SAINTS: Saints and Sinners Duet Book 1

by Henry, Sophia

  We’ve just started to talk about the newest designs when Igor bursts into the room, surprising all of us.

  “Rybakov!” he yells. “Antonov wants you in the Tearoom you now.”

  Slava rushes to the door but pauses uncharacteristically before he leaves. Concern creases his forehead as his head swivels from me to Igor. I understand his hesitation immediately. The conversation Kirill and Slava had about not leaving me alone with Igor is always in the back of my head. Since I’ve never been alone with him, I assume that’s still the rule.

  I nod, giving Slava permission to go and tend to whatever Kirill needs. It’s not like I’m alone with Igor; I’m in a room full of people.

  Igor must notice the exchange because he scowls. “Don’t worry, Slava. I always have Stasya’s best interest in mind.”

  My stomach tightens into knots when Slava disappears. While still keeping my guard up, I return to my conversation with Yelena.

  Igor flicks through a rack of clothing that’s ready to be sold. “Looks nice, Stasya.”

  “Thank you,” I reply trying to sound gracious rather than nervous.

  “How’s your brother doing?”

  My head snaps up, suspicious of his intentions.

  Igor and I have never had a conversation. We’ve been in a group of others talking to each other, but we’ve never spoken one on one. If Kirill doesn’t trust him around me, that’s my cue to stay cautious and not interact too much with him.

  “I’m sure he’s doing fine,” I say. “I haven’t spoken to him in months.”

  My relationship with Vanya is almost nonexistent right now. Though I’ve tried to reach him a few times, he hasn’t returned my calls. I wonder if he’s too embarrassed or feels too guilty to speak with me. Or maybe he’s just too busy living his new life. Someday we’ll be face to face again and we can talk it out. Maybe he’ll realize I’m not angry with him, though I am hurt at being ignored.

  Igor picks up a dress, inspects it, then places it on the rack again. He glances at me. “Don’t you think it’s weird that Kirill planned your brother’s entire defection, yet he hasn’t gotten you to America yet?”

  “What?” My jaw tightens as I narrow my eyes at him.

  He can’t be serious. Kirill would have told me if that were true. This must be his way of trying to drive a wedge between us.

  “It’s funny because he says he cares about you, yes?” He looks at me for confirmation. “If I had a woman I cared about, my first priority would be getting her out of Russia not her brother.”

  I jump up so fast my chair falls to the ground. Not one head in the room looks up, which says a lot about what these people live through every day.

  “Did you not know?” Igor asks. “I thought you and your brother were this close.” He crosses his middle finger over his index finger. “Hell, I thought you and Kirill were even closer.”

  His condescending tone makes my blood boil. I can’t listen anymore. Without a word of explanation to him or Yelena, I bolt out and sprint to the Tearoom.

  Kirill looks up calmly, as if he’s unsurprised to see me. “Can I help you?”

  “We need to talk,” I demand. My chest heaves, fueled by adrenaline and anger.

  “I’m busy right now, but I can meet you in a half hour.”

  “No, Kirill Konstantinovich. You will speak with me now.” Rage rumbles in my stomach.

  Kirill glares at me. He’s probably ticked off because I’m making him look bad in front of his business associates, but I couldn’t care less.

  Finally, he excuses himself and scoots his chair back. He stalks toward me quickly, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the Tearoom. His face is twisted in anger. Just as he’s about to speak, I interrupt him.

  “Did you help Vanya get to America?”

  The color drains from his face. Anger morphs to guilt. “I did.”

  “You didn’t think to take me with him?”

  “No, I didn’t. Neither one of us did. It was an extremely tense situation.”

  The truth cuts into my soul. The two men closest to me. The two men who knew what I’d lived through with Papa. The two men who knew the only thing I ever wanted was to get away. And neither one of them thought of me at all.

  Kirill glances at his associates. “No offense, Stasya, but helping an officer in the Scarlet Army defect is hard enough without having another person to worry about while doing it.”

  I raise my hands, palms up in exasperation. “What about after? Why didn’t you send me to the United States to be with him?”

  He lowers his tone, speaking softer as if explaining to a child. “Because I can’t protect you in the United States.”

  “I wouldn’t have needed protection there.” My fists tighten at my side.

