The Red kiss - A Dark Mafia Romance

CHAPTER ONE

MOSCOW,RUSSIA
(KIRILL : 16 YEARS, MAYA: 9 YEARS)
KIRILL'S POV

Amid Russia’s winter wonderland, a relentless icy spell had gripped the land, sending temperatures plunging to an unthinkable minus thirty degrees. The world around us was wrapped in layers, people cocooned like walking cabbages, shielding themselves from the cold. But there we were, my little sister Katrina and I, braving the chill with only our determination to keep us warm and alive.
As we trudged through the frozen streets, Katrina’s soft voice reached my ears.“старший брат, я голоден”, she whispered complaining about her hungry belly. At the reminder of food, My own stomach echoed her plea, but I gritted my teeth, steeling myself to be strong for her.
The enticing aroma from a nearby café teased my senses, whispering promises of warmth and nourishment filled in delicious bread and chocolate milk. My mind wandered to the idea of sneaking in to grab something for Katrina. Yet, I knew the risks; getting caught could lead to more troubles, they would give me a little beating which I’m not afraid of but if they called cops, I would be behind the bars, leaving my little sister alone in this unforgiving world. It was an unthinkable notion. My promise to our late father echoed in my mind, the vow to protect her burning within me.
Ensuring Katrina was wrapped securely in my black bomber jacket, I tenderly rubbed her cold hands in mine, hoping to transfer some warmth to her delicate fingers. My tattered gloves caught my eye, worn from countless battles against the biting cold. Without hesitation, I yanked them off and covered her tiny hands, providing whatever protection I could.
“Stay right here,” I whispered to Katrina, my breath forming ghostly wisps in the frigid air. Her weak nod tugged at my heart, and I managed a reassuring smile despite my chapped lips. I’d do anything to bring her comfort, sparing her from hunger and the harshness of winter. Even if I had to break the promise I gave to my mother to keep the promise I have given to my father.
With an unwavering spirit, I set off down the snow-covered street, plunging my hands into the inner pockets of my hoodie under the wool coat. Three thin layers offered me meagre protection from the biting cold, but my determination pushed me forward. Time was precious; I had to find something to sustain us before winter’s unforgiving grasp took its toll on our fragile bodies. In this frozen world, our bond, Katrina’s and mine, would serve as our guiding light, leading us through even the coldest of days.
The downtown street was busy and alive, echoing with thumping music that escaped through the thick walls like a hum from the converted warehouses, now serving as clubs and fighting arenas controlled by local gangs. Before me stood the gate, its neon sign shining brightly – the very place I once vowed not to enter, a promise I made to my mother.

Taking a deep breath in the chilly air, I stepped inside, knowing my purpose – to protect my sister using my skills. Three months had passed since I last set foot in this familiar building, yet the scene remained unchanged – a boisterous crowd cheering on the fighters enclosed within a cage-like arena, surrounded by loud music that acted as a backdrop to their enthusiastic yells, encouraging their favourite fighter to win.

My narrowed eyes focused on the two figures in the cage, and I couldn't help but smirk. Facing Luca, the school bully who had taunted me about my second-hand clothes and worn-out sneakers, was almost like a game. My parents made a living selling fish from the frozen lake; they were simple people, happy in their own world, grateful for every little thing they considered a blessing from God. Meanwhile, Luca was a rich and spoiled brat who found a liking for underground fighting and soaked in its thrill and fame. Well, before I beat the shit out of him.
I had proven my worth in the ring facing Luca after my classmates suggested I use my skills in underground fighting. They promised hefty pay, and they kept their word. Delighted with the money I earned; I showed it to my mother. She was an angel who valued morals above all else. She couldn't fathom that I earned that money through bloodshed, and she made me promise never to return to the downtown street, making me discard the tainted earnings in the lake. And I watched the money sink to the bottom. Of course, I missed the thrill and power I felt in the ring, but my mother's smile was worth it. Memories flooded my mind – bad replacing the good. My parents covered in their own blood, urging me to run with my sister far away, to stay out of the surroundings of our tiny yet beautiful home. If only my parents had been wealthier, they could have paid the Pakhan back in time, and they might still be alive. My sister and I wouldn't have to fear lurking dangers while struggling to find warmth and sustenance on the streets.
Anger surged through me, fuelling my determination to change our circumstances. I clenched my jaw, feeling adrenaline coursing through my veins. This time, I'll make things better – for my sister and me. I will not only fight but win any fucking war.
In the dimly lit room, I stood before the table where the names of the fighters were etched before sending them into arena. Viktor, the enigmatic figure who orchestrated these underground battles, spotted me right away. “Kirill! What a surprise!” he exclaimed, pulling me into an exuberant bro hug. Awkwardly, I hugged him back feeling out of my element with such physical displays of affection.

“You’ve come at the perfect time,” Viktor declared, nodding toward two  men seated in the front row. They were both Japanese, I could say that with their looks. Their inscrutable expressions were fixed on the fighters in the ring.

“Who are they?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

“The man in the white t-shirt is Kenji – Katashi Matsumoto’s right-hand man – the one in the black suit,” Viktor replied breathlessly, ending with a whistle that hinted at their power and influence.

Perplexed, I furrowed my brow and asked, “Who is Katashi Matsumoto?”

Viktor’s mouth fell open, as if I had demanded him to surrender his entire estate at gunpoint. His eyes widened, and he let out a humourless laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?” he retorted, taken aback that I was unaware of this notorious Japanese figure.

I shook my head, truly clueless, and he draped his arm over my shoulder. Despite his shorter height than me, there was an aura of strength about him, befitting someone in their late forties. He seems perfect person to run underground fights, it suits him.

