The Red kiss - A Dark Mafia Romance

chapter four

KIRILL’S POV (KIRILL: 26 MAYA:19)
"Pakhan, your fiancée is waiting for you in your office, I tried to stop her but she...", As Natasha’s urgent words reached my ears, a cold rage surged within me, cutting her off mid-sentence. Without a moment’s hesitation, I stormed towards my office, my long strides fuelled by a determination I couldn’t quell. The mere thought of her waiting there, an unwelcome presence in my realm of power, made my blood boil.
Laura Anderson was just a pawn in this twisted game of alliances and deceit, and I knew she would meet her end at my hands one day. Three months ago, I got engaged to her, not out of love, but as a calculated move to strengthen ties with the formidable cartel. A dark and ominous force dealing in drugs and shadowy trades. Aligning myself with them was a necessary evil, for it meant a chance to stifle the drug smuggling that plagued my city, a place I vowed to protect from such depravity. Especially with the FBI giving a hit on me which Yakuza informed few hours ago.
In the depths of my heart, I condemned human trafficking and the drug trade. My home was no place for such vices, and I intended to cleanse it of these sins, even if it meant making Faustian bargains.
The Ukrainian situation weighed heavy on my mind, an unsolvable riddle with media and government entanglements. The higher-ups I keep in my pockets pleaded for mercy in their dealings with that land, and for now, I obliged, focusing on other pursuits.
My fiancée was nothing more than a pawn to manipulate, her fate already sealed. As the days passed, her presence grated on my nerves, a reminder of the impending end she was destined to meet. The plan was set – a staged mourning period to deceive others and secure my control over the cartel as well.
In moments of dark temptation, I entertained the idea of pushing her into the frozen lake, letting nature take its course, but I resisted. The timing had to be perfect, her death strategically executed to serve my greater purpose.
“What the fuck you are doing in my office?”, I snap losing my patience. Frustration surges through me after enduring the lengthy journey, yearning for some well – deserved rest. Her curly brown hair bounces when she turns her head behind looking me standing at the door. A slutty smile spreads on her face and she lowers her gaze in a shy smile which screams fake. I bet if I ask her she will get down on her knees and suck my dick like a whore she is. There is no secret that the Chicago mafia princess is slut, she even fucks her bodyguards.
"I travelled all the way from Mexico to see you, and this is how you greet me?" she pouts, voicing her disappointment. Controlling my temper, I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to lose my cool. "Leave," I calmly command, opening my eyes. Her lips curl into a defiant smile, challenging my authority. "What if I refuse?" she teases, biting her lip seductively. My internal response is a nothing but repulsion. I knew that engaging in any intimate encounter with her would be unwise. So I never initiated something with her and seeing her try made me shudder internally in disgust, I would have fucked her, she is pretty but I don’t want my dick anywhere close to that God knows whatever diseases she is carrying.
“Then you will leave in a body bag,” I stated with a chilling calmness, the truthfulness in my words hanging heavily in the air. In response, she rose abruptly, the chair clattering to the ground behind her as she advanced toward me. When there is good few inches distance between our bodies with her finger pointed at me, she declared, “You can’t talk to me like that; I’m going to be your wife.”
I couldn’t help but smirk and replied, “But you aren’t, yet.” A touch of amusement in my words which I know would get on her nerves.
After the words tumbled from my lips, I moved with a casual grace towards the imposing black oak table, the weight of authority evident in each step. Taking my seat, I locked eyes with her, her gaze ablaze with anger and frustration. Unfazed by her fiery glare, I tilted my head ever so slightly, a silent command echoing in the air.

"So if this is clear," I drawled, a hint of amusement dancing in my voice, "it's time for you to make your exit." The message was crystal clear, and my tone made it evident that I wasn't to be trifled with. She hesitated for a moment, torn between defiance and submission, but my resolve was unwavering.

Her jaw clenched in frustration, she begrudgingly turned away, her fiery eyes still locked onto mine. If she is smart enough to stay alive in mafia world for this long she should have known better than to test my patience now. With her final venom filled voice she said, “you will regret this”. I merely scoffed in response, her futile warnings never effected me. As she stormed out, her high heels clicking loudly on the floor, I couldn't help but marvel at how her dress seemed to defy the freezing Russian weather. It was 25 degrees, yet she appeared impervious to the cold. Jesus how I wish this bitch froze to death on her way back wherever the fuck she is going.

As I was checking emails, Anton rushed into my office, his face tense with worry, he shared the grim news, “Pakhan, one of our warehouses was raided.” I sighed, fatigued from days of continuous travel for meetings, wishing I could have some respite. The nap on my private jet from Japan to Russia barely rejuvenated me. The burdens of being a Pakhan demanded constant vigilance.
Tiredly, I inquired, “Let me guess, FBI?” Anton nodded, confirming my suspicion. “We need to act quickly,” I asserted, contemplating the situation. “Tell Draco to assemble twenty guards and head to the raided warehouse. We’ll confront this head-on.”
Anton nods solemnly and asks, “what about the other warehouses?” Loading my Glock I nod my head as I tell, “Yes, mobilize extra guards to protect our other warehouses, preventing any further damage beyond what they’ve already caused.”
Anton nods and calls someone barking orders at them. My hand went to my gun holster, feeling the weight of responsibility, as I secured my trusty Glock 19. I knew there was no time for rest, for being a Pakhan came with its own price – a price I was willing to pay to protect what was mine.
As we arrived at the warehouse, the scene resembled a chaotic symphony orchestrated by the sirens’ blaring wails and the flashing lights painting the night with an eerie glow. The cops were like intruders in a forbidden world, their cars scattered across my property, mirroring the shattered order in their attempted raid. My men moved like shadows, encircling the place with calculated precision, tightening the noose around the unsuspecting officers, all of them oblivious to the imminent danger they faced.

