Page 45 of The Tsar’s Obsession (Bratva Sinners #1)

A Tragic End

Kirill

"Mmm! I need water." Mia broke our kiss as I carried her into our apartment, her legs hugging my waist. "Meet me in the bedroom, ah!" Her effervescent giggle filled up my entire soul.

This was the best birthday I ever had in my whole thirty-five years. There was never a better birthday; not one even came close. Glued to her lips, I placed her on the countertop, my hands roaming her perfect body, like I owned her. Mine, all mine—I fucking did own her, and she owned me.

We were one, together; nothing could rip us apart.

"Fuck, baby, you always taste so good. Get your water and coconut oil and meet me on the bed. I can't wait to take care of your big, badass tattoo." I grinned, giddy at the thought of running my fingers over her new tattoo.

I left Mia sitting on the island counter, her smile genuinely elated, and headed to our bedroom.

But as soon as I flicked on the ensuite light, her earth-shattering scream echoed throughout the apartment and turned my blood cold.

In seconds, I was already back in the kitchen.

Mia was on the floor, trembling, frantically crawling backward through a slick pool of crimson, her hands and legs soaked in it.

Blood. She was covered in blood, shaking and kicking away from something still hidden from me.

"Mia!" I lunged toward her, petrified. Wide eyed, she stared ahead and gasped for breath, urgently pointing to something just behind the island.

Carefully, I looked her over for any signs of damage while she pressed herself against the kitchen cabinet, never looking away from whatever she witnessed.

The trail of blood was plentiful. I took two steps forward and rounded the island to see Francesco sprawled out on the marble floor in front of the stove. His throat was slit open, his dead body drowning in a pool of red.

Fuck. In my own fucking house. My own fucking butler. I stared at him, the realization overtaking all of me—someone slipped past all my security measures.

Not waiting another second, I was already walking out the front door and carrying a distraught Mia in my arms. I called Yuri on the way.

Shaking like a leaf in the front seat of my Ferrari, Mia stared ahead, doing her best to catch her breath.

"I was barefoot," she stammered, looking over her bloodied hands.

"Just like–" Her breath hitched. "Just like–” she stuttered and immediately caught my attention as I sped away to a safe house across town.

"Just like what, baby?!"

My hand reached for hers, but she recoiled, slowly swaying back and forth in the seat, the chatter of her teeth like sharp nails upon my conscience.

Before I could get any answers, Dmitry's phone call interrupted. "Brother, get out of your house!" His shouts pierced my ears in the confines of the car. His words and Mia's panic made it close to impossible to keep my eyes on the road as I tried to piece together what the fuck was happening.

"Tell me. Quickly," I ordered Dmitry, hearing sirens somewhere behind him.

"My apartment—blasted! I escaped by accident. The Italians are not fucking playing!"

"Get to the apartment. Call Polina."

With these last words, my attention was back on Mia, who was desperately trying to wipe the blood off her hands on her jeans.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Mia? Hey, hey—look at me.

" I tried to engage her with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her chin.

She was physically beside me, but her mind was somewhere else, her eyes glossed over, and that plump bottom lip quivered uncontrollably.

"Fuck." My little exclamation did nothing to ease the situation.

And it only got worse—the situation got way worse. It descended into absolute hell. Into unknown and very dangerous territory.

"Mia, my love, can you come with me?" I crouched in front of Mia's open car door, and she stared at me.

"Yes. Yes, I can. I'm okay." She nodded without any confidence. "I'll be okay. I just– I just can't believe he's dead." Her efforts to catch enough air were going to make her hyperventilate. Without waiting for anything else, we climbed the little stairs to the hidden apartment.

The safe house was a small two-bedroom apartment in Chinatown, right above a home goods store. It was private, and only four people had knowledge of it: me, Dmitry, Polina, and Yuri.

It smelled stale, the dark surroundings suffocating as soon as we walked in. Mia asked no questions. She clutched my hand and followed obediently, evidently doing her best to keep herself together.

But as soon as the front door closed behind us and we were left in the dark and quiet hallway, I knew right away that we weren’t alone. That feeling—it was like a little shiver on the back of my neck. There was a very faint sound of creaking. Not footsteps; it was subtle, unusual.