“He is Yakuza, like a Pakhan in Russia; he’s the boss in Japan, and everything there runs under his care,” Viktor explained, though I winced at the mention of the word “Pakhan,” a reminder of the person

Observing the stoic Japanese men, I remarked, “They don’t seem like they’re enjoying the fight. What are they doing here?”

Viktor’s smile widened, as if he had won a jackpot. “Yakuza comes to our fight once a year, and the winner gets a chance to go to Japan and have their life changed,” he divulged, stoking my curiosity further.

“What does that mean?” I asked, glancing at Luca in the ring, who seemed destined for victory. Not today asshole, I’m here to beat you in a pulp and go back with money to feed my sister and find a place to stay tonight.

“He will train the winner in various forms of combat and techniques to kill; he takes pleasure in creating killing machines. And once he deems you are skilled and loyal enough, he sets you free,” Viktor revealed, and a smile crept across my face.

So, the winner will be taken to Japan and moulded into a powerful assassin – a killing machine. If I want to avenge my parents and eliminate the Pakhan, I need to become that person. “What if I win?” I inquired Viktor, anticipation buzzing through my veins.

“I have no doubt you’ll be the fortunate winner to accompany him tonight to japan. Brace yourself for a new beginning, kid,” Viktor said, patting my shoulder. I could already feel the electric surge of energy emanating from my body, eager to show the Yakuza that I am the one he’s been seeking.

Luca's face contorted with surprise and irritation when he laid eyes on me, geared up in shorts and punching gloves. He had been so confident in his victory tonight, little did he know I was coming to snatch his spot at the top. Time was of the essence; I couldn't afford to waste any. Even though the venue was warm with heaters, my concern lingered for my sister, huddled in a corner outside the café. I had made sure she was as warm as possible before stepping into this arena, but anxiety gnawed at me from within.

Nonetheless, I pushed those worries aside and focused on the task at hand. With my mouth guard in place, I entered the cage after Viktor's announcement that I would be facing Luca. The crowd, once chanting his name, now echoed with cheers for me, the "kill" they dubbed me after my last match. "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" they chanted, and I acknowledged their support with a triumphant gesture.

Before the bell rang, signalling the start of the fight, my eyes met the intense gaze of Yakuza, a formidable presence in the room, and his right-hand man, Kenji. A nod from me was met with Yakuza's stoic demeanour, while Kenji responded with a knowing smirk. I was well aware of the rules, as was Luca, who shot me a sour look.

"Heard your mommy and daddy died," he taunted, attempting to provoke a reaction. I understood his tactic; he wanted to throw me off my game. But I knew better than to fall for it. This fight was about endurance and strategy, not falling prey to emotional traps. I needed to conserve my energy by playing defensively, lasting as long as possible in the cage.

As the referee signalled the start, Luca bounced and stretched, taunting me to engage. I remained composed, smiling and winked at him, disregarding the mouth guard that proved more hindrance than help. Luca was already tired from his previous fight, even though he had taken the time to rest and prepare. My taunts fired back at him, further fuelling the crowd's support for me.
“Bet you would have been running home to hide under the bed if you knew I was going to fight tonight”. My words contained pure amusement. Pissing him off than he  already was.

Right falling into the trap Luca lunged, attempting to strike my ribs, but I deftly defended against his blows. The first round ended with no score, neither of us landing a decisive hit. The two-minute break passed quickly, and this time, I seized control. I couldn't leave my sister in the cold any longer.

I struck Luca's cheek with a powerful punch, leaving a bruise. Though he managed to defend against my subsequent attacks, the crowd's energy surged, and I channelled all my anger into each blow. Luca fell to his knees, spitting out his mouth guard, blood dripping. The bell signalled the end of the second round.

This was the final match, and Luca's friends attended to him, offering ice to rub on his injuries I blessed him with and he gulped a whole ass bottle of water. I gratefully drank the water Viktor handed me, knowing that victory was within reach. With determination, I faced Luca one last time.

I rushed at him, pinning him to the cage, and delivered relentless punches to his ribs. A crack resonated in the air, and I knew I had broken his ribs. As he knelt in pain, the crowd roared my name, victory pulsing through my veins. With a wide smile, I waved to the audience as the referee raised my hand, announcing me as the triumphant winner.

In that moment, as I stood victorious in the cage, I knew I had secured a new life for my sister and me in Japan. The journey ahead might be challenging, but I was prepared to face whatever came our way, knowing I had the strength and resolve to overcome it all.
In the opulent car, surrounded by my tattered clothes, I felt like a fish out of water. Yet, hope swelled in my heart for the promising days ahead. When the Yakuza offered me a trip to Japan, I bravely asked for a favour: to take my sister, Katrina, along. Fear gripped me, expecting a refusal, but to my surprise, he agreed, perhaps understanding that I couldn’t leave her alone in Russia. As the car pulled up to the café, I rushed to Katrina, who was seated right where I asked her to be, her eyes brimming with tears ached my heart. When she saw me, relief washed over her, and she rushed into my embrace. Worried sick about her well-being, I asked if she was hurt. Tearfully, she replied, “I thought something happened to you and you wouldn’t come back.”

Hugging her tightly, I kissed her cold forehead and assured her, “No, princess, I went to get money.” Her blue eyes, just like our mother’s, looked at me inquisitively. “Money? Then can we eat now? I’m really hungry,” she asked. I couldn’t help but smile at her innocence. “Yes, right now. Let’s grab something to eat and head home,” I replied. Her joyful smile made my heart ache, noticing blood from her chapped lips. Tenderly, I wiped her lips with my freezing hands, finally able to feed my little sister after three long days.