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)
K.D. got up and gave me a sad look.
I almost flipped my middle finger at him, but I couldn’t. Poor K.D. was simply doing his job, excellently and was caught in the middle of us.
K.D. followed after the Lion.
I checked Blue’s expression. She appeared just as shaken. It looked like K.D. had told her something too.
Shit.
My heart broke as I watched Kaz leave.
Those last words played in my head.
“I may kill everyone else.”
Chapter 5
Kanga
Kazimir
When I returned, Emilio’s shrill cries filled the mansion.
Son?
I wasted no time and raced up the stairs to check on him.
The sound grew sharper and sharper as I got closer to his nursery. My heart ached hearing him so displeased. The only thing that kept me from roaring was the fact that I knew Olga was with him.
Olga was by far the best hire Emily and I had made all year. Not only skilled in defense and taking care of children, there was a warmth in her eyes, the sort that only came from a mother’s love. Through her gentle touch, my son was nurtured. That gave me great solace.
Some mornings when I headed to Emilio’s nursery, I would catch Olga singing to my son, and I would remain in the hallway and lean against the wall, listening.
My mother would sing to Valentina, Pavel, and me. In fact, I couldn’t remember when she had ever stopped. Once when I was shot in the chest, I’d woken up in a private hospital room with my mother wiping my forehead with a warm cloth and singing Kalinka to me. It was a nursery song about a young girl, Kalinka, who was admired by many but remained untouched and pure.
I swore I healed faster from those injuries just from my mother’s voice.
Perhaps, because Olga reminded me of my mother, she wasn’t just a nanny to me, she was family. Regardless of Emilio’s age, I planned to keep her on. Forever, she would hold a special place in our family.
When I approached the door, I heard Olga’s soothing. “Oh, my little nana.”
Still, Emilio wailed.
Son, I am here.
I hurried into the room.
“I’m so sorry, nana.” Olga rocked Emilio back and forth in the nursing chair, but he didn’t care. He wailed and kicked. His little fists wagged back and forth. Tears spilled from his eyes.
I took off my jacket. “What’s wrong?”
Olga rose and rocked him in her arms. “He fed from the bottle, but nothing can compare to his mother’s breast.”
Being that I missed my mouse’s nipples too, I understood my son’s annoyance instantly.
Emilio spotted me and calmed his crying to soft whimpering. Perhaps, he figured his mom would be right behind me.
“Come, son.” I stretched out my arms.
Olga gave him to me. “I have an idea.”
“You do?”
“This may be a good time to test something out. Maybe it will make our little nana feel better.”
“I trust you.”
Olga rushed into her adjoining room.
Now realizing that my mouse was not near, Emilio returned to crying.
I gazed down at my cub. “Shh. It is okay. Papachka is here.”
Whimpering, Emilio pushed his lips out and twisted them. Crying, he moved his small head from side to side, uncomfortable and annoyed.
I switched to Russian. “Never be sad. I am always here for you.”
As I knew he would, Emilio quieted down from my switching to Russian. My mouse called it the verbal pacifier. Anytime she needed a few minutes to prepare things for changing his diaper or breastfeeding him, she called me in to whisper Russian in his ear.
Emilio’s bottom lip quivered and he looked close to crying again.
I returned with more Russian. “You are my son. My blood. My life.”
He widened his watery eyes and watched me.
I wiped the tears off his chubby cheeks. “You are my heir. My hope. My love.”
Olga headed back in with a large brightly colored cloth. “Now that he has good control of his head, we can start wrapping little nana up.”
“Wrap him up?” I rocked Emilio in my arms. “What do you mean?”
“My sister, Ama just sent this to me.” Olga spread the cloth out and raised it so I could take it all in. “Ama makes good money as an artist.”
“Is she still in Ghana?”
“Yes, in the Ashanti Region—the Southern part of the country. That region is known for its rich cultural heritage and its traditional textiles like kente cloth and kanga.”
Emilio glanced at Olga and stared at the cloth too. Perhaps, this was just the stimulation he needed to stay quiet.
“You think it is pretty, little nana?” Olga smiled at Emilio. “Ama spent several weeks on this cloth so I could use it on you. This is fit for a little king.”
I studied the bright vibrant colors—gold, blue, purple, silver, and white. Beads and cowrie shells dangled along the bottom.
Olga wore a proud expression. “Ama dyed and printed the design in natural dyes made from plants and minerals.”