SAINTS: Saints and Sinners Duet Book 1

by Henry, Sophia

  Papa narrows his eyes at Kirill. “Oh, you think you are a big pine now, don’t you? Coming in here with your chest puffed, spouting shit about me being the problem? You are the problem!”

  He’s unfazed by Papa’s lashing, seemingly bored when he responds, “Sit down and shut up before I beat your ass again, old man.”

  Papa snatches the vodka from the table and my pulse pounds. I don’t want another fight like the one they had the last time Kirill was here. Not that my father doesn’t deserve it, I’m just ready to put all of that behind us.

  My heart thrashes inside my chest. I bite my lip, and hurry to collect things that have personal value. I can make more clothes; I can’t get back photographs and mementos from better times. Once I’m finished, I stand next to Kirill.

  “Put your things down, Anastasiya,” Papa commands. “You are not going with him.”

  Kirill starts to speak, but I place my hand on his forearm. “It’s my choice, Papa. I trust Kirill.”

  “You trust him?” My father’s eyebrows narrow. “You trust a murderer?”

  “Where’s Babushka?” I ask, ignoring his questions. How does a daughter explain that she trusts a murderer more than she trusts her own father?

  “You tell me,” Papa responds.

  I sigh, annoyed with his games. “Is she down the hall? I’d like to say goodbye.”

  “She isn’t here. I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

  “What?” I glance at Kirill, who doesn’t speak, just takes the bag out of my hand and secures the strap on his shoulder.

  I’ve tried to keep my composure, because I’ve learned to handle anything my father throws at me, but if Babushka is missing, that changes everything.

  “You see? He knows where she is! He kidnapped her!” Papa tightens his grip on the bottle and lunges at Kirill.

  Instead of engage, Kirill pushes me out the door and yanks it shut behind us. A loud crash tells me Papa must’ve smashed the bottle anyway. I’m sure it was empty, because he’d never waste vodka on me.

  “Olga is fine,” he says, striding quickly down the hall.

  My body relaxes with relief. It’s all I need to know right now. I can ask questions about Babushka’s whereabouts later.

  As soon as we climb into the car, Slava speeds away. The building I’ve lived in my entire life gets smaller and smaller the further away we drive from it. I half-expected to see Papa running after us. Then I remember who I’m thinking about. My father hasn’t cared about me since the day I was born. He got Vanya, the boy he wanted, four minutes before me.

  “Why didn’t you tell him you were collecting on his debt?” I ask, still staring out the window, mentally saying goodbye to the street I grew up on.

  “I didn’t need to,” Kirill says. “You told him you chose to be with me.”

  I bite my bottom lip.

  He’s right. And I did it without any hesitation.

  Because being with Kirill—a man entangled with the mafia—is still a safer and more welcome option than living one more minute with Papa.

  I rest my head on the frame of the car and look out the window, watching Moscow go by and wondering if Vanya realizes his decision to have a better life turned mine completely upside down.

  * * *

  Kirill shakes my shoulder gently, rousing me out of sleep. “We’re home.”

  I lift my head from the frame and wipe the side of my mouth, hoping I hadn’t been drooling. Then I scoot across the seat and climb out of the car, silently cursing myself for falling asleep. I planned on watching the route, but as soon as Slava started driving, I drifted off.

  I knew Kirill would live in a nicer neighborhood than I did, but I never expected him to live right in the center of the city, in the theatre district, no less, minutes away from the Kremlin and Red Square. I almost can’t believe my eyes.

  “You live in the Tverskoy District?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he answers.

  “Wow,” I murmur, unable to hide my astonishment. I’ve never dreamed of visiting someone in an apartment here, let alone get to live in one.

  Since Kirill didn’t stop to admire his own neighborhood, he’s a few feet ahead of me. I rush to catch up.

