Page 10 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

Amaretto Gelato

Kirill

“I’ll have amaretto and passion fruit, please,” Mia instructed the disgruntled man behind the counter. We walked in thirty seconds before he was about to lock the door.

“That amaretto is going to make you drunk, Mia. I’ll have pistachio.” Mia giggled beside me, perusing the gelato flavors.

“A little too late for that,” she spoke quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She was relaxed, nothing like the professional woman she was this afternoon.

Her cheeks flushed, her hair falling all over the place, her little smile lingered, and it warmed something inside me.

Something cold and long dead. Maybe my soul.

“Why are you out so late at night?”

Mia raised her amused eyes at me. “I– I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want!” I chuckled at her immediate defensiveness. “Why are you here? And why did your driver suddenly show up to take Viv home?”

The man behind the counter passed us the gelatos, his frown about to ruin the moment. “How much gelato do I have to purchase to keep you open?” I asked him, and he looked up at me confused.

“I’m sorry? ”

“I’ll pay you a hundred thousand to stay open. Just for us.” Both Mia and the man behind the counter stilled. No chance it was that much, but I wasn’t fucking joking.

Taking the matter into my own hands, I withdrew my black Amex and passed it to him. “Pay yourself whatever.” Bewildered, he followed my instructions as Mia watched on curiously.

“Do you always get what you want?” Mia asked right before she licked the amaretto gelato, sending all the blood out of my brain and down to my groin. Ugh. Maybe gelato was a mistake. I fought with all my dirty thoughts, actively concentrating on our conversation.

“Yes. I always get what I want.”

“What happens if you don’t? Do you just buy the whole block?” I pulled the chair out for her, and she grabbed a seat. I sat down right in front of her, trying not to stare at how her tongue licked that gelato.

“I don’t know. It’s never happened bef–"

“Let me ask you something, Kirill,” she interrupted suddenly, leaning in. “Why do you look so familiar?” Her unpredictable question cut through the air between us, freezing me to my chair. I stared at her, urgently calming down the shock inside me.

“Why would you think that?” I responded curiously, my blood pumping in my own ears. Mia was fearless tonight, looking me over without reservation.

“I don’t know, it’s just…maybe you remind me of someone?” she asked.

No way in hell would she have recognized me that fast. When I saw her all those years ago, I looked like a different man.

In fact, I was a different man. I was rising to power, and I engaged in all the sins life had to offer.

I also had a very big, bad, secret habit—I was addicted to coke, to my own fucking product.

I was young, my head was shaved, and I didn’t sleep. I smoked like a chimney and drank my weight in alcohol every weekend. And it was her kiss, her energy, and her passion that fueled my transformation.

“You look and…feel…so familiar, but I don’t know why."

Feel. God, I could barely wait to live that word out in reality with her. I was about to respond something stupid, something along the lines of maybe I’m from a different life, but her eyes flicked down and she leaned in even closer, reaching for my neck, the gesture so unexpected and welcome.

“What’s this?” So carefully, she pulled the chain out of my shirt, her touch lingering a beat longer than necessary. “Wow, that’s a huge cross. You’re religious?” Such innocent curiosity shone in her eyes that reflected my Orthodox cross.

“Yes.”

“Why— how? I really didn’t peg you for someone who’s fearful of God.” Her eyes jumped up to mine, sending a shiver through me. “You don’t seem scared of anything.”

Wrong. I was petrified of screwing this up. It was the only thing I’d ever been fearful of. So, I took it slow, not forcing, not pushing—luring her in. “Do you believe in God, Mia?”

The breathtaking woman in front of me shifted in her seat and abandoned her gelato while she thought about it. “I don’t know,” Mia shrugged. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Were you always religious?”

The proximity between us allowed me to take in all the details of her angelic face. She had a tiny scar on her left eyebrow, and one of her eyes was a slightly lighter shade than the other. Her smile was genuine, meant just for me, and I was fully engaged in this precious moment.

“No. Religion came late into my life. Maybe ten years ago.” Actually, it was precisely ten years ago, right before I met her.

I was convinced God sent her to me. God watched over me; he gave me a light that lit up my pitch-black world.

“There was a small church I accidentally walked into, and I would go back there. And that’s how I came to believe in God.

” Mia listened with bated breath, her eyes wide but full of disbelief .

I would stand with the priest and confess my sins.

