Page 80 of The Tsar's Obsession
Mia nodded, gulping down her sadness, her soft, wet lips on mine.
"Your birthday is over," she whispered and turned my watch to us. "Maybe that means it's all over? And nothing bad will happen again?"
Maybe. Maybe we could just forget any of this happened.Cross it out of our memory, start fresh, start new, where Mia was just a woman I fell in love with and I was just a simple man, my conscience not burning up in sins.
The next day, Dmitry filled up my office with cigarette smoke as he paced the area, throwing out his speculations. I hadn’t smoked a cigarette since August, but we were on our second pack.
"All three of us were attacked on the same night. Such a coordinated attack takes careful planning and observation," Dmitry said, telling me things I already knew.
"Yes, but none of these attacks make sense. Why the fuck would Domenic order a hit on Polina? She's of no importance to him!" Her hanging body flashed in my eyes every time I closed them. "How did they find out about our safe house? Why did they blow up your entire apartment? What the fuck does Francesco have to do with anything?!" I raised my voice, wild rage brewing inside me at the lack of answers. Dmitry was just as responsible for our safety as Yuri and Polina.
"I don't think it was Domenic." Dmitry suddenly shot his eyes up into mine and surprised me with the opposite of what he said yesterday. "It's one of our men. Everyone who’s coming for the Skhodka isn't happy, Kirill. It's not hard to extrapolate. They could have decided to take matters into their own hands if they're feeling abandoned–"
"Abandoned?! What kind of bullshit are you spewing about our own men, Dima?" This conversation was pushing all my buttons. "Give me names, then; give me concrete names!”
"Danila for one. He's letting things slip in Moscow. Misha has disappeared off the radar." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. For the first time ever, Dmitry was making absolutely zero fucking sense! "Roman, on the west coast, has been impossible to get a hold of. That kind of disrespect isn't to be taken lightly."
Disrespect. That's exactly what Dmitry was showing me.Instead of getting down to the bottom of what fucking happened, he shifted the blame to the men closest to me.
"And Francesco probably worked for the Italians, Kirill." His calm demeanor was a stark contrast to his vile words. "Retribution comes in all kinds of ways. I warned you about him." Dmitry stubbed out his cigarette and threw my whole soul into turmoil with this meeting. "I'm going to see Polina. I'll call you later."
But later never came, and Dmitry and I didn't speak for an entire week.
For the first time in the twenty-five years that I had known him, we didn’t speak for aweek. Even when I was in prison—even then—we kept in touch almost daily, still running the business.
Francesco didn't end up having any family at all. No one. Not one person was found that he had any relations to, making Dmitry’s words about him feel real. Was Francesco a spy?
A week later, Yuri and I stood at his grave, light snow gently covering the fresh earth. "So? Any real information for me, Yura?" One thing always remained true—Yuri was the one person I trusted with my life, and in this situation as well.
"No, but...it's someone on our side." I whipped around to face him, genuinely shocked at his confirmation of Dmitry's words. There was no denying it then. Someone had been poisoning the waters for a long time, and instead of doing my research, I continued living in denial.
"Who?"
"I don't know exactly, but I think you should rely on our old proverb—with certain friends, you don't need enemies. Don't trust anyone."
It was private, just us two. I was sure he was free to speak, and yet, he chose to speak in a riddle. "Why don't you tell me the truth, Yura?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't know who it is." His gray eyes gave me no comfort while he assuredme. "There are too many moving pieces and unanswered questions. It's all very murky, but," he paused, lowering his voice. "It's one of us. Just be careful. I'll keep a closer eye on Mia, and you should move back home; it's more secure."
With this harsh reality, Mia and I restarted our life back home. Francesco’s blood had been scrubbed away, but the stain of betrayal remained.
35
Angel of Chaos
Mia
BloodyMarchmorphedintoApril, bringing with it the spring rain. As if hoping it would wash away the blood I saw in front of my eyes, I would stare out the window for hours, meticulously going over all the details of that evening.
Dmitry was with me on this couch, the one in our home, a few steps away from the kitchen where Francesco met his death when he utteredthatphrase.
Maybe you should ask more questions before you find yourself running away barefoot with bloody hands.
What a twisted coincidence. It’s like he knew, like he foresaw the future. He turned out to be right—if I chose to be with Kirill, I should have been prepared for anything. Kirill’s world was slowly infiltrating our life. Insidious and unstoppable.
The marble countertop sparkled once more, and in Francesco’s place was an older woman—cooking, cleaning, and tending to all of my boyfriend’s whims.
People are replaceable, no matter what they do, no matter who they are. The fragility of our existence was weighing heavier on my mind with each passing day. Francesco’s murder and Polina’s limbo between life and death had become a never-ending source of anxiety.