"Don't move. Stay here and do not move, Mia." I caught her wet, sparkling eyes in the shadows. "Do you understand me?" She quickly nodded and pressed herself into the corner.

On the precipice of a tragedy and against my better judgement I stepped further into the apartment, my weapon ready to annihilate whatever was happening to me on my birthday.

The creaking intensified with every silent step I took toward the living room, reminiscent of a rope on a yacht. A rope. But we weren't on a yacht, and a sickening understanding overwhelmed me when I noticed a shadow on the wall. A silhouette, dangling feet, swinging solely on inertia.

In all my years of witnessing and bringing death, never had it been as bitter as today.

Finally stepping into the room, the gruesome sight graced me fully. Hanging from the ceiling by a short, thick rope was a woman, one of her heels kicked off, her fingers stuck between the rope and her throat.

Fucking hell. In my fucking safe house, a corpse dangling from the ceiling. Who the fuck was this, and how did she get here? But all my thoughts were arrested when the body swung a centimeter my way, and I recognized those facial features right away. That ginger hair. That freckled nose.

Polina.

"Mia! Stay back. Do not come close!" The words rushed out of me, my body approaching dead Polina, disbelief screaming inside my own brain.

I stared up at her limp body, recognizing that sixteen-year-old girl once again. That girl who lived a tragic life, trapped and abused. And what a tragic end.

Working quickly, I slashed through the rope with my switchblade and caught her body before she hit the floor. I was in a vortex. My partner of the last sixteen years rested in my arms, slumped over, her facial expression blissfully unaware of the heartbreak inside me.

Polina and I were thrown together under awful circumstances, and it seemed that we would part the same way. Had nothing changed in all this time? We had money, we had power, we had loyalty, but evidently, all that was fleeting. None of that mattered if this is how death found one of us.

"Oh fuck…" Mia's quiet voice jerked me awake, and I shot my eyes up to see her standing in the doorway of the living room, her trembling bloody hands at her mouth.

"Baby, please! Please don't look!" I implored her, unable to feel Polina's pulse. Her skin was warm underneath my fingers, and that realization layered onto this whole evening: this must have happened incredibly recently, and whoever did it may still be in the apartment.

Making a split-second decision, I hauled Polina onto my shoulder and tugged on Mia's hand, dragging her out of the apartment and into my car.

Time stood fucking still as I floored it to the nearest emergency room, knowing full well that tonight's attack was premeditated, well-planned, and caught me completely off-guard.

Who was I if I couldn't foresee this? Who was I if my own home was infiltrated? When my closest partner was hung in my fucking safe house!

Someone was a traitor. Someone close, someone dear to me.

"Where is she?!" Dmitry rushed into the waiting room of the emergency department, his eyes bloodshot and his shirt untucked. Holding his tears back, he paced the waiting room back and forth, while Mia rested on my lap, her eyes closed, her hands no longer bloodied .

As if switching personalities, Mia kicked into high gear and fielded all the doctors’ questions about how it all happened, making up lies on the spot.

Polina was alive but unconscious. A few more minutes and she wouldn't have survived. A few more minutes. God was looking out for us.

"I'm going to stay." Dmitry nodded. "I'm going to stay with her until she wakes up.” He looked frazzled and confused, his black hair longer than ever, tossed around in different directions.

"No.” My answer was absolute, and he didn't dare argue. "Yuri’s on his way. We're all going to Mia's old apartment, and both you and he better lay it the fuck out for me."

But neither Dmitry nor Yuri had any answers as we sat around Mia's dining table hours later while she locked herself in the shower.

No one knew what happened, how, or who was responsible.

The front door camera at my apartment went offline that afternoon, and I never received a notification.

The alarm system had been disabled. The concierge saw no one.

The building’s video footage was corrupted.

There was no trail. There were no details. There was nothing .

Whoever was responsible cleared all the tracks. They knew a lot. Too much.

"It's the fucking Italians, gotta be." Dmitry provided his opinion, his clean-shaved jaw clenching every few seconds.

"Domenic has been restless. He decided to act, thinking Polina was your woman.

I fucking told you to act first, Kirill!

" He raised his voice slightly and stared through me.

"How the fuck is this going to look now?

The Skhodka is in a few weeks. This will trickle down so fast, we won't be able to control it–”