Her Russian Millionaire

You can read Her Russian Millionaire free below.

Blurb:

A Russian man, millionaire, BWWM romance book. Sisters Jalisa, 18, and Nikita, 14, are thrust into the unforgiving world of homelessness in Los Angeles after their father’s passing. Determined not to be split up by child services, they navigate the streets with caution and resilience. When they bump into Marie, a cool bartender, and Stone, the bar manager, things start looking up.

They offer the sisters jobs and even a place to crash. It feels like they’re finally on track to something stable.  But that feeling crashes and burns when they stumble upon Stone’s shady agenda. Out of the blue, Erik, who co-owns the bar and has some serious Russian mafia connections, steps up to keep them safe. Jalisa starts falling for Erik, way beyond just being thankful—it turns into something real and deep.

Together, they’re determined to take on the enemies who are threatening their lives. With everything on the line, they’ve got to wonder: Can their love handle the heat of the mafia world? And are they about to get tangled in something way too dangerous? Find out in this European man, interracial romance story by Scarlett Mallam.

Chapter 1

When the great lumbering beast of a bus hissed to a halt, the population of Los Angeles, the City of Angels, grew by two. Jalisa and Nikita Jones entered the city like so many others did: little money, no work, and no place to go. A hope for a better life rested upon their prayer-pressed hands and bowed heads. They knew God would provide for them, but it was hard not to feel afraid. The two walked the streets, looking for any help they could find.

Squat little gray buildings sat on either side of the road, beaconing in customers with illuminated signs. Alleyways stretched into a darkness that made Jalisa walk faster as if a monster would emerge and grab them. The stench of alcohol and vomit hung in the air. Homeless men slumped over and mumbling to themselves wandered too close for comfort. The sound of their feet on the concrete seemed to go on for miles.

“Spare anything?” A shriveled up pale hand reached a can out toward Nikita. Jalisa clutched her little sister closer to her. The elderly man wasn’t a threat to them, but the action was instinctual.

“I would give it to you if I had it,” Jalisa answered honestly. It was her personal belief that people were put on this earth to spread love through the name of Christ, and part of that was helping the needy. However, the sisters were in a desperate situation, and they could not spare anything.

“All right.” He retracted his hand. His eyes showed that he faced rejection hundreds of times a day.

“I will pray for you,” Nikita spoke up, her sweet voice creating a little melody in the air.

“Pray for us all,” the man grunted, turning away.

Jalisa pulled on her sister’s hand, and the two girls shared a moment. Nikita smiled at her sister, dimples shining on her face, but her wide, dark eyes held a touch of fear the Jalisa could not ignore. Jalisa reached out with her free hand and pinched at her sister’s cheek. It was a familiar gesture, one their late father used to do all the time. Nikita visibly relaxed, and the two girls continued down the street.

The chill of fall bit through their thin clothing and into their bones. The only warmth they felt was from their intertwined hands. Jalisa squeezed her younger sister tightly, feeling every tremble of the smaller girl’s shoulders. She did not let go for a second. There was no earthly force that could separate them.

The death of their father had only strengthened Jalisa’s will to keep her sister by her side. Their mother had been out of the picture for a decade when their father was diagnosed with aggressive, late-stage stomach cancer. The doctors tried everything to save him, but ultimately, it was deemed fatal. Seeing him take his final breath was a shock that made Jalisa prioritize family and faith over everything.

Her father was a good man, active and well-respected in the community and in the church. He was often found with a smile on his face, cracking jokes and lighting up the room. There wasn’t a person on this earth who he couldn’t be friends with. Jalisa knew that it was his loving demeanor and his devotion to the Lord that helped her learn to be a strong, godly woman and a loving person.

Jalisa could still remember the way his eyes stared aimlessly at the ceiling as his body began to fail him. His skin slowly turned from a soft brown to a sickly blue. The color combined with the stiffness of his body made it seem for all the world like he had been dipped in wax. The scent of hospital cleaners. The steady beeping of machines. Soft sobs coming from both her and her sister. Murmured prayers.

The feeling of a soul passing through the gates of Heaven was an incredible one. It forced the air right out of the room and left both the girls and the nurses surrounding him speechless. Jalisa had felt a rush of relief upon knowing that God had her father in his arms. She had wanted more time with her father, but nothing in the world was worth more than knowing he was in a better place.

After his passing, the girls went to the house which no longer felt like a home. It was an empty shell of what it once was without his presence. Jalisa ran her fingers over everything that was his. His books on the shelf. His laundry in the basket. His image in the family photos hanging on the wall. It was as if he could walk in at any moment, smiling and laughing about something funny one of his Meals on Wheels recipients said.

The two girls had prayed over the phone before Jalisa began to make calls. Her grandmother was far too old to care for herself, let alone two girls. Her aunt was a mess, parading men in and out of her home. Her uncle had married a woman in England, and they lived there now. Members of the church were sad to hear about his passing and offered casseroles and a shoulder to cry on.

They didn’t need casseroles; they needed somewhere to go. The bank wouldn’t let them live in their house rent-free, and Jalisa had just finished high school. She had no job, and even if she did get one, they would pay her minimum wage. There was no way she would be able to keep her and sister afloat. Housing, food, clothing, water, electric, phone…That was not even counting Nikita’s school supplies and their father’s medical bills, which would be shoved down their throats before he was even in the ground.

The two girls had fished out the number for the child services worker who told them to call her when their father died. She gave them a generic sentiment of sympathy and said she would drop by between five and seven to “figure this all out.” Jalisa had turned and assured Nikita that child services would help them, that they would be okay.

She felt like a fool now when she remembered it. The government was cruel and did not care about two black girls in the middle of Ohio. They were two numbers on a list. The case of Jones, Jalisa and Jones, Nikita. One fourteen and one eighteen. Dead father. No mother. Split them up and move on to the next case.

“Your mother can’t be found,” the woman had said, her thin mouth pressing into a tight line. “You have no other relatives that are suitable.”

“What’s she saying?” Nikita had turned to her sister with a look nothing short of horror.

“You’ll go into foster care. You might have a tough time of it, but I’m sure a family will take you in soon.” The woman had shown Nikita a smile so fake Jalisa had to look away.

“I have a family,” Nikita pleaded. “I have Jalisa.”

“She will be going to Standson halfway house. When you-”

“That’s on the other side of Ohio!” Nikita had not even let the woman finish. The woman took a deep breath and nodded her head.

“When Nikita gets out of the halfway house, she is free to apply for your adoption.”