He listened, never interrupting, and called me his son .

And I so wanted to hear that. I would come back to the church and the priest over and over again, and I would sink to my knees and pray.

I learned the rules, I fasted. I became a man who believed in God.

But on the outside, the Bratva ruled my life.

“Have you ever been to my church? To an Orthodox church?” At this question, her eyes lit up once more. I’d pay the man behind the counter for the rest of my life if that meant we could sit here for all eternity.

“Yes!” she responded with energy. “I’ve been to Russia before! Did I ever tell you that?”

“No! Really?” I hoped my fake surprise wasn’t over the top. All of Mia’s attention was on me while she recounted her trip, telling me all the details she remembered with enthusiasm and gusto. But that night—the night that changed my life—she didn’t mention at all.

My mind was a thick and heavy haze, just like that first night I saw her. I was drunk on the sight of her, vulnerable from the sound of her voice. She disarmed me; she broke down all the rough exterior and somehow reached inside me, coaxing out my tender and gentle side.

Ugh. I was a mess.

The man dropped off more gelato flavors while we drowned in our conversation. The hoodie I grabbed made it onto her body and swallowed her whole. I considered this a huge win, like I was marking my territory irrevocably.

Hours passed, and we spoke about everything and nothing serious. Mia told me about her job and how much she began despising the lifestyle. I told her how much I missed Russia. She laughed at my silly jokes; I drank in all of her aura.

At some point in the middle of the night, Mia slumped into the front seat of my car, exhaling in exhaustion, her eyes half-closed. “Mmm, you’re a bad man. I’m so tired. I need my sleep.”

“I think it’s the wine–”

“My feet hurt so much!” she whined and stifled a giggle. “You made me traipse all over the city, and you didn’t even like anything I showed you!” She accused me, kicking off her heels with renewed energy. “Oh, shit ,” she gasped, wiggling her toes. “There’s no way I can put those on again.”

My gaze flicked down. Black nail polish. Fuck. Anything and everything she did riveted my imagination. Every inch of her was perfect.

I stepped over the threshold of her home with her in my arms, kind of like a rehearsal for when I would do that on our wedding night. Was I getting ahead of the game? Yes. But I also didn’t fucking care. I knew I would make her mine. Period, end of story, I was certain of it.

“No-oh!” Mia was pressed against my chest. “This is too weird! You’re my client; you can’t be carrying me like this! I shouldn’t have taken my shoes off.”

“You always so anxious when you’re drunk?” I set her down in the hallway, my hands on fire from touching her.

“No!” she laughed loudly. “I’m not drunk anymore, but sometimes, I can do crazy things!

” Yes, I was well aware—that kiss from a decade ago still lingered on my lips.

“But this time I’m just exhaust– ugh, I need cold water on my feet.

” This was like whiplash. She turned, heading toward what I guessed was the bathroom.

“I’m only wearing sneakers with you from now on. ”

I leaned against the doorway, watching her run cold water over her feet, her shoulders slumping in relaxation.

Her apartment was both minimal and eclectic. Pops of her personality showed up in small design details like the artwork on the walls or her pink couch, which I spotted when I first brought her in.

But I turned my attention back to the woman I crossed the ocean for, picking her up from the bathtub ledge and carrying her to bed.

“I think you have to marry me first, Kirill, to carry me to bed like this.” I almost fucking dropped her at her words, but she laughed it off, not having any clue how many times I had fantasized about it.

Gently, as if she were the most precious diamond, I placed her in bed, turning the bedside lamp on and pulling the duvet over her. “I can’t sleep in clothes, let me just stay like this.” She uncovered herself with a wild motion and plopped back on the pillow with a sigh.

“What happens when you drink vodka or tequila?” I crouched beside the bed and caught her gaze, my dick straining against my jeans at the mere thought of being in her bedroom.

Her eyes on mine, she paused, and I waited, not daring to upset the silence. “Fuck around and find out,” she finally blurted and burst out into careless giggles again. Oh, fucking hell, I would. “What happens to you?”

“Nothing,” I admitted, unable to hide my smile. “May I sit?” I motioned to the foot of the bed, and she happily nodded.

“Nothing? What, you’re just always composed and perfect? A robot? A model human being who doesn’t get drunk? Makes no bad choices?” Mia perked up, her eyes shining bright in the soft shadows of the bedside lamp.