Among them, there was no woman, for even in my world of darkness and ruthlessness, there were boundaries I chose not to cross. But sympathy was a luxury I couldn’t afford. These officers had stepped onto my domain, uninvited, and they would pay the price for their audacity.

As I stood there, watching the scene unfold, a mix of anger and amusement coursed through me. They had ventured into the heart of my empire, thinking they could bring me down. Little did they know that this was my fortress, and I was the king of this realm, a force they couldn’t fathom nor withstand. In the dimly lit warehouse, the figure I presumed to be the head of the mission stepped forward with an air of misplaced authority. I towered over the FBI officer, my posture unwavering, and my gaze fixated on him, like a predator observing its prey. His meticulously styled blond hair with gel made him look like the epitome of a cocky agent, believing the badge on his chest granted him ultimate power. But arrogance had no place in my world, especially not on my own territory.
"Mr. Fedorov," he sneered, his voice laced with a pretentious sense of authority, "we have discovered drugs and weapons concealed within your warehouse, much as our intel had forewarned. Our purpose here is to apprehend you and shut down all of your warehouses. You should be well aware that anything you say from this point onward will be held against you. So I suggest you to maintain silence."
He brazenly accused me of drugs and weapons, as if they had uncovered some great secret. Its true I don’t let people cash drugs on my land but I do cash by exporting the said poison from place to place. Looking at the officer, I simply chuckled at the audacity of his words. In his mind, he thought he held all the cards, but little did he realize that this was my domain, my empire. And on my "fucking land," his badge meant nothing.
The officer attempted to bring the handcuffs toward me, but my loyal Underboss, swift and unyielding, stepped in, intercepting the gesture with ease. Anton’s voice echoed with an intimidating snarl, a chilling reminder that he was the loyal guard of Fedorov’s empire. “You had no right to set foot on Fedorov’s sacred ground, let alone attempt to slap handcuffs on the Pakhan,” he growled. The officers’ eyes widened, their nerves betraying them for a moment as they exchanged uncertain glances. Desperate to back up their leader and reclaim their misplaced confidence, they instinctively took a step forward. But their feeble attempt at showing strength only elicited a sly smirk from me, for they had no idea what they were up against.
The officer's name, Mathew D'Souza, was displayed on his badge, and I couldn't help but find amusement in the futile attempt of this fool to arrest me.
“You never truly knew who you were tangling your sorry lives with,” I uttered with a voice as sharp as a dagger, my eyes locking onto his like a predator honing in on its prey. His throat bobbed nervously as he attempted to maintain composure, but I could sense the fear lurking beneath the surface. “Running an illicit empire, orchestrating dark deeds,” he continued, his words dripping with crumbling authority, “You stand accused, Mr. Fedorov.” To my surprise, the little imp had the audacity to speak that, his voice betraying an ounce of bravery. Amused with his courage, I smirk and tell, “Your courage is commendable but alas, it won’t save you from your fate”.
With a subtle gesture, my hand ascended, and like a synchronized dance, my loyal comrades sprung into action, their gunfire erupting like thunderous applause in the night. The uniformed figures of authority, once stern and imposing, crumbled like birds with their wings severed. As if an invisible force had swept through the ranks, the officers who had shielded Mathew were now strewn upon the ground, their bodies surrendering to gravity like lifeless avian creatures plummeting from the sky.
Among them stood Mathew, a man whose fate had been decided by the puppeteer’s strings that I tugged from the shadows. As his protectors succumbed to the orchestrated chaos, he found himself standing alone, vulnerable against the backdrop of violence. In a heartbeat, shock and disbelief etched across his features, a fleeting prelude to the storm that was about to consume him.

With adrenaline-fueled desperation, Mathew’s survival instincts kicked in. He lunged towards me, his fingers gripping a cold, unforgiving instrument of death. The metallic glint of the gun’s barrel matched the fire in his eyes as he sought vengeance in the midst of the chaos.
Yet, I was a creature of unpredictability, a mastermind who painted with chaos as my canvas. The dance of fate had already been choreographed, the steps leading to an outcome known only to me. As Mathew closed the distance between us, his steps fraught with determination, I remained a statue of calculated calm. As he lunged, time resumed its steady cadence, and instinct guided my movements. A sidestep, a deft twist, and suddenly his intended target shifted. The deafening report of his firearm echoed through the air, the bullet whistling past me like a disgruntled ghost.
A smile, dark and mysterious, played upon my lips as I met Mathew’s gaze. Gripping the cold metal of the gun, I felt its weight and power in my hand, a tangible extension of my intent. My finger hovered delicately over the trigger, a connection between life and death awaiting my command. With a fluid, calculated motion, I unleashed a single shot that shattered the stillness, the bullet finding its mark on his outstretched palm, the very hand that clutched his own weapon. It was a precision that spoke of control, a measured warning in the form of pain.

