The Red kiss - A Dark Mafia Romance

chapter two

AFTER ONE YEAR
NAGISO, JAPAN
KIRILL’S POV (KIRILL: 17 YEARS, MAYA: 10 YEARS)

“Get the fuck up!” Kenji’s thunderous voice pierced through the haze that clouded my senses. Black and white dots danced before my eyes, and the metallic taste of blood coated my lips, evidence of the struggle I had endured. In the world of martial arts, there was this elusive technique called “breaking,” a skill that required channelling inner strength to focus on a single point and apply enough force to shatter objects in a single swift strike. While it sounded awe-inspiring, I had yet to master it. A year had passed since I began my training, but it felt like an eternity.

My sister, far away in Tokyo, was living a life I could never afford for her. A high class boarding school, a distant dream for our family. While she pursued her studies, I delved into the dark art of combat, learning countless ways to end a man’s life. I excelled in all other aspects, but the Master’s words echoed in my mind – breaking seemed to elude me. The only solace came to me was when the Yakuza praised my progress. The satisfaction of not disappointing him made me feel worthy, even if I had never witnessed his smile or genuine warmth. He was like a robot and so does he is making me into one. I am best in shooting, moving objects as well as targets far away, I am able to take down Kenji easily who was never defeated by anyone but master himself. I only suck in breaking.

I couldn’t fail again. If I faltered now, master would find out about my previous failed attempts, and I couldn’t bear the shame of meeting his gaze when he next visited.
“Get the fuck up! Kill!” Kenji’s urgency intensified, pushing me to clear my mind and focus. Darkness threatened to engulf me, but I refused to surrender.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and centred myself, feeling the world around me without relying on sight. The gentle sound of water dripping from a nearby tap, the rustling of grass in the farm, and the soothing song of birds, the flapping of their wings like a chores to their melodic humming became a symphony in my ears. The rush of breeze in my ears and the sound of water from the small fountain made out of bamboos everything highlighted my senses. I could even hear Kenji’s soft breathing beside sound of my racing heartbeat in my chest. It was liberating, as if my soul detached from my body, manipulating it like a mere puppet.

Drawing strength from my inner core, I harnessed the energy and struck down upon a layer of bricks with calculated precision. The power surged through me, flowing into each brick one by one until they split effortlessly into halves. There was no pain this time, just the euphoria of a breakthrough.

“You did it!” Kenji’s once-angry voice now held genuine joy for my achievement. Weakly, I managed to utter, “I did it,” before darkness consumed me.
In that moment, I knew the path ahead would be tough, but I had glimpsed my potential. With newfound determination, I vowed to rise above my failures and become the warrior I was destined to be, one brick at a time.

TOKYO, JAPAN
KIRILL’S POV (KIRILL: 26 YEARS, MAYA: 19 YEARS)
“Pakhan, welcome. Yakuza is waiting for your arrival,” said Kenji, a loyal member of my inner circle, as he greeted me at the ornate gate of the towering building that bore the Yakuza’s mark.
A wide grin spread across my face, the scars of my past battles etched deep into my skin, a testament to the years of violence and hardship that had shaped me. Kenji himself, with his youthful appearance and unwavering loyalty, served as a reminder of the unforgiving passage of time. The Asian genes that flowed through his veins seemed to defy age itself.
It had been six long years since I last set foot in Japan, having completed my rigorous training and served the Yakuza faithfully for two years. A mere nineteen-year-old who willingly stepped into a world of shadows and bloodshed, tasked with eliminating those marked for death by the Yakuza.
Countless lives ended by my hand, my soul becoming entangled in a web of darkness. Every life I took with my hands clipped my soul little by little, making me a deity of darkness. When the Yakuza deemed it enough, I was granted freedom. Returning to Russia, I found myself faced with no different path—a path that led to power and control. Specially vengeance. I killed former Pakhan with my bare hands feeling his soul slipping between my rough fingers as he choked to death. I made a example out of him. All his pawns accepted me very next moment but I wanted loyalty.
As I ascended to the throne of the mafia world. My rule was nothing like the one before me. While the former Pakhan had ruled with an iron fist, keeping his men underpaid and oppressed, I sought to foster a sense of loyalty and respect among those who followed me.
Generosity became my weapon of choice. I cared for the families of those in my ranks, offering them security, education, and prosperity. In return, their devotion to me knew no bounds. They would willingly lay down their lives, knowing their loved ones would be cared for in their absence.
The world cowered in fear of me, knowing the blood path I laid for Yakuza as his deadly instrument. Now I was no longer a controlled weapon, I became a fierce and untamed force, a wild animal unleashed upon the world. The scent of blood and the taste of fear were my sustenance, driving me forward like an addict in search of a constant fix.
To those who dared to challenge me, I was a nightmare personified—a relentless hunter whose thirst for power and vengeance knew no bounds. The oxygen of my existence was the fear I instilled in others, their terror fuelling the fire that burned within me. Calming the monster in me who craved blood and power.
Respect, loyalty and fear – I wielded them all like weapons, and they were my tools to shape the world around me. The mere mention of my name sent shivers down the spines, and my reputation preceded me.
For all I am today is because of Yakuza. No matter the darkness surrounded him and lured me one making me a shadow of dark world, he was light in my life. I will be forever grateful for the way he changed mine and my sister’s life.