  When we reach the fifth floor, he opens the door to reveal an apartment unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Not only is it spacious, it feels like I’ve stepped into a room in the Hermitage Museum. Oversized, ornate, gold frames encasing remarkable artwork adorn the muted red walls and every piece of extravagant furniture looks antique, as if it were taken straight from the Tsar’s collection. I’ve never seen a home decorated like this.

  “You live here alone?” I ask, running my fingertips over a soft, gray, tufted couch.

  “Yes,” he answers, leading me down a hallway. “It was my uncle’s apartment. He never married or had a family, so he left it to me when he moved to the United States.”

  I remember his uncle well. He was the one who brought Kirill and his mother black caviar on New Year’s Day, and treats throughout the year. And he brought enough for the entire apartment. I always wondered what kind of life he led, but him living in a place like this was out of my imagination.

  It’s quiet and peaceful inside the apartment, which spooks me. I’ve never lived without some sort of chatter and commotion at all hours of the night. Or without the sound of Papa’s snoring in the chair across the room from me.

  “This is your room,” Kirill says, holding the door open. I step past him and inside.

  The space is just as luxurious as the rest of his apartment. I should take more time to appreciate the details, like the beautiful antique dresser and the magnificent art on the wall, but all I see is the bed. An actual bed! It’s larger than the pull-out couch Vanya and I share and covered in a beautiful, purple blanket so fluffy it looks like it’s stuffed with clouds.

  I turn to Kirill, back to the bed, then back to him.

  “Do you like it?” he asks. His amused grin and sparkling eyes tell me he’s charmed by my excitement.

  “Like it?” My cheeks hurt from the size of my smile. “I love it! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “Then you’ve never looked in a mirror,” he says.

  Tonight, when I’m lying in this huge bed alone and not sure what to do with myself, I’ll analyze his words, but I ignore it because there’s only thing I want to do right now.

  I bound toward the bed and jump onto it, landing on my belly with a flop. My face hits the softest, silkiest pillow I’ve ever touched, and I bury my nose in it. Maybe I should have asked for permission before jumping, but it’s my very first time laying on a real bed, so I hope Kirill understands.

  “Your dives used to be more graceful, Stasya.” Kirill laughs. “Have you stopped swimming?”

  My eyelids feel heavy, as if weights are holding them down. And this bed isn’t helping the situation. If I stay like this, I’ll be out within minutes.

  I flip onto my back, basking in the luxurious cushioning underneath my body. The mattress seems to curve around my frame, something I never experienced with the flimsy trash that folds into the couch at my apartment.

  I wonder if it’s acceptable for a mafia queen to lay in bed all day, every day.

  “How do you get anything done, Kirya?” I ask, ignoring his question about swimming. The sport I participated in for so long is a sore subject. One I’m not willing to discuss in front of this glorious beast I’m going to sleep on tonight.

  He chuckles. “What do you mean?”

  “If I had a bed like this, I would never get up,” I say, stretching my arms and legs out as far as they can reach.

  “Are you saying I have to join you in there if I want to see you?” Kirill asks, moving closer. He stops at the edge and sets a knee on the mattress, which sends me rolling toward him.

  Butterflies burst in my stomach and my heartbeat accelerates. I’m exhausted, but not so much so that I’m not affected by his lean body looming over the bed. Still, no mat
ter how much my heart betrays me, I’m resolute to keep my cool around Kirill.

  “I slept on a nasty flat pull-out couch with Vanya for years. This will be the very first time I’ve slept in a bed. Can I have one night to myself before I have to take on my queenly duties?”

  “You’ll still be under my protection even if you’re not under me.” He abruptly removes his knee and retreats to the door. “I told you I won’t force you to do anything, Stasya.

  “I’m sure you’ll find anything you need that you didn’t bring from your apartment in the drawers and closet. The bathroom is down the hall—first door on the right.”

  “I—” I begin, bolting upright at his sudden attitude change. But Kirill doesn’t wait for my response. He stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

  What right does he have to be angry with me? Did he really think a soft bed and smooth words would make me spread my legs for him after what he put me through?

