Page 36 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

"No. I'm not in pain anymore," I lied, deciding to momentarily ignore what I just found out.

"What happened, Polina? Should I blow your brains out now or spare you?

Let you go back to Russia, where there's a bounty on your head?

" At this, her composure crumbled completely, and she placed her elbows on my desk, her head falling into her hands.

Evidently, she didn't think I knew about her past troubles and the release of her ex-boyfriend from prison.

If Polina went back to Russia, he would find her, trap her, and she would be on her own.

He didn't abuse her, but he was obsessed, madly in love, and desperately pining after her for the last two years.

He was unhinged—he wanted to keep her as a trophy, all locked up in a cage.

She continued to refuse him, so he placed a price on her: anyone who brings her to him gets a reward of a few million dollars.

No one dared touch her when she was with me in Russia, but alone, she would be snatched up in a matter of days.

"I'm sorry." Her response was quiet, slow tears falling off her chin. "I– I don't know what happened. I still don't. I'll find out," she said, nodding urgently. "I'll find out, and I will clean house, Kirill, I will."

"It's a little too late for that, Polina. Someone is determined to fuck it up for us here, and my only suspicion is you at this poin–"

"No! No, listen to me, Kirill, it's not me, I could never do this to you!" She spoke quickly, eyeing the firearm on my desk. "I've always been loyal, Kirill; I would never do this!" she assured me, but I didn't know what to believe at this point.

Dmitry's words threw doubt on everything.

"You know how grateful I am for what you did for me. I could never betray you, Kirill. Not me."

"How did you find out it was a trap?"

Polina shifted in her seat, swallowing a sob.

"One of the soldiers, he– he called me when he was captured.

He didn't get a chance to say anything..

.I just heard them...kill him." She couldn't look at me, and her story didn't bring me any peace of mind.

"I called you right away, but you didn't pick up.

..so I texted, hoping that there was enough time. "

This day was a goddamn fucking disaster.

I didn't want to end Polina, I didn't want to believe Dmitry, and I had no idea what to do with her now.

She sounded sincere. She was always loyal, just as she said.

But her mistake almost cost me my life, Mia's life, and Yuri's life.

It cost the lives of almost a dozen of my men who were meant to travel with me to Manuel's. This was a colossal fuck-up.

"Go. Go figure it out. Only come to me when you know for sure." I turned away, clutching at my side, the pain of the movement radiating through me.

This was such a significant step back. Push back, fall back, whatever. It was also a huge embarrassment. This shit wasn't supposed to happen, not to someone like me, not to the man who ruled it all.

As I stared out the window at the gloomy fall day, I recognized that this incident could collect more votes of non-confidence from the vory, my top men.

Fuck. This was a problem.

My phone rang, and I welcomed the interruption.

"Brother! Time to return to The Motherland," Danila chuckled and brought a smile to my face. "Yura told me what happened. No biggie; scars make a man more handsome, you know that. You’re still alive; that’s all that matters.”

With Danila, the conversation flowed and put me at ease.

His cheery outlook on life was always a welcome antidote to my dark thoughts.

Danila was younger, less jaded. Although, that's not to say he had killed or seen less, just in a different capacity.

He was a friend, a confidant, and a brother I never had; he was like family.

"Did you know about Polina?" I suddenly changed the subject, momentarily doubting what Dmitry said. Danila was silent for a moment.

"Know what?"

I didn't even know how to pronounce those words! What the fuck kind of soap opera was this?

"Umm...pfft." I hoped that he would just jump in and fill my discomfort, but he waited. "Dima seems to think that...she has feelings for me."

I hadn't thought of or been with any women for the last four years while I waited for Mia, and it was repulsive to think about it. To my chagrin, Danila didn't interpret this as a joke.

"Wait, did she tell you this?" The way he asked made me think that I probably should have heard it from her.

"No. Dima told me. But her tears at my injury, which I'd never seen before, make me think it's real. So? Did you know?"

"There are rumors. Rather, there have been rumors for a long while.

I guess you're so insulated that you didn't hear them yourself.

Just like a Tsar," Danila scoffed, making my heart sink.

"I don't know what's going on over there, but I have trouble believing she'd do something like that.

If anything, she would target your girl, not you.

" This information was even worse than what Dmitry told me.

"But she's not stupid. She may be in love, but she doesn't have a death wish, Kirill.

She knows you'd bury her alive. No one lives in delusion about who you turn into when provoked.

" Danila laughed once more, but I found nothing funny.

"They don't? I hear lots of rumors of discontent about my move here." I wondered why I never discussed this with Danila; he would have been well aware of what the others were saying.

"Oh yeah? I hadn't heard that. There were a few, but they're insignificant, just a few avtoriteti running their mouths now that you're overseas." He paused and clicked something on the other side of the world. "Your problem is there. Not here."

My problems were everywhere. "How is my biggest problem there?" I vehemently didn't want to speak or remember it, but it loomed on the horizon.

"Slowly deteriorating by himself. It's only a matter of months."

Fucking finally, some good news.

And more good news was on the horizon when, a few weeks later, Mia and I strolled toward our new home, fall leaves crunching beneath our feet. Her hand was in mine, and her heart too. Excitement surged through me, blasting through everything else. Around her, I almost felt like a good man. Almost.

Mia wandered through the empty apartment, taking it all in, while I stood back and watched.

My love. My future. Adjusting to the space that would become ours.

For her, this was new, but for me, it had been a long time coming.

I’d spent years scheming, dreaming, and ensuring this moment would happen.

Of course, we would live together. No matter the chaos of my world that I longed to abandon, every night I had a treasure in my arms. This would be our place. We would make memories here; we would build something real .

This was a dream come true.

Time passed in a blissful domestic blur. Was it very unlikely that we never argued, never had to carve out space, and never ran into the usual growing pains of living together? Yes. But I had always known, deep down, that when our lives finally intertwined, it would be effortless.

As we unpacked and filled our home, Viv and Carly came over one night, seemingly to help but mostly to check out the place. Viv’s voice carried through the half-empty apartment, impossible to ignore.

"So, you know the crazy motherfucker at my job, the guy who shits on everyone's head to make sure we all produce our numbers and not have families or a life?

" Viv swore like a sailor but was masterful with her words.

"Anyway, joke's on him because he's six feet underground now. Apparently, he overdosed on some blow laced with some fucked-up shit like fentanyl or whatever the fuck they put in there,” she said, cackling. “We all knew he was a huge coke-head, but we never predicted we’d have to send his drug dealer a thank-you basket.”

"Wow, damn. He did coke?” Mia asked, genuinely surprised. Such a sweet soul. She told me she thought that it was only ‘junkies’ who did drugs and not the elite, the powerful, and the polished that we sold our product to.

"Pfffft fuck yeah!” Viv scoffed. “He was a coke-head for years . Guess he got a bad batch.”

Another trip up. I knew who Viv was talking about not because I kept tabs on every overdose, but because I’d already suspected someone was tampering with our product. The dead portfolio manager was another name on a growing list.

Someone was fucking up my business. Who, and at what point in production, was still unknown to me. But it was time to tighten the fucking reins.