Page 68 of The Tsar's Obsession
30
Chaos. That's His Life.
Mia
“Goldreallysuitsyou,”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 forhimto come along and help me connect with it.
“I love it, thank you.” I leaned into him, enjoying the satisfied smile on his face. “Iloveyou.”
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 waspacked, 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.
