Page 25 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

My eyes absorbed the scene before me, but I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Their hands in the air, the remaining men stepped away from me and silently backed away and down the street, leaving me all by myself to focus on Kirill taking an urgent step toward me.

With a light touch, he pulled down my dress and bent down ever so slightly to catch my gaze.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Sunshine.

Don’t run away from me again.” His calm and reassuring voice sounded far away, but his large, warm hands slid down my arms and carefully landed on my back.

He held onto me with the utmost care, but all I could see was the dead man on the sidewalk.

It was all a blur. There was that familiar black SUV again. Yuri jumped out with a man I’d never seen before, and Kirill gave instructions in Russian. The dead man was flipped over, the crater on his forehead like out of a cartoon. They picked him up and threw him in the trunk. Easy. Fast. Quiet.

My eyes found those emerald jewels, taking in the sight of me with confidence and no regret. This was a metamorphosis, Kirill’s true nature slowly revealing itself to me. Another layer of Kirill Alekseev had been pulled back, and in real time, I received evidence of who he truly was .

It was easy to listen to his words about his status.

It was a completely different thing to see it in real life, and I’d just had a front-row seat to an unforgettable show.

Kirill wiped the blood off the gun on the black material of his shirt and put it away behind him so casually, as if pocketing his wallet.

But there was not much of me left. My legs were suddenly like jello, and the world spun like a merry-go-round. I just wanted to lean into something, close my eyes, and shield myself from the truth.

It was all darkness.

“Mia!”

My own name echoed inside me as I ripped my eyes open, my head pounding viciously. It was morning, the sunshine was blinding, the bed was soft, and the smell of beer was making me nauseous.

My dress clung to me, my whole body sweaty and hot. I knew where I was in a second—his bed.

Of course. He brought me home—to his home—after the murder last night. I stared at the ceiling and pondered how deep my trouble actually was.

The dead man’s face floated in front of my eyes, his facial features mangled beyond repair with the force of such a close bullet.

I should have been terrified; I should still be terrified. Repulsed, shocked, disgusted!

But I wasn’t any of that.

No. No. It was all much worse than I had anticipated. I was fucking excited at the memories. Kirill handled that fucking situation like a boss. Yes. Like a boss.

What the actual fuck was wrong with me? What the fuck had he done to me? He didn’t even flinch; he acted. His resolve when protecting me, protecting what was his, was a turn-on.

I had fucking issues.

How could I still have even a smidgen of respect and desire for him after I saw what he did last night? Without hesitation, he shot through someone’s head!

That was definitely not his first time.

Logical thoughts entered my mind and then promptly left. What stayed was my conviction about how I felt. How I truly felt.

This was so complicated.

Why couldn’t I be attracted to someone simple, like Ari? What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t I have developed feelings for a regular man? He was normal and everything one would want in a partner. He and others like him chased after me all the time. Smart, rich, funny, and from a good family.

But I knew why, didn’t I? I knew why. He was too boring, too predictable. Too…safe.

If I were with someone like Ari, I’d know the trajectory of my life up to the minute, and that scared me more than Kirill’s penchant for murder. Marriage, babies, maternity leave, giving up my career, him providing for me by working late nights, and building a bigger business for himself.

Eventually, he’d cheat on me, and I would forgive him to save the family.

After the kids were a bit grown, I’d start up a business again, interior design or something of the sort.

The same get-togethers with family, obligations, beach vacations, birthday parties, etc.

, etc., maybe a divorce in our fifties or sixties.

I saw it all on the palm of my hand, and it made my skin crawl. I was terrified of the same mundane life, day in and day out. More terrified than of the dead body.

But then I wondered how all of that would feel with Kirill. The mundane stuff, the marriage, babies, maternity leave? Why didn’t it feel suffocating when he was in the picture?

A bright sparkle caught my eye and interrupted the image of Kirill holding our baby.

There was something placed on a little side table at the foot of the bed.

I sat up and squinted at the sparkle in the room, like water reflecting the sun.

Indeed, it looked like a jar with water—something floating inside it.

Drawn to it, I moved the covers and crawled closer until my whole body jerked back.

Eyes. It was a pair of human fucking eyeballs!