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)
Kaz considered that statement and then nodded. “What do you suggest?”
“Jean-Pierre explained to me that Fela is hiding.” Timur glanced at J.P. “It is a simple matter to get Fela out of his spot.”
“How?”
“You must threaten Nigeria.”
J.P. still appeared stunned from Eden’s ancestry. He cleared his throat. “How can we threaten Nigeria?”
Kaz grinned. “Do not worry about that. I have a plan.”
Everyone looked at him.
Max shook his head. “Man, you better not be trying to bomb Nigeria.”
Kaz directed his attention on David. “I do not need to bomb it, but. . .I can point a nuke in that direction.”
Misha let out an exasperated breath. “Kazimir, if Russia points a nuke in Nigeria’s direction, America and England will know within minutes.”
Kazimir smirked. “I am counting on that.”
“All the news outlets will report that there is some possible war about to happen—”
“Yes.” Kaz’s smirk deepened. “And no matter where Fela is, he will know what is going on.”
“And every country in the world will be demanding that the president explain Russia’s reasoning—”
“Then, he will need to be useful and come up with one.” Kaz shrugged. “Just make sure that whatever he says, there is the word lion within the message.”
Misha scowled. “This is a drastic move—”
“Bothering my mouse is drastic. The nuke is a friendly threat.”
That odd dark chuckle left Timur. “Yes. I agree with the little cub. Fela will hurry out of the hole he is hiding in. He loves Nigeria more than himself.”
“There we have it.” Kaz clapped. “Finally, a simple solution.”
Misha gritted his teeth. “One involving a nuclear weapon and possibly starting WWIII.”
Ignoring his cousin’s comment, Kaz looked at David. “Misha and I will execute the threat to Nigeria. However, I will need you to gather the French, Harlem Crew, and our men to grab any of Fela’s family.”
David nodded. “Misha’s people are monitoring Ufuoma. We can surely grab her.”
“Ufuoma will be used against her father.”
Timur chuckled at Kaz. “Now, you are thinking, little cub.”
Kaz grimaced. “I am now the Lion.”
“No.” Timur wagged his finger. “You will always be little cub to me.”
Sighing, Kaz returned his view to Misha. “Try to find more of Fela’s children’s locations and then send them to David. Everyone must team up and grab as many of his kids as possible.”
Max spoke, “I’ll manage Harlem Crew on this.”
J.P. tipped that imaginary hat. “And I will direct my people.”
Kaz gestured to Blue. “I want you with them. We need all high-level soldiers on this.”
Blue nodded. “Alright.”
I tensed. “Okay. Then, Blue and I will stay together and search—”
“No, mysh.” Kaz rose from his seat. “While the others execute the plan, you and I have to take care of more important duties for today.”
I looked up. “What’s that?”
“We are taking Paolo to the beach.”
“Yo.” Max stood. “That sounds like a vacation to me.”
“Kaz, I’m not swimming at the beach while everyone risks their lives—”
“Mysh, you need a break.”
“I concur.” J.P. got up from his chair. “Leave Fela’s kids to us.”
Chapter 41
The Siberian Train Wreck
Kazimir
The elevator doors slid open.
I looked down at Paolo and spoke in Russian, “Give me your hand.”
The boy raised his view to me and seemed close to crying. Earlier, he had not been happy to leave Baba’s lap, but I wanted to surprise my mouse, and unfortunately, he was a part of it.
I frowned. “Paolo.”
Looking terrified, he wrapped his little fingers around my hand. They barely cradled my palm.
“Good.” I guided him off the elevator and down the hallway.
All of my men followed.
I hadn’t planned on touching him, but he was so awkwardly small among my twenty men and me. I feared he might get lost, resulting in Lunita, Emily, and Baba killing me. It was clear that this boy’s presence would keep Emily calm. And I would do anything for my mouse.
Let us hope I do not regret keeping him.
Minutes later, we walked into the hotel’s fully operational kitchen. It was around 1000 square feet. And it wasn’t just a sweep of stainless steel and stone, but a labyrinth of food preparation that extended in every direction.
Wassily and the rest of my men entered and gathered around us.
Paolo opened his mouth, took everything in, and tightened his hold around my hand.
Are you nervous?
For some reason that made me look at the space from a child’s eyes, trying to figure out what he saw.
Hmmm.
I had to admit that the kitchen exuded a symphony of smells, tastes, sounds, and colors. High-pitched notes sang out from the electric mixers whipping egg whites. Butter-drenched lobster tails sizzled in scalloped-copper pans. Onions bubbled in red sauces. Grease crackled under slabs of meat and fat. Three women in white coats pulled racks of fresh bread out of ovens. Meanwhile, two chefs chopped vegetables and shouted out orders to the waiters.
On our right, a woman wearing a pink chef’s coat, scurried over to us. Sweat glistened on her forehead. She began to speak in Italian.