Page 13 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

Losing Control

Kirill

I was losing control. Of the whole texting situation with Mia, of my emotions, of my own fucking mind.

I loved fucking you into bed.

I actually sent that. What a fucking idiot. Autocorrect betrayed me in the worst possible way. Editing the message would have made everything worse, so I left it alone, sitting in my own grave. A Freudian slip at its finest.

But then, I sent another text, telling her that I was into her—communicating my feelings openly—and she never replied to it.

Maybe that was too straightforward. But at the same time, it had to have been obvi—

Jesus fucking Christ . I was thirty-four, sitting on literal billions in coke money we hadn’t been able to clean yet, trying to keep the cartel happy, my men loyal, and my image clean—and I was sitting here, deciphering fucking text messages!

My brain was melting out of me at an alarming speed, and I decided that there would be no more texts. I could wait.

It was Tuesday, a whole seven days since the last text. Mia and I spoke on the phone over the weekend, neither one of us bringing it up, as if it didn’t happen.

We discussed the offer, and without a hitch, Mia submitted the paperwork and negotiated the deal. The apartment we met in would be mine— ours —in a month. Mia was sharp and methodical, delivering exactly what I wanted with unwavering professionalism.

I floated in my imagination of serving her drinks in that pool and fucking her on that patio. But my reality was very different.

I leaned back in my chair, scrolling through our text exchange while the real world faded into a dull hum. Dmitry, Polina, and Yuri sat around the meeting table as we discussed the details of our new problems sprouting up here in New York.

Domenic, the Italian Don, was rightfully pissed.

We were the newcomers here, blatantly infringing on his territory.

His groups pressured ours to back down, and tensions were high.

Instead, we doubled down, consolidating every single branch of Russian and most of the ex-Soviet groups.

This significantly reduced the Italians’ reach but also the Chinese, which was a classic one step forward, two steps back scenario.

But then there was the question of the Colombian cartel. On second thought, there were no questions; the way was clear—I was the only one negotiating the price and product, but there was someone else who really wanted in on that meeting.

“…if we all meet the Colombians, it will present a stronger front. We can ensure a lower price, better terms, and faster and safer shipment. Three is better than one. Reconsider, Kirill.” Dmitry’s voice jerked me awake.

Something was eating away at me, but I wasn’t sure what it was exactly.

Dmitry and I were alike in so many ways.

Besides his black hair and brown eyes, even our physical appearance was similar—he was just as tall and large as me.

We always saw eye to eye on business. But here, in New York, there was a change. Imperceptible, hidden, but I felt it.

The room fell silent after his proposition. Both Polina and Yuri knew it was out of the question. They never, not once, had spoken to me about changing how I did business, but Dmitry…had become bold .

“Does the current arrangement not satisfy you?” My voice was ice, my fist ready to swing at his jaw, but as I said, I was fucking losing control of my own emotions.

He closed his eyes and shook his head in submission. That’s what I fucking thought. “No, I just–”

“We have the price we want—even lower than what we hoped for. Terms are favorable. Shipment is secure. What more do you feel you can add to the discussion?” I waited for an answer, but Dmitry remained silent, and everyone else waited.

Vicious irritability brewed inside me from his proposition, but I turned to Yuri and motioned for him to start with his update.

Yuri droned on about the security details for the trip and our upcoming charity gala, adding in a personal tidbit at the end. “Lastly, your request from last week? It’s done.” I lifted my eyes to him and caught his knowing glance. Ari. Perfect.

Yuri exited, leaving us three alone. The tension stretched between us, and I fucking hated that. But then, Dmitry decided to raise the stakes. “Kirill, have you thought about moving The Skhodka?”

Again, this discussion about the fucking meeting—Jesus Christ, I was about to pop a vein in my forehead!

I was out of sorts.

I needed to see her . Needed to look into her eyes, to see her smile, to drown in her energy, and then, as if God himself arranged it, my phone buzzed in my pocket with a text.

An electric fucking current ran through me. From a fucking text notification. It was her; I didn’t even have to look. I knew.

Mia : K? May I have my clients back please?:)

This was what I needed. I just needed something from her. Hatching a plan in my mind, I dismissed Dmitry’s concerns while I typed. “No. We’re not moving the location.”