  I’m the one who should to be angry. I’m the one who’s a prisoner of shitty circumstances. Instead of crying my eyes out into this magnificent, downy pillow, I’m trying make the best of the situation.

  Under different circumstances, I might be excited at reuniting with an old friend. My body certainly responded when I first saw him.

  Kirill can be as moody as he wants. I’ve got other things to think about.

  First things first. My bladder is about to burst and I need a shower. Though it’s the last thing I want to do, I slide out of the bed and rush out the door. Once I’m in the hallway, I stop and look both ways, trying to remember if Kirill said the bathroom was on the right or left. I should have been listening instead of snuggling into the blankets.

  I head left and peek into the first door, which is wide open. Kirill stands at the end of the big beautiful bed, naked from the waist up, removing the belt from his jeans. I’ve seen him shirtless on multiple occasions, but tonight is the second time it makes my breath catch.

  The first time, I’d been leaning against the wall in the hallway behind Maria Androvna, waiting for my turn to use the bathroom, when the door opened and Kirill stepped out with nothing but a thin green towel wrapped around his waist. His muscles weren’t as large or defined as they are today, but seeing his bare chest with water dripping down burned a hole in my memory. That was the moment he went from “just one of the neighbor boys” to “how have I never noticed the neighbor boy was this gorgeous?”

  Just thinking about it makes me smile. I peek once more, taking in the huge tattoo of an angel-like figure holding an ax, and the way his beltless jeans hang low on his hips, revealing a tapered torso and two sexy back dimples.

  He turns his head slightly, and I reel back, hoping he didn’t catch me staring. The fear of getting caught is a tiny bit exciting though. What would he say if he found me appreciating his physique?

  It must be the effects of the drugs rattling my head. Instead of risk getting caught, I turn around and shuffle to the bathroom. A quick shower will clear my head for sleep.

  * * *

  Silence is scary.

  It’s something I never realized before.

  In my apartment, the hum of activity at all hours of the night usually soothes me to sleep. The only time I could escape it was summers at the dacha. But then, I had someone to sleep with.

  For as much as we complain about communal living, there’s something to be said about always having someone around. I guess it takes being alone and isolated in eerie silence to realize how comforting it really was.

  My mind races, thinking about everything that happened over the last couple of days. From Vanya’s defection to Dima’s coldness to the absurdity of being kidnapped by my neighbor to stop me from being kidnapped by a ruthless mafia, who planned on torturing me and killing me if Vanya didn’t pay them.

  My life went from mundane to a dramatic crime movie.

  After an hour of tossing and turning, praying for noise to drown out the loudness in my head, I slip out of bed and tiptoe down the hall. Kirill’s door is still open, though the lights are off.

  “Kirya,” I whisper. I lean against the wall, wringing my hands and biting my lip, waiting for his answer. “Kirya!” I whisper again, louder this time.

  Still no answer.

  Who can sleep in this silence?

  As quickly and quietly as possible, I cross the floor and slip under the covers. Thankfully, his bed is large enough that I’m fairly undetectable. If I hug the edge and stay on my side, he won’t even know I’m here.

  Exhaustion covers me like a cloak, wearing me down and enveloping me in that lovely lull right before sleep takes over.

  My eyelids flutter.

  My heartbeat slows.

  The bed creaks.

  I open my eyes and swallow hard.

  Kirill wraps one arm around me and pulls me into his body. Despite never being in this position with him before, it feels familiar and safe. My back rests against his chest and the curve of my backside presses into his pelvis.

  “Everything okay, kotyonok?” he whispers, pulling me closer.

  The endearment makes me smile. It had to have been almost ten years ago when he told me I reminded him of a kitten.

