, but I do not enjoy being pulled along like a puppet.”
“Would you have handled it, if she asked?”
“She would have had to heal you first.”
“So, she probably figures that out and has you get something from the Alligator Don while this heart is there.” My nerves flared. “Do you think she could have timed it all that well?”
“I think that Delphine is a prominent chess player with many tricks under her sleeve.”
“Did she even need the Eye?”
Kaz frowned. “I will be sure to find out next time we see her.”
I stiffened. “Don’t start shit with her, baby.”
My attention was suddenly captured by a man standing on the corner of Royal and St. Ann. He was dressed in a costume straight out of a gothic novel, complete with a top hat adorned with feathers and a cloak that fluttered in the breeze.
“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!” His voice boomed across the bustling street. “Join us tonight for an adventure into the heart of the French Quarter’s most haunted secrets. Ghosts, ghouls, and shadows of the past await you!”
He caught the gaze of many passing by. “Hear the real stories of the most infamous voodoo queens of New Orleans!”
Paolo tugged at Max’s pants as if asking to give the man a dollar.
Max shook his head and hurried Paolo and Harlem along, probably not wanting to touch anything to do with ghosts and voodoo.
Kaz and I strolled forward.
“Walk the same paths as Marie Laveau herself and discover where the Queen of Voodoo held court with the spirits!”
We continued past him.
“And let’s not forget the ghosts that roam our streets!” The man pointed to some of our security. “Real ghosts, my friends, who’ve left the veil of death behind to wander the alleyways and buildings of the French Quarter!”
Kaz’s men appeared disturbed and kept space between them and the man.
I chuckled.
The man tried to wave them over. “From the sorrowful lady in white searching endlessly for her lost love to the soldiers of past battles, still fighting their wars in the afterlife!”
Kaz’ men hurried their pace.
Naw. These Russians don’t play with shit like that.
Kaz caught my intrigued expression and smiled. “Do you want to go on the ghost tour, mysh ?”
“Hell no. We have enough freaky, dark shit going on.”
He pushed the stroller with one hand and placed his free arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him as we walked. “What should we do with the Colombians, mysh ?”
“It makes me nervous deciding something so big, when I’m. . .the way I am.”
“And I think it is in these times when you show to yourself and everyone else how strong you truly are.”
I sighed.
“What do we do?”
I frowned. “I want to kill the Colombians and the bankster.”
“But will it be easy?”
“I doubt it.”
“It would be a war on two fronts, US and Colombia. And right now, we are making sure you are healed.”
“Then, we don’t act now. We go to the dinner and see if a conversation could get us some resolution and delay the time.”
“You think a meal and drinks will get Cali cartel to drop the organ harvesting?”
“I want to give them a chance. See if there is another market they want to get into. Harlem Crew could go to Colombia and help them shift their business to anything else.”
“Befriend the organ harvesters and help them get back on their feet.” Kaz laughed. “My sexy, little fawn.”
I shook my head. “Let’s hope talking and diplomacy can keep us out of gunning down everyone.”
“And the bankster?”
I thought of the disgusting man. “Do we really need to negotiate with a dying billionaire?”
“Exactly.” Kaz nodded. “And our chess playing witch? Do we still get the absinthe for her?”
“It could be an ingredient that she really needs to heal me.”
“Or it could be another problem she wants solved.”
“I like parties. Let’s get in touch with this dude and see what happens.”
Kaz gazed at me, and something sparkled in his eyes, but I didn’t know what it was.
“What’s on your mind, baby?”
“I picked the right woman to have at my side.” Then, he snapped his view to a large family walking by us.
I moved my view to them too.
A woman pushed a double stroller, another little one, full of energy and laughter, ran ahead, weaving through the crowd with carefree joy. Beside them, a man—presumably, the father—had his camera out, snapping pictures of the street artists.
Kaz’s gaze followed them, and this sweet softness filled his eyes. He pointed at the double stroller. “We will need a stroller like that soon. One for two babies.”
“A stroller for two babies.” I side-eyed him. “No the fuck we won’t.”
“Actually, we may need a triple stroller, mysh .” Kaz laughed.
I looked at him, really looked , and saw not just the dangerous man that the world feared, but my romantic partner and loving father who was now dreaming of simple joys.
Beneath the tattoos and the muscle, beneath the reputation that preceded him, was a man who cherished the idea of family, a very large family.
This motherfucker.
Then, I thought back to how he gazed at the painting of all my alters and opened his heart to them.
My heart warmed.
Dang it.
The family disappeared into the crowd, and I leaned closer to Kaz. “Okay. . .maybe. . .a double stroller.”
Kaz gave me a triumphant grin, leaned his head back, and took a quick look at my ass. “Triple, mysh . Triple stroller.”
I sucked my teeth.
Max and the boys slowed down and met our pace. “Eh, Em! My nephews, including the furry one, are getting tired. I say we get some food at one of the best spots, drop off the kiddies, and then head to the strip club where Uncle Max can fund a lot of pretty ladies’ college education.”
Paolo pumped his hand in the air. “Strip club!”
Oh God.