38. The Mahogany Casket
Chapter thirty-eight
The Mahogany Casket
Kazimir
I headed into the bedroom.
Everyone in there turned to me, waiting for my orders.
Meanwhile, I put my gaze on Emily. The cadenced melody of her steady breaths filled the air. The sound gave me a sense of calm amidst the chaos of tonight.
She was an island of peace in a sea of turmoil. Yet somehow, her presence, even in sleep, was my anchor.
Still asleep, and no appearance of Lunita. Will we be lucky this evening?
My eyes then shifted from Emily’s tranquil form to Wassily and Boris.
They stood near the bed, dressed for conflict–black sneakers, black tactical pants, and form-fitting shirts.
Items chosen for utility and stealth.
But it wasn’t just their attire that caught my attention; it was the resolve etched on their faces. Their expressions were set in stone too. Determination burned in their eyes. They were more than just dressed for war; they embodied it.
Hmmm.
I found myself pondering their motivations.
Was this display of readiness a reaction to the night’s events, an unspoken understanding of my fury and their eagerness to act upon it?
Or was it a deeper display of loyalty? Some testament to their commitment to me and the Brotherhood?
Interesting.
The events of tonight had shaken the foundations of our world in New Orleans. The attack, the looming threat of the sicarios.
In such times, the true nature of individuals came to the front.
War, with its chaos and demand for action, provided the perfect opportunity for ambition.
I remembered how David had risen through the ranks, how the Butcher’s kidnapping of my mouse and all the chaos in Paris had been David’s proving ground.
His loyalty and skill had earned him his position.
I sized up Wassily and Boris.
Will this be their Paris? Their moment to rise.
Tisha nodded at me and then left the bedroom.
Or will this be my cousin’s Paris? His time to redeem himself to my mouse.
I put my view back on Boris and Wassily.
Their stance remained solid, even under my silent scrutiny.
More important, do you both have the fucking balls to deal with Lunita?
I smirked at the thought of my mouse’s alter.
Let us hope your sliced off dicks are not lying neatly by your decapitated heads when I wake up in the morning.
I checked Boris and remembered one fact.
However. . .Lunita put you on her little do-not-kill list. . .
Rage sparked in my chest.
I did my best to shove away my jealousy and I went over to them.
Wassily quirked his brows at my approach.
Boris stiffened.
When I got to them, I kept my voice low. “I am going to sleep. You two are to watch my mouse throughout the night. If Lunita surfaces, wake me up immediately.”
Their response was immediate, a synchronized nod with no hesitation in their demeanor.
I turned to the three men near the door and gestured for them to come.
They hurried over and leaned my way.
My voice was low, yet sliced through the quiet. “There are signs when it comes to Lunita. When she sees that you are in here, she will pretend to be Emily, but she does a horrible job.”
One of them widened his eyes.
I imitated her signature pose. “She will lean her head like this. . .all the way to the side until it lays on her shoulder.”
Another man blinked.
“I do not know why she does this. I actually think she may find comfort with keeping her head angled that way.”
I lifted my head back to normal and scanned their faces.
“Lunita will also hop off the bed like she is a kid heading outside to play.” I raised one finger. “And her walk is odd. But, because you are watching, she will slow it down and do her best to imitate Emily, but again. . .my mouse would simply stroll. Lunita would slowly march.”
Boris nodded in agreement, and I couldn’t help feeling a surge of annoyance at his understanding.
My eyes locked onto him.
Be careful, Boris. You may know my mouse and Lunita very well, but I will still rip out your intestines and feed them to you.
So that I wouldn’t kill him right there, I returned to my warnings. “You do not talk to Lunita.”
Boris’s face went stone-cold and betrayed no emotion.
I lifted my lip into a sneer and then spoke, “In fact, you will only wake me up. While Lunita cannot fight, she is fast. She is deadly, and if you fucking touch her, I will kill you, regardless of what damage she has inflicted on you.”
Wassily shifted on his feet but remained silent.
“Lunita is not my mouse.” I placed my gaze back on Emily’s sleeping figure. “Lunita is my mouse’s reflection in a mirror that is. . .distorted and very dangerous. In some ways, Lunita could come off. . .childish. Young. Do not be deceived because it could mean your life.”
I turned back to them. “Again, do not touch Lunita in any way, not even to restrain her.”
Wassily widened his eyes.
“As I am possessive of my mouse, I am possessive of Lunita. Understood?”
They all bobbed their heads.
I put my focus on Boris. “You and I must talk. Privately.”
The rest of the men backed away.
Boris came closer.
