Page 39 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

Chaos. That's His Life.

Mia

“Gold really suits you,” Kirill murmured as his fingers closed the clasp of the chain. “Almost as much as diamonds.” He planted a deliberate peck on my shoulder and then met my gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

The ornate Orthodox cross settled on my chest as if it was always supposed to be there.

It was Orthodox Christmas, and before heading to church, Kirill presented me with the small gift box.

Flown in from Moscow, from the grand Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, he ordered the cross as soon as he found out I was Orthodox too.

I thought about how this was one of the most precious gifts that I had ever received, and I was deeply touched by the actions of the man standing behind me. Kirill did that a lot—touched my heart and soul with his actions.

My belief in God was questionable, but this cross wasn’t about that at all. It was a symbol of our connection—we were always meant to be. I was of the same faith as him, the Russian part of me buried deep inside, merely waiting for him to come along and help me connect with it.

“I love it, thank you.” I leaned into him, enjoying the satisfied smile on his face. “I love you. ”

Lately, I felt as if someone was opening a door to the life that I was always supposed to have.

I thought about all my previous principles, rules, and convictions and felt that they were all wrong, silly, and empty.

Why was I so vehemently opposed to having a man in my life in the past?

Why did I think there was only one way to be strong, independent, and in control of my life?

Why couldn't I have someone who took care of me, loved me, and showered me with attention? I wanted to belong to that person and be one with him.

His partner, his other half.

The Saint Nicholas Cathedral bustled with people, but Kirill’s security led us inside without protest from anyone. It was packed , and yet, Kirill moved to the spot he liked best, holding my hand as I gawked at the ornate interiors and the crowd listening to the service.

It was hushed and mysterious, but the hundreds of candles filled the whole atmosphere with a glowing light that couldn’t be replicated. This was the first time I was in an Orthodox church not as a tourist but as a member of this faith, and I placed the cross on myself, the action foreign.

It dawned on me why Russia was both questionable and intriguing to Americans. Russians looked the same as any average American, but their rituals, beliefs, and motivations were difficult to decipher.

Like Kirill—a man who lived his life solely outside both religious and criminal law.

Had he ever taken the legal road to get anything done?

It seemed that he got what he wanted, how he wanted, not how it was prescribed by society.

And yet, here he was, reciting a prayer in front of an icon, placing a cross on himself with his fingers, and lighting a candle.

Admittedly, I found it difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile Kirill’s dedication to his faith with how he lived and what he had done in the past. His lips moved with every word that the priest uttered, and he recited the prayers, knowing them by heart.

The same heart that didn’t skip a beat when he pressed the trigger .

And he wasn’t the only one. Polina and Dmitry joined us for dinner the next day, their fingers clasping their wine glasses—the same fingers that extinguished life.

It was a quiet evening, just the four of us. I had briefly considered inviting the girls, but Kirill had spent so long keeping his personal life separate from his work that I didn’t want to overwhelm anyone. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that overlap either.

It was a little awkward at first, but my concerns were laid to rest when both Dmitry and Polina turned out to be easy to converse with, cracking jokes and laughing freely. I wondered why we hadn’t spent time like this together before.

“So? I told him to get lost.” Polina’s low voice finished off her story about a billionaire who was courting her.

Francesco diligently kept all the wine glasses filled, his short frame moving around the kitchen with impressive speed.

“Like always. Polina’s going to end up a lonely spinster with this attitude.

” Dmitry occupied the chair beside me, right in front of Polina.

“Did you know that she had that oligarch chasing after her in Moscow? The one with all the soccer and the hockey teams?” He spoke to Kirill with a small laugh. “But he wasn’t good enough either.”

Kirill smiled back, his arms crossed, just listening. Polina shrugged, a mysterious smile on her face. “Ah– not worth it.” She waved her hand in front of her. “When it’s the right man, you know.” And then, she turned to me, locking her eyes with mine. “Right, Mia?”

A second of silence stretched a bit too long while I found my voice, taken aback by her sudden attention. “Absolutely.”

My answer melted Kirill into a smile. He listened to Polina during her little story, but his eyes didn’t stay away from me, making me blush.

But at my answer, Polina’s light attitude slightly soured.

She took a large gulp of her wine and looked down at the table, all of her previous boisterous energy gone without a trace.

There was something…something between them, but Kirill seemed oblivious .

A mountain of caviar and what seemed like a case of champagne later, Dmitry and I were seated on the couch while Kirill leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to Polina vehemently trying to convince him of something in Russian, breaking out in small laughter every once in a while.

“I make-uh apricot and almond pie for dessert-uh, Miss. It’s cooling on the counter. I go home now. Merry Christmas,” Francesco’s adorable voice informed me right before he saw himself out of the apartment.

"You know, I remember you now," Dmitry mused, slouching against the couch a few feet away. He held a wine glass between his tattooed fingers, the delicate stem seemingly out of place against his inked skin. He gave me an easy smirk, swirling the deep red liquid before taking a sip.

"For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out who Kirill was obsessed with. But now, I remember that night." He paused, watching my reaction. "You know he almost fucked up a very important deal because of you." His tone was light and teasing, but the weight of his words lingered.

For some reason, I’d never fully relaxed around Dmitry until tonight. He always seemed so closed off and reserved, but at dinner, he was different. His sense of humor was surprisingly silly, and he was a master at upholding the conversation.

"How did you guys meet?" I posed the question, wanting to hear Dmitry's side of the story. Undoubtedly, Kirill and Dmitry seemed like two polar opposites, and I wondered how they remained friends and partners for so long.