I had offered him a slim chance, a fraction of a moment to make a choice, yet he faltered, unable to grasp the opportunity as it slipped through his fingers like sand. The irony was palpable; he held power, but he couldn't wield it effectively. A chilling smile curled on my lips, a sinister reflection of the energy shifting around him. Vengeance, once fiery and defiant, was now eclipsed by the creeping tendrils of fear.

Another round cracked the air, the gunshot reverberating with a kind of poetic justice as it struck his other hand, further stripping him of his ability to harm. Two more shots followed, each finding their mark on his knees, a calculated strategy to dismantle his mobility and render him helpless. No longer capable of walking or raising his hands in aggression, he became a puppet ensnared by his own vulnerabilities.

A symphony of agony erupted from his lips, an anguished howl that echoed through the air, reverberating with the sting of powerlessness. His cries, once shrill with defiance, now carried the undertones of defeat, a cacophony that seemed to punctuate his descent into vulnerability.

Tears mingled with the sweat on his face, his mask of bravado shattered, revealing the raw core of his humanity. The very fabric of his being seemed to unravel, exposing the fragility beneath the surface. He was stripped of his bravado, left exposed like a wounded animal, robbed of his ferocity and reduced to vulnerability.

A twisted grin danced upon my lips, the taste of sadistic satisfaction mingling with the metallic tang of gunpowder in the air. In a different scenario, I might have revelled in the prospect of drawing out his torment, relishing the drawn-out crescendo of his suffering in the shadows of a forgotten warehouse. But he lacked the spark, the fire that might have made him a worthy adversary.
"Anton," I uttered, my voice a cool breeze that cut through the tense air, my gaze locked with a mixture of challenge and calculation into the depths of Mathew's eyes. A silence hung heavy, pregnant with the weight of impending choices. "Dispose of all these lifeless кобель," I commanded, a casual wave of my hand encompassing the strewn bodies that lay like discarded playthings. Then, with a measured nod towards the pretty blond boy among them, a sinister grin curled my lips. "As for him," I continued, my tone dripping with a venomous cruelty that seemed to freeze the very atmosphere, "ensure he remains breathing for now. Let his life unravel, thread by thread, in the icy embrace of a Russian lake's frigid waters."

Mathew's façade crumbled, his complexion draining of colour as the implications of my words set in like a relentless chill. Beside him, Anton's grin grew, a twisted expression of malevolence that promised the grim enjoyment of this dark task. I knew him well enough; this was the kind of macabre performance that would fuel his sinister desires.
"He should know what happens to someone who tries to point their Glock at me."
With that anticipating the impending symphony of torment, I turned on my heel. My steps led me to the waiting armoured SUV, its cold metal exterior a stark juxtaposition to the raging tempest within. Climbing inside, I let the engine's hum wash over me, a comforting lullaby of power and control.
Amidst the constant hum of the vehicle, its engine’s soothing cadence a rhythmic backdrop to my thoughts, I allowed the fragments of the night to unfold within the theatre of my mind. Each scene, each decision, was a brushstroke in the painting of power I had crafted, an art of manipulation and consequence. The symphony of past actions and future possibilities resonated within me, leaving me with a sense of both contentment and insatiable appetite.

As the miles stretched out beneath the tires, the mansion loomed like a sentinel on the horizon, a sanctuary that beckoned with the promise of respite. The notion of deserved rest nestled comfortably within me, a rare indulgence earned through calculated risks and unwavering resolve. The night had etched its tale into my consciousness, and now it was time to embrace the quietude of the manor, to let the orchestrations of power recede into the background for a while.

With an imperceptible nod to the shadows, I guided the vehicle through the gates and along the meandering path that led to the mansion’s grand entrance. The imposing architecture greeted me like an old friend, its regal façade a testament to the empire I had meticulously constructed. The engine’s purr dwindled to a hush as the vehicle came to a graceful halt, and I stepped out onto the smooth cobblestone path, the cool night air a burning caress against my skin.

Crossing the threshold, I was enveloped by the mansion’s opulent interior, a symphony of luxury and solitude. The flicker of dim lights danced across polished surfaces, casting ephemeral shadows that whispered secrets only I could understand. It was a haven where the outside world’s chaos surrendered to my sovereignty, a sanctuary where I could finally shed the weight of the night's orchestrations.

With measured steps, I ascended the grand staircase, each footfall echoing like a metronome marking the passage of time. The spacious bedroom awaited, a realm of plush comfort and privacy.
Stripping my clothes I took a warm shower then sank under the covers of warmness on my bed, a satisfied smile tugged at my lips. I closed my eyes, ready to savour the rewards of my calculated dance with the shadows – a well-deserved rest that would fuel the fires of ambition anew.