How happy are you to watch my mouse this evening? Is your cock hard?
I studied him.
His new appearance—the dark brown afro framing his face and the thick beard obscuring some of the tattoos on his neck—did nothing to erase the history that simmered like a toxic undercurrent beneath the surface of my strained civility.
All knew. . .the only reason why he still breathed was due to Emily, Maxwell, and David.
You are one lucky bastard.
I crossed my arms over my chest and sized him up.
He leaned his weight on the other foot.
“Boris.” A cold, hard edge laced my words. “Your job here is to watch, to protect, not to indulge in past. . .curiosities.”
My eyes flicked briefly to Emily’s serene form before locking back onto his. “Your monitoring is limited strictly to her safety. Any deviation from that, any hint of. . .daydreaming, and the consequences will be severe.”
I could see the memories flickering behind his eyes, the unspoken acknowledgment of that dark time when his obsession had crossed a line. The way he had once spied on our having sex.
And my mouse—so loving and forgiving—wouldn’t even let me dig out one eye.
Do not for one minute believe you are safe, Boris.
The line of my jaw twitched.
While my mouse calmed me. . .there is no such thing as a tamed lion. Just a beast lying in wait for the perfect opportunity.
I curved my lips into a wicked smile. “Do you understand?”
“I understand, Kazimir.” Boris kept his voice steady. “I’m here to protect Emily, nothing more. My. . .past actions, I regret them deeply.”
I studied him for a moment longer, searching for any sign of deceit, any flicker of the old obsession in his gaze.
But all I saw was resolution, and perhaps a hint of fear.
Good. You should be afraid.
“Remember, Boris.” I closed the small space between us and placed my hand on his shoulder. “There is your mahogany casket to think about. I bought it for you with the purpose of filling it. Sometimes I dream of your body being inside. Your mother weeping. Her tears spilling onto the polished wood. And then I smile and go to sleep.”
He swallowed hard.
I held his gaze for a few more seconds, letting the silence stretch between us and allowing the weight of my violence to press down on him too.
Then, I spoke, “Boris, I allowed you to live due to Emily and Lunita, but my patience. . .it is a very small, thin line. Cross it, and the foot that hovered over the line, will be the foot that your mother finds at her doorstep.”
Boris’s bottom lip quivered.
Lunita says one for one. She will also learn that she cannot tame me either.
I left Boris there.
The things I do for my mouse.
Frowning, I walked over to the other side of our bed.
This new arrangement was unconventional, to say the least. A bedroom full of men while we slept was far from ideal, but then again, nothing else would keep Emily happy about staying with me tonight.
And I would not let her sleep away from me.
Plus, this was Emily, my mouse, and for her, I would defy any norm, break any rule. . .have a bunch of fucking idiots stand over me as we slept. . .
Gritting my teeth, I glanced at the other men stationed discreetly by the window.
It will be fine, even if Lunita appears. It will all be fine.
Slowly, I climbed into the bed, careful not to wake her up.
The mattress dipped under my weight.
I lay down on my back and stared up at the ceiling. My body ached from the fighting. The frown remained etched on my face as the events of the evening replayed in my mind.
Questions without answers danced at the edges of my consciousness.
When will the sicarios make their move? How fast will we destroy our enemies?
I turned my head to look at Emily and watched her sleep.
An aching tenderness filled my chest.
You have me crazy in love with you, mysh. How will I focus on this war, with your sweet milk dripping from those sexy nipples?
My cock jerked in my pants, and my heart warmed.
This love for my mouse, it consumed me. It drove every deadly decision, every violent action. She was my heart, my soul, the very air I breathed.
I knew the dangers of what we were doing tonight—with her sleeping with me—so many risks.
Lunita was a force of nature—unpredictable and wild.
But Emily, she was the other half of my soul.
What happens, if Lunita comes?
A cold shiver hit me, yet my heart ached for Lunita too.
She’s hurting over Maxwell. I know it. She may come, and it won’t be a peaceful visit.
My gut twisted.
How will I sooth her?
I gritted my teeth.
No matter what darkness the night brought, no matter what actions Lunita chose to take, I would be there.
I would face it head-on, for Emily, always for her.
More and more, I was learning that this was the true meaning of love.
Love was not the pleasure of Emily’s body—the wetness of her pussy.
Love was not enjoying the beauty of her face or the fullness of her breasts.
Love was helping her fight the demons she could not.
Love was trust and commitment.
It was acceptance.
It was helping her hold the line against the encroaching darkness, and never, ever letting go.
And I love you with all my heart, mysh.