Kirill was like a model, tall and broad-shouldered, but his facial features didn't hint at his professional life in the slightest. He had no visible tattoos if he wore a long-sleeved shirt, and he really could have been an investor, just like he lied when he first met me.

But Dmitry had some kind of ambiance I didn't want to fully acknowledge. Brutal. The jet-black hair and dark eyes only added to his intensity .

He always dressed in black and gray, his bomber jacket and military-style boots accentuating his tall and ripped physique. And then that large skull tattoo on the back of his hand. It all gave off criminal world vibes. Sitting beside him made the whole thing feel real.

I didn't like that.

I wanted to live in my perfect little bubble of love where Kirill did what he did out in the world, and when he was with me, he was a man who only sinned in the bedroom.

Dmitry leaned back against the couch, swirling the wine in his glass as he spoke.

"We met on the streets," he said easily, as if just mentioning it in passing.

I already knew Kirill had been on his own as a child, but hearing it aloud never got easier.

"We were homeless. Cold, hungry, dirty kids.

We slept in the same bus shelter during the winter just to stay warm.

" A sad smile lingered on his lips, but his eyes observed the wine in his glass.

"I guess when you have nothing, there’s nothing holding you back. "

"I’m sorry." I really was. I couldn’t imagine what that kind of life was like. My father had given me everything; I’d never known real struggle. "That must have been awful. Didn’t anyone try to help you?"

Dmitry lifted his brows and let out a humorless chuckle. "No one wants to take in someone else's troublemaker, Mia. Kirill had no one. And I wasn’t staying anywhere near my parents’ house, that’s for sure."

My eyes caught sight of Polina again, still speaking to Kirill in an animated fashion. "What about Polina? When did you meet her?"

Dmitry tilted his head, as if thinking it over. "She was about sixteen when Kirill took her under his wing. I wanted nothing to do with her."

That caught my attention. "Why not?"

He glanced behind him to make sure Polina wasn’t listening, then lowered his voice, "Because she was, how to say... an easy woman. You know?" He gave me a knowing look. "And I had no interest in getting involved in that."

My head buzzing with Dmitry's words, I wanted to know everything , considering Kirill told me almost nothing, just that he had known her since they were teenagers. "What do you mean?" I pressed, feigning ignorance.

Dmitry studied me for a moment before leaning back with a smirk. "You really don’t know anything?"

I shook my head, dying to find out more details.

"She was a prostitute," he said bluntly, as if he were talking about the weather, but the word slashed against my ears. "She serviced the man we worked for. Him and his crew."

He leaned further back into the couch, looking comfortable, but my whole body was on edge from this story.

"One night, she left that man's office all battered, and Kirill saw it. His poor little heart couldn’t take it, so he paid the guy a shitload of money to ‘buy’ her out, so to speak.

To make her exclusive, just for him." Dmitry used air quotes, watching my reaction closely.

"She was very grateful. She was ready to serve him in the bedroom, but instead of fucking her, Kirill used her knowledge to take the man down.

She knew all his people, his business, his secrets. Everything."

Holy shit. My butt was planted to the couch, immobile after the story. I had no idea what I was expecting, but I wasn’t prepared for these kinds of details. I turned my gaze toward Kirill who still leaned against the island in front of Polina, hands in his pockets, concentrated on her story.

"After that," Dmitry continued, “She became his little CIA spy. She’s cunning, manipulative, and a master seductress. Don’t let her long lashes and manicured nails fool you. She’s a fucking beast."

She was a beast. And who was I?

"That’s…quite the story." I managed to say, filling the silence wi th empty words.

Dmitry raised an eyebrow and asked curiously. "You really didn’t know?"

I waited a few seconds, thinking about what to say. "No. I never asked."

"Hmm." His low voice rumbled somewhere close by, but I couldn't look away from those long eyelashes he just mentioned.

Her eyes were absolutely glued to Kirill who wasn't responding with the same energy.

Why was she looking at him like that? Why was she so territorial?

"Maybe you should ask more questions before you find yourself running away barefoot. ..with bloody hands."

And this changed our conversation in an instant. I twisted my head to Dmitry, who was no longer smiling, his eyes dead serious. "Don't have any illusions about who you're sharing a bed with, Mia. He would tell you the same; don't start thinking I'm gossiping here."

That little disclaimer did nothing for me. My skin broke out in goosebumps, and all I wanted was for the couch to swallow me whole.

"You just seem so innocent.” Dmitry’s little smirk suddenly looked anything but warm and genuine, like at the beginning of the conversation. “Far removed from our world, now that you know what it is.”

I’d never been one who couldn’t uphold a conversation, but with him I was at a total loss for words.

“It was an accident that you showed up at that club all those years ago. It was an accident he saw you. You would have never crossed paths otherwise." Dmitry leaned in slightly, adding his last bitter message, "But since you chose to be together, be prepared for anything. Chaos. That's his life."

Like an itch in the back of my brain, Dmitry’s words swirled inside my mind as I lay in our soft bed after the evening ended, Kirill’s sleeping body so warm beneath my cheek. City lights peacefully twinkled outside the window while I went over everything I heard that evening.

Chaos. That’s his life.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Life with Kirill was uplifting—joyous, peaceful, alluring. He gave me everything I ever wanted. He was everything I’d ever dreamed of and refused to admit in the past.

But a tiny seed of doubt hid in a small corner of my heart during my little musings in our dark bedroom. Maybe I just didn’t know. Maybe there were many, many things I just didn’t know. And I was happy to remain in the dark.