Page 47 of The Tsar's Obsession
"I'm perfect for you, baby. I'm exactly what you need." My body was flush against her now, her skin so wet and warm, perfect, and mine. Just for me.
“No. You’re bad. You’re a bad man. You do terrible things. You killed someone last night. And I’m a good girl.”
Oh fuck, the way she said it forced me to hug her tighter. “Yes, you are, baby. But that’s why this works so well. That’s why you can’t stay away. That’s why I’ll never let you go, Sunshine.”
At this, she slowly twisted her head, not daring to open her eyes to look at me but contentedly snuggled in my embrace. “What if I run away again?” she whispered into my lips. “What if…someone takes me away?”
And that was my big, huge, enormous anxiety.
“Then I will find you,svet moy. I will find you. Keep you. Save you. Cherish you. Love you. Giveyou everything you want. No one can ever take you away.” But that was my delusion speaking. I knew that.
Genuine fear and worry started to creep in like a fog. I’d been through a lot in my life. I was beaten, left for dead, tortured, shot, stabbed, and cut apart. I endured all physical altercations, albeit not without some scars as a reminder, but if I lost Mia somehow, it would be psychological pain that I wouldn’t survive. I couldn’t have that.
Now that she was in my arms, I was certain she could never be anywhere else, never with anyone else.
An even darker thought developed from that while Mia swayed in my arms under the hot water. Now, someone could use her as leverage against me. My blood boiled at the thought ofsomeonegettinghishands on her. But that would never happen.Iwould never let that happen. I would do everything in my power to circumvent it. I’d turn my whole life upside down.
21
Get Rest
Mia
Theshowerwascleansingboth for my mind and my body. I stepped out to find a white summer dress—mysummer dress, carefully laid out for me on the bed. A pair of my sandals was placed on the floor beside it, and curiously enough, earrings and a bracelet were displayed on a little end table. The eyeball table.
The eyeballs were gone, though.
Dressed, I ventured into the main living room and noticed a leather travel bag on one of the dining chairs, my passport on top. Evidently, my clothes were inside the bag. How interesting. Someone had been to my apartment and collected my belongings and my passport.
“Hello, miss. Your coffee, it’s- ah ready.” I jumped at the voice emanating from the kitchen. I forgot all about the little man!
“Thank you.” This was so strange. Kirill had abutler. His name, that tanned olive skin, and his adorable accent led me to believe Francesco was Italian. The styled mane of gray hair perched on top of his tiny stature fit his overall persona of a dotting grandfather.
“I make-ah omelet for you. Sundried tomato with spinach and feta, hm? Please enjoy, Miss Mia.” His raspy voice carried across the kitchen as he slowly strolled over to the dining table, setting the plate on aprepared placemat. With a radiant smile, he pulled out the chair for me. “Please-ah, sit.”
Francesco poured me a hot cup of fresh coffee, a gray linen kitchen cloth hanging off his forearm. “Please-ah. Milk, cream.” He pointed to two small white ceramic creamers, carefully placed to the side of the cup.
Everything in this place was meticulous. Like Kirill. No smaller than the apartment he just purchased, the view of the city was breathtaking, the morning fog slowly dissipating right outside the windows. The cutlery sparkled, the cloth napkin was crisp, and the floor—shiny, without a speck of dust.
Darker colors and heavier furniture were a dead giveaway that a man certainly lived here. But it wasn’t over the top. It was comfortable.Comforting.
Like Kirill.
Goddamn, I had a huge fucking problem. I was in love, I was. Everything about him ruffled my feathers.
“Thank you, Francesco. The omelet is delicious,” I complimented as the older gentleman silently moved around the kitchen.
“Oh, thank you, miss.” His smile lit up the room again. “Mr. Kirill come get you.” He checked his watch. “In twenty minutes. I pack-ah your suitcase, miss. I hope you enjoy your trip.” His sincerity was making me short-circuit.
Kirill was the head of the Russian Bratva. Hemurderedsomeone last night, cutting out that man’s eyeballs and leaving them for me to discover like some sick bounty. And yet, his butler was a warm and soft-spoken Italian grandfather.
As promised, twenty minutes later Kirill arrived at the front door, looking casual in a white linen shirt and black shorts, like he was made for warm weather. Somehow, I didn’t notice the star tattoos on his knees when he was naked in front of me the other night, but now, my eyes landed on that black ink right away.
I had very limited knowledge of Russian gang tattoos, but a small spark ignited in a corner of my mind. They meant something—something important. I would have asked, but at that moment, all I could think about was how good he looked in that linen shirt.
“You look stunning.” He assessed me while I still sat at the dining table, coffee cup in hand, unable to hold back my smile at his presence. “Perfect for our trip.” And then he erased the distance between us so quickly, effortlessly leaning in to press his plump, delicious lips to mine.
Only a week had passed since our last kiss…yet he left me breathless.