I turned off the lamp next to me, plunging the room into a soft, comforting darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moonlight seeping in from the balcony.
And then, I pulled Emily gently into my arms.
Mysh. . .
She sighed softly in her sleep.
What are you dreaming about? Are you at least at peace?
Warmth entered my heart.
I wrapped my arms tighter around her, and she stirred lightly and nestled closer to me. Her soft breath fanned against my skin.
I buried my face into her hair. Those braids pressed smooth along my cheeks. Whether my men could see me in the moonlight or not, it did not matter.
Loudly, I inhaled the intoxicating scent of her hair.
I like this new shampoo, mysh.
It was a blend of wildflowers and honey. The fragrance washed over my senses like a soothing balm.
All will be fine.
The presence of Boris, Wassily, and the others were now only shadows in the room.
Bizarre, yet necessary.
Minutes passed, and I held Emily, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against my arms.
My thoughts drifted to Maxwell again, lying in a hospital bed, caught between life and death. The weight of his condition, the uncertainty of his future, pressed heavily on me too.
Goddamn idiot. You saved my sister and. . .hurt yourself.
I let out a long breath and inhaled Emily’s hair some more.
Now I will never kill you. Now. . .you are truly my brother.
Misha and Emily already formed a violent line to kill the people who shot Maxwell. With Ufuoma’s arrival she would get in that line too. And of course, Valentina would be there.
Everyone wants to kill for Max. But none of them know that I will not be waiting in line. I will be bombing all that shot him.
I closed my eyes and tried my best to push away the looming war.
Sicarios. . .now walk in a city where my cubs lay their heads.
I yawned, noting how the stakes were now higher than ever.
After this dinner, will the Butcher join the war? And whose side will he stand on?
My thoughts slowly began to unravel as sleep beckoned.
And after a while. . .in the quiet of the night, with the soft sound of Emily’s breathing and the silent watchfulness of my men, I finally succumbed to the exhaustion that had been gnawing at me.
My last conscious thought was a silent promise to Emily, my sons, and even Maxwell.
I will kill them all.
Soon. . .this cold slumbering darkness swallowed me up, but. . .
This wasn’t the benign darkness that followed the flick of a switch, nor was it the peaceful shade provided by night’s gentle hand.
This was different.
It was an all-consuming void, an endless expanse of emptiness that devoured light, sound, and hope with a voracious appetite, leaving nothing but the cold touch of despair in its wake.
And I was not exactly asleep either. . .
What is this?
While I was no longer. . .up. . .I surely was conscious.
But it was not conscious with my eyes closed it was something else like dream walking, like when I talked to Pavel in my slumber.
I was very aware.
And then. . .
even though I was not standing. . .
I was falling. . .
And this fall wasn’t a gentle descent, the kind you might experience in a dream, floating softly towards the ground.
No, this was a harsh, relentless plunge, as if I had been ripped from the realm of the living and cast into an unseen chasm. I was caught in a merciless grip, sucked into a vacuum that spared no thought for mercy or respite.
What the fuck?!
Terror—cold, unforgiving, and relentless—seized me. It wasn’t just fear; it was a primal dread that clawed at my insides, icy talons raking over raw nerves, igniting a firestorm of panic within me. My heart thundered in my chest, a rapid, chaotic beat that felt as if it could burst free at any moment, its rhythm the only sound in the suffocating silence of the void.
I don’t understand. This must be a nightmare.
I tumbled helplessly through the darkness.
Powerless.
“No!!!” My silent scream echoed in the void, unheard, swallowed by the abyss just as I was.
This was no ordinary nightmare.
No mere figment of the imagination.
This was something else.
Something deeper.
Then, the fall abruptly ended, not with the jarring shock of impact, but with a disorienting, gentle halt.
And. . .
Where am I?
I found myself in a dark, damp basement.
The air was heavy with this musty scent of neglect and decay.
Wait. . .
Beside me, Emily lay sleeping on the cold, hard ground. Her chest rose and fell in the shallow breaths of deep slumber.
What kind of nightmare is this?
Confusion twisted inside me, a knotted mess of questions and disbelief. This couldn’t be real; I knew it, felt the certainty of it deep in my bones.
Yet here we were, or seemed to be.
Then, I looked up and froze.
Ten feet away, Pavel stood, dressed in a gray suit that absorbed the meager light in the space, his long black hair flowed around him like a dark halo. His expression mirrored my confusion. “Kazimir, this is not good.”
“What sort of dream is this, cousin?”
“It is not a dream.”
I eyed him.
Pavel scanned the basement. “This is. . .something else.”