Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Right when I was going to ask him, Valentina sashayed into the ballroom, wearing only a sapphire blue corset and blue tailored pants.
“You too?” I held out my hands. “Is this a burlesque show or a meeting?”
Valentine glared. “You better not be talking to me.”
I pointed at her. “I would rather the French and every other man in this meeting not be ogling my wife and sister.”
“Emily is not your wife yet.” Valentina rolled her eyes. “Especially, if you think you’re going to tell her what she can and cannot wear.”
Emily snapped her fingers. “Preach.”
I slowly turned to my mouse and sneered. “Preach?”
Valentina continued, “And you know I will shoot you in the leg before I let you tell me what to wear.”
The Butcher spoke, “I find both of your outfits to be exquisite, appropriate, and elegant.”
I returned my view to him. “Jean-Pierre, have you ever heard of the Russian Omelet?”
“I assume you are not discussing eggs and caviar.”
“Oh no.” I stalked over to my chair which was right across from him, and placed the fur coat on the table. “A Russian Omelet is when you cross your enemy’s legs. Then, you fold him by pinning his shoulders to the ground upside-down, and placing his legs above him. Next, you sit on his legs, folding the base of the spine.”
I clapped my hands hard. “This creates a perfect fatal snap.”
With a bored expression, the Butcher took a sip of his tea. “Sounds too complicated.”
I smiled. “But, very worth it.”
“I prefer the Deadly French Kiss. Have you heard of that, Lion?”
I frowned.
“It is when you give a swift, hard, cold-cock punch to your enemy’s face while he is standing near a wall.” The Butcher placed his cup on the table. “Then, you drive his head into that same wall, with no mercy, causing the back of his skull to fatally shatter.”
“You made that up.”
“I could show you how real it is.”
“Oh, please show me.”
My mouse got to my side. “That will not be necessary, fellas.”
Jean-Pierre tipped an imaginary hat. “Just trying to be helpful, Emily.”
Suddenly, the flat screen beeped twice.
We all turned that way.
Misha’s face greeted us. He had his headset on. Again, he sat in a dark room with people walking around behind him.
“We should begin soon.” My mouse tapped my hand and then lowered into her seat. “Sit, baby.”
You think you are in control of me, mysh? Yet, I cannot make you button up that shirt.
She eyed me as if hearing what I said.
Frowning, I sat down anyway. . .but not because she told me to.
David hurried back in with some of our men. He gestured for them to go to the wall. Then, he sat next to me.
Alright. Let’s get this over with. Where is everyone else?
On the screen, Misha cleared his throat. “Valentina, did you get my message this morning?”
“I did,” she said. “And the answer is a big no.”
“But, Natalya is loving ballet.”
“She is too young to even be in a class.” Valentina squinted her eyes. “And I know who you think will be teaching her, and that is a no too.”
My mood brightened. “My precious Natalya in a little tutu, prancing on a stage. I would rent out the Bolshoi Theatre just to see it.”
Misha grinned. “My thinking exactly, Kazimir.”
I tapped the table. “Then, my vote is yes.”
Valentina sneered at me. “You have no vote in this—”
“Why not?” I quirked my brows. “Surely, my vote is worth double points next to yours and Misha’s.”
Smiling, Emily shook her head.
Valentina held up her hands. “In what world do you exist in where you think that you can outvote her mother?”
“In my world.”
“The King is here!” Maxwell walked in, carrying that stupid lemon tree.
I see this meeting is going to be a clown show.
Several Harlem Crew soldiers followed him inside.
Maxwell went to the end of the table near Valentina. His crew of soldiers flanked behind him. Then, he placed the tree right on the table, smoothed some of the leaves, and lowered into his seat.
Valentina scowled at him.
He winked at her. “Love the corset, little mama. If you have a difficult time getting out of that, you know where I stay.”
“Homey!” Misha chuckled from the television.
Oh, God. When is this damned meeting going to begin?
Unfortunately, I looked at my idiot cousin.
Misha’s face brightened. One would have thought he saw Santa Clause bringing in tons of presents for him. “Maxwell, have you landed on a name for her, yet?”
I groaned in annoyance.
Maxwell shrugged. “I’m seriously thinking it will be Lemonisha.”
“And her middle name?”
“Oh shit, Misha.” Maxwell rubbed his chin. “You think she should have a middle name?”
“Absolutely. She must. This is an elegant tree that we are discussing.”
Most of us gazed back and forth at them.
Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre sipped his tea and hummed in enjoyment.
“You know what?” Maxwell looked at the tree. “I agree. That’s why I fuck with you, Misha.”