Kirill : Hmm…you ask for a lot. I can propose an exchange.

Polina’s voice rang out in the room, but I was intently watching those three dots. My work reality faded into nothing once more.

Mia : Are you really so cruel to take your hoodie back?

This was even better than what I had planned.

Kirill : I’ll drop by to pick it up. Stay put.

Before I could think it over, before I could dissuade myself and kick the logical thoughts into gear, I was already out of my chair.

“Wha– where are you going?!” Polina’s question broke through my haze, but I was already out the door, abandoning them both in my office.

Twenty-five minutes later, my knuckles tapped on Mia’s front door three times. Three was a good number, right? Fuck. Me. I couldn’t think straight.

“Kirill?” Mia swung the door open, her angelic face finally in front of me, and I froze, suddenly realizing I had absolutely no reason to be here.

But she was wearing it— my hoodie. Her beautiful long hair was in a messy bun, and she wore the tiniest shorts I’d ever laid my fucking eyes on. They were red with white stripes, like a fucking candy cane.

I fucking looked. Her legs were long, slender, and her thighs— fuck —so soft, smooth, luscious, and begging for my touch.

I wanted to pull those candy cane shorts down, lift that hoodie up, and fucking drown in her. I wanted to touch every inch of her skin, lick her pussy until she passed out, bury my face in between her thighs.

I took a step inside and closed the door behind me as Mia backed away with a look of both alarm and wild curiosity.

“It looks good on you,” I almost whispered, still admiring her in front of me. She shifted her weight and pulled the sleeves down. Shy smile, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide—she was fucking into me.

Yes, like a fifteen-year-old boy, I was analyzing every single minuscule detail.

“You really came here to take it away from me?”

“Will I have to rip it off your body?” I pushed, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she lifted her eyes to mine.

“You could try,” she whispered sensually.

Fuck. A completely unrestrained groan left my chest, my dick straining against the zipper of my pants at a most inconvenient time. “Is that a dare?”

“I prefer truths instead.”

Her words hung in the air while my eyes made their slow way down her body. “Why are you doing this to me?” I shot out the question, not having the chance to think it over.

Mia blinked at me, her eyebrows coming together. “What?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her cheeks flooded with color. “I– I’m not doing anything. Was there something wrong with the contract?”

No! Fuck, she thought this was about the condo purchase! Mia had no idea what I’d been through in the last decade, the obsession that lived inside me, and now that she was here, in front of me, I lost my way somewhere.

“Go on a date with me,” I blurted out, dangerously close to getting on my knees and begging. When did my own game turn me into the losing party?

Mia’s eyes widened, that plump bottom lip falling open in a silent gasp. Everything stilled, but her eyes burned with fire and…fear .

Why was she scared?

“I can’t.” She shook her head and gulped, taking a small step away from me.

“You can’t? " I double-checked. “Why?”

“Because you’re my client.” She waved a noncommittal hand my way, and I had no doubts that she was lying. “And I don’t date clients because it becomes a mess. And I don’t like mess. ” She added with meaning.

“You’re lying.” I took a step closer, and she backed away, panic flaring up in all of her. She averted her gaze, her chest rising and falling with her quick breaths, like she was trying to figure out how to defend herself.

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something else, maybe the truth. But she swallowed it down, shaking her head instead.

In a flash, her words echoed in my mind: I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. I don’t believe in love. In anything real. There’s no such thing. She’d been hurt, and she was too scared to open up her heart again.

Mia stayed quiet, her worried eyes meeting mine once more, so I made the decision for us both. “That charity gala at the Met? In two weeks. Your whole office is coming. I made sure to seat you at my table. And that can be like our practice run. Okay?”

I fucking dared—I reached over and tucked a loose strand of that soft hair behind her ear, her whole body shivering at the touch. “Okay?” I double-checked, my fingers burning from the contact with her skin.

“You’re relentless.” Her whisper was so close, I merely had to lean in an inch, and I would taste heaven.

“I am. I’ll send you something I want you to wear.”

I forced my feet to move, but not before I let my gaze trace over her one last time. Over those candy cane shorts. Over my hoodie, hugging her in a way that was still out of reach to me.