  When I asked him why, he said I always curled up in the chair under the window that had the most sunlight come through. And when I was outside, I’d close my eyes and lift my face to the sun. After that, he’d meow at me whenever he saw me acting cat-like. Because Kirill has always been a leader, all the other kids started meowing at me as well.

  At the time, I didn’t think anything of him noticing my patterns, but hearing him call me kitten brings the memories flooding back.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was—” I pause, not wanting to admit my fear.

  “Scared?” His chest rises, halts for a beat, then falls slowly.

  I nod. “I’ve never slept in a room by myself before.”

  “You get used to it.” His voice is barely a whisper.

  I don’t want to get used to it. Not when being wrapped into his arms and pressed against his body feels so good.

  “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” I say. “I promise to use the beautiful room you have for me tomorrow.”

  “My bed is your bed, Stasya,” he says sleepily. “Anything I have is yours.”

  In this moment, everything is right. Tomorrow, I will face the consequences of my decision. Tonight, I relax to the sound of his heartbeat soothing me to slumber.

  9

  Stasya

  When I wake up, the space Kirill occupied last night is empty. The blankets are drawn back, sheets wrinkled where his body once lay. I didn’t wake up in an empty bed after falling asleep in his arms in countless teenage daydreams. Still, the proof of his presence feels like victory.

  Until I sit up and the euphoria quickly gives way to a painful headache. My body feels like a thousand pounds. Though I got a good amount of rest, I’m still groggy and tired.

  Being drugged by the man I’ve fantasized about my entire life isn’t the way I wanted to start off a courtship.

  Kirill and I are going to have to have a talk. If he thinks his mafia tricks are an acceptable way to treat someone he considers a friend, he’s about to have a fight on his hands. And this one will be right here on his turf.

  He made a comment about having to do it because he didn’t think I would go with him. If Kirill ran up to me on the streets of Moscow and told me a gang was in the car behind me, planning on kidnapping me, I think I would have trusted him enough to go with him without being drugged.

  I mean, as pathetic as it sounds, I probably would have gone with him when he told me he won me in a bet. If Papa thinks I’m so worthless, that he was willing to give me up in a card game, why wouldn’t I go? At least I’d be with a friend who respected me. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been angry or hurt, but it would have given me an out.

  And isn’t that what I’ve been looking for? Isn’t that the reason I was so desperate for Vanya to take me to
the United States if he ever got the chance to go?

  To get out of my situation.

  Vanya. My dear Vanya. I twist the green blanket on my lap. Despite my anger, I miss him terribly. Deep down in my heart, I know he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He might not have meant for it to happen, but it did and now I’m left trying to figure out if I can trust an old friend whose path took a drastic turn since we last met.

  Kirill’s life is the stuff nightmares are made of. Murder, violence, torture, but there’s no doubt he has power—and connections. Maybe he has a way to get me in contact with my brother. I just need to hear his voice. Hear that he’s okay.

  With a new mission, I slide out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom. Last night, I’d been too exhausted to notice all the small details in Kirill’s home. A single person living in a four-room apartment alone baffles my mind. It goes against everything I’ve ever known.

  If there is space, why are there so many people waiting for apartments from the government? Why doesn’t Kirill have other families living with him? At the very least, I thought his mother would live with him. She moved out of the room across from ours two years ago. If she isn’t with her son, where is she?

  When I turn on the light, various beautiful things catch my eye at once, shining like diamonds in a coal mine. The bathroom is stocked with anything a person could ever want. Fluffy white towels stacked on a shelf adorned with a vase of gorgeous lilacs.

  I pick up a bar of soap from the plastic dish on the sink and bring it to my nose. It smells like fresh lavender—my favorite scent. I clutch it in my hand, as if it will disappear when I turn my back to run the shower.

  Last night’s shower felt good because of how dirty and cold I was, but I was so tired and disoriented, I didn’t fully appreciate it. Today, the simple act is absolute heaven. As I rub the smooth, lavender soap over my skin, something hits me.