The chopper blades whirred to life behind me as my underboss, Anton Ivanov, made a commanding gesture for them to take off. Once started walking towards the mansion with Anton behind me, I couldn’t help but find amusement in how his sharp eyes darted around, scanning for potential threats. It was endearing, really, that he remained so vigilant, even though he knew no harm could befall a single hair in the territory of the Yakuza, especially not to his loved ones.

“You know, you can relax here, right?” I remarked playfully as we passed guards who respectfully bowed to me. But Anton’s expression soured, as though I had cracked a joke in poor taste. He retorted with a slightly twisted face, “You shouldn’t be so nonchalant when you’re suddenly summoned in the midst of a meeting. It could be a trap.”

Suppressing a sigh, I pressed my lips together, realizing that explaining to him my instincts would have detected any danger from miles away was a futile endeavour. Instead, I diverted my attention to a notification that pinged on my phone, hidden within the folds of my suit pocket. The text on the screen from Katrina almost elicited an eye roll from me, but I managed to maintain composure.


Little Sister: Did you reach Tokyo? Please don’t forget to buy me those red bean paste mochi. I want five packs of them🤤, you can send them via private jet, I heard Anton is coming with you to Italy next month
Crafting a swift response, I glanced behind me, observing someone carrying boxes into the mansion. “Someone moving in?” Anton inquired, seeking answers from Kenji, who responded with a simple nod, withholding further information. I shot Anton a look, silently urging him not to pry, and thankfully, he stayed quiet. I proceeded to enter the Yakuza’s office, leaving Anton with Kenji for company.

“Yakuza,” I addressed the Yakuza respectfully, offering a slight bow of my head. He smiled warmly and took a seat, gesturing for me to do the same before him. Through my training years, he had regarded me as more than just a student, treating me like family and even allowing me and my sister to call him “Uncle.” He had never married or had children, and in some way, we had become the closest thing to family for him. Taking us under his wing, considering us akin to his own kin.

“I consider you to have been nearby, given your swift response to my request,” he remarked with joy twinkling in his eyes. It had been years since we last met, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me again.

“Yes, I was in Korea, meeting a weapon dealer,” I replied, smiling back at him before indulging in a mochi, savouring its unique blend of umami, bitterness, and semi-sweetness, followed by the refreshing taste of vanilla ice cream.

As I reached for another mochi, I remarked, “This will always be my favourite,” earning a fond smile from the Yakuza leader. However, the pleasant atmosphere shifted as he cleared his throat, indicating a more serious matter at hand.

“I wanted to warn you about something in person,” he began, prompting me to furrow my brow in curiosity. Why would he need to warn me? I was confident in my ability to take down anyone foolish enough to surprise me with their feeble attack.

“There is a hit on you,” he revealed, and a chuckle involuntarily escaped my lips, causing me to throw my head back. “You seriously thought I didn’t know about it?” I questioned with a smirk, while in numerous names of the people who wanted me dead crossed my mind. “Dead or alive, preferably dead, that’s how they want me”, I said. But the Yakuza leader shook his head, his expression serious as he spoke firmly.

“What you don’t know is, this hit was placed by the government itself,” he disclosed, and my amusement faded, replaced by a sense of intrigue. I had never considered that a government entity would be after me. My operations were meticulous, leaving no traces for law enforcement to follow me sniffing like dogs. People knew me as a multi billionaire  entrepreneur with a legitimate import-export business, unaware of the clandestine dealings hidden beneath my empire’s façade. I ensured that the illegal money I made was laundered through my legitimate business.

“Americans?” I inquired, skeptical that the U.S. government would be behind such a plot, given my influence over Russian and Italian law enforcement agencies, basically those cops are under my payroll which is three times bigger money than what they get paid working for their country’s government. My dealings with Italian mobs had been profitable – for both parties and I had fostered a secure weapon transport route from Afghanistan for them.

“Exactly. Intelligence suggests they are planning an attack on you next month,” he revealed, and a wicked smile crept onto my lips. “Don’t worry,” I assured him with a calm and deadly demeanour, “I will relish dismantling their misguided beliefs that they can take me down.” The predator in me could already sense the thrill of the impending hunt, the calmness settling over me, alike to the eerie silence that befalls around a hungry predator before hunting it’s prey.