Dirty Wars – The Lion and The Mouse Read Online Kenya Wright

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
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I immediately interrupted her, “I need the kitchen for an hour. Have everyone leave.”

She gave me an apologetic smile and switched to English. “I am sorry, sir, but we do not rent out—”

“Now.” I glared at her.

She blinked. “I must. . .get the hotel manager to come and explain this policy—”

“Then, be quick.” I checked my watch and turned to Wassily. “Grab several televisions and bring them in here. I want to stay up-to-date with today’s news.”

“Yes, sir.” Wassily headed off with six men.

Paolo and I remained by the wall.

I didn’t need the entire space, but I didn’t want chefs and waiters mucking around and bumping into me.

The kitchen staff gave us a few confused glances as they continued to work. Others whispered among themselves.

I gestured at one waiter. “Get me two aprons. One for me and the other for the boy.”

The waiter’s face reddened as he rushed away.

I gazed down at Paolo.

He darted his little eyes here and there, drinking in every aspect of the kitchen’s activity.

Soon, the waiter returned with two white, traditional aprons. I let go of Paolo’s little hand, put one apron on myself, and then lowered to one knee. “Come here.”

Paolo stepped forward—wide-eyed and fidgeting his hands at his sides.

I did my best to put the apron on him. The kitchen clearly didn’t have a child’s size. The apron hung off his small body. The bottom dragged on the floor.

Hmmm. Should I keep it on or off? No. Mother would say that I must not get him dirty.

The door opened on my side.

I rose.

A short, balding man entered. He wore a three-piece suit with a red power tie and gold cufflinks. His hair was slicked back, and his hands clasped in front of his waist.

The chef in pink got to his side and gestured to me. “This man wants me to just clear the kitchen and let him use it for an hour. Please tell him that it is not our policy.”

The man looked at me, glanced at my men, and then returned his view to me. “Mr. Solonik?”

I nodded.

“I am sorry for the delay, sir.” He turned to the chef. “Everyone is due for a break. Take an hour off—”

“But, we have orders for several rooms—”

“Anything for Mr. Solonik.” The man scowled. “Hurry.”

With a shocked expression, the chef stumbled back and shouted out the order for everyone to leave. With no delay, they shut off stoves as well as ovens and hurried away.

Paolo watched the whole situation with widened eyes.

Take note, little one. You are now growing up with the Lion. Things will be different.

Right as the last of the staff left the kitchen, Wassily and my men arrived with six televisions.

“Come on, Paolo.” I headed off to an empty stainless steel counter, grabbed some cutting boards, and knives.

Paolo got to my side.

I looked down at him and spoke in Russian, “Are you ready to cook?”

Silent, he stared at me.

“Well,” I leaned my head to the side. “Are you?”

Slowly, he nodded.

I lowered and tried to grab him.

He shrieked and stepped back.

I wagged my finger at him. “Get back over here.”

Frowning, he came to me.

I picked Paolo up. He barely weighed anything.

We need to get some food in you. Your life in Moscow will be hard. You’ll need muscles and height to fight.

Sighing, I sat him on the counter and assessed his little frame. “Did you know that your father and I grew up in Siberia together?”

Paolo slowly shook his head.

“In the beginning, it was a rough and hungry life, but. . .not a bad place. My brothers still live there. Maybe. . .I will introduce you to them.” I handed him a sharp knife.

Paolo had to hold the knife with both hands, just to keep it above his lap. He put his gaze on the blade and slowly twisted it in his hands.

“My brothers are much older than me. My father had them with his first wife. They do not agree with my life, but do not mind taking my money.”

I tapped my right foot.

And they loved your father. . .like he was their own little brother.

Wassily and the men set the televisions on counters a few feet in front of us. Then, they frantically searched for places to plug them in.

I returned my attention to Paolo. “When your father was your age, he loved my mother’s bear paw stew. When we lived in Siberia, she made it every Sunday.”

Paolo snapped his view to me. “Bear?”

“Bear.” I nodded and then slashed my hands in the air. “Roar.”

Terrified, Paolo leaned away.

Hmmm. Perhaps, I should not have done that.

Sighing, I called over one of my men.

He came over. “Yes, sir.”

“Bring me fresh loaves of bread—braided if possible. I also want two bowls, large spoons, lamb, pastrami, corned beef, pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, sour cream, horseradish, and dill relish.”



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