Page 1 of The Tsar's Obsession
1
Heaven
Kirill
NewYork.Thedreamfor so many. Money, power, sex. You could find it all here.And it was a whole universe away from where I was born—a forgotten Russian village with wooden houses, no roads, and no future.
So, I built the future. Now, I ruled the underworld. I wasn’t just Pakhan; I wasThe Tsarof the Bratva. Untouchable. Feared. Wealthier than I’d ever imagined. I had it all.
Almost.
Neither money nor power comes into the hands of the clean and innocent, and what I had—what Iwas—would make me the devil’s guest of honor.
Shedidn’t know that though.Shewas clean and innocent. And she was the missing ingredient. Missing from my life.
I lived by an unshakeable principle—desire meant nothing; I had to own it. And I didn’t just want her; I was blindly obsessed for almost a decade.
Nine years. It tooknineyears to get to her. I tore through blood, lies, and bodies to get to the top. The money, power, and respect were just a bonus.
The Brunello Cucinelli shirt on my back was a far cry fromthe one sweater I clung to at the tender age of nine, homeless, surviving on the streets. My Bratva tattoos lay hidden beneath the soft fabric, the only proof of how deep I descended into darkness to get here.
Today my bank accounts bled dollars, pounds, and euros, and men bowed their heads when I entered the room.
I didn’t just survive. I conquered.
How could I, a small, young, weak boy—beaten into pulp by my alcoholic father—stand here, in the richest city in the world?
I did it. I achieved it.
Kirill Alekseev. A name no one remembered back then. A name no one dared forget now.
I stood at the window of this New York skyscraper looking down at the busy city from my height and knew that nothing, absolutelynothing,would stand in my way of getting what I wanted.
And it was finally time to take what was mine. I wanted her, whether she felt the same way eventually or not. I would claim her. She would be my prize, my possession.
My forever obsession.
Nine years was a long time to lust after someone, but I spent every second with purpose. Now, I owned a few banks, had half the Russian government in my pocket, spoke English fluently, changed my ways, altered my business, and pivoted in the right direction.
But nine years ago, I was a different man—one who didn’t just spill blood. I bathed in it.
It was a random summer Saturday night, a few minutes before midnight, and another drink had just landed in my hand when I scanned the dance floor of my newest nightclub, Heaven.
This wasn’t just a club—it was a whole universe. A complex network of relationships that were built in the VIP sections situated around the perimeter of the dance floor. The biggest one was mine, strategically picked to have a perfect overview of the dance floor and bar.
Not only did it become the hottest club within a matter of weeks, but it was also the perfect spot to butter up coke dealers from various regions. We were the authority now, and they all came to see us.
Dmitry, my lifelong partner, floated between the group of men we were entertaining,and in the middle of my conversation about how much blow I was about to deliver, I spottedher.
She was young, cute—enticing. I didn’t do cute. In fact, I didn’tdofeelings. I got bored easily and wanted new entertainment every week. Girls were just for fun; they were never to be taken seriously, never to be trusted, never to be indulged in.
Butthis…this I indulged in.
In a sea of dancing bodies, she stood out—called out to me—like a mirage, a siren song, an apparition. Carefree. Sexy. A sweet young girl who glowed with warmth and positivity. Just effortlessly gorgeous.
How the hell did they let her into my club in her ripped jeans, white T-shirt, and converse? In fact, what the hell was she doing here at all?
She was free; I could almost see it around her, like a halo.