  He snorts. “You don’t think the mafia is there? You don’t think they would have done the same thing there as they would have done here?”

  Anger burns in my throat. “All this time, I thought you were a saint. But you aren’t. You are a selfish man, Kirill Konstantinovich.”

  I turn around, run out the door and up the stairs, and don’t stop until I’m lost in the sea of people in the marketplace.

  It’s while I’m surrounded by shoppers that I realize I’m completely alone for the first time in almost a year. No one watching me. No protection. Just freedom.

  A freedom I had in oppressive, communist Russia before my brother defected. Was my life really so bad? Is having better food and finer clothes worth the freedom I had? Back when I could still take the metro by myself and go dancing with Svetlana without someone lurking in the shadows.

  I move with the crowd without having a destination in mind. That’s when I see him.

  The man with the razor blade smile.

  He’s walking the aisles, spitting sunflower seeds at the feet of people passing by, like he does every time I see him.

  Though I don’t know him, I know enough to be on alert because he’s not one of Kirill’s men. Instead of letting the crowd carry me along, I elbow and jostle my way through, cutting a right at the aisle where my booth sits empty, waiting for me to fill it with clothes.

  Just as I’m about to duck behind the barrier at the back of the booth, someone grabs my arm and jerks me closer to them. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Take your hands off me,” I growl in response. I have to force myself to not be intimidated, though his face is scary.

  “You must pay to be at this booth.”

  “I did pay.”

  He squeezes my arm, tightening his grip to the point of pain. “Maybe you didn’t pay the right people.”

  “Are you implying Kirill Antonov doesn’t know the right people to pay?”

  He scowls, but loosens his grip slightly. “What do you know about Kirill Antonov?”

  “I know enough. I am his wife,” I say indignantly.

  Maybe it’s a lie right now, but I will be his wife someday. If being known as his girlfriend tells people they are to respect me, being his wife must be a completely different level. This repulsive thug needs to know who he’s dealing with.

  “His wife?” he sneers. “Well, that is interesting information.”

  “Now take your hands off me before—” He releases me before I finish my sentence.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he teeters from heels to toes nonchalantly. “So,” he begins, looking around with a lazy smile before leaning closer, “where is Kirill?”

  His sudden, relaxed state puts me on alert.

  “Right over there,” I say firmly, pointing to an area behind him. When he turns around, I take off the other way, knocking down an old woman in my haste. I don’t stop—or even look—to see if she’s okay.

  This is freedom.

  I run directly into a broad chest and stagger back a bit, as if running into a brick wall. I stagger back as if bouncing off a brick wall. Grimacing, I rub my chin, which was the first thing to hit.

  “That was stupid,” Kirill says calmly.r />
  “Which part? Running away or running into you?”

  “I think we both know the answer.” Placing his hand on the small of my back, he leads me through the pack. We’re headed toward the parking lot though, not a stairway to the basement.

  Slava sits in the BMW, waiting at the edge of the crowd. As we climb in to the car, Kirill asks, “Why are you shaking?”

  “I had a run-in with the man who can’t stop smiling.”

  “The man who—” Kirill looks confused.

  “The Georgian,” Slava interjects, glancing at the rearview mirror.

  “Is that his name or where he’s from? I assumed he’d be called something like The Joker.”

  Kirill grabs my hands, bringing me back to the topic. “What kind of run-in?”

  “I was at my booth, and he grabbed me and told me I had to pay to be there. So, I told him you know the rules and that I’m your wife.”

  “What was that last part?”

  “I said I was your wife,” I repeat quietly, since that seems to have upset him. “I’m sorry, Kirya. I just—” I lower my head and gaze at our hands joined in my lap. “When people find out I’m your girlfriend, they give me respect. I thought he would leave me alone if he thought I was your wife.”

  Kirill releases me and rubs his face with both hands. He keeps them over his mouth, and blows out a stream of air.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  He shakes his head to regain his composure, then touches my cheek. “Nothing, my love. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He and Slava are uncharacteristically silent the rest of the way home. It’s unnerving and I can’t help but think he’s trying to make me feel better, because the tension in the air certainly feels like I fucked up.

  23

  Kirill

  Slava steps into damage control immediately, stomping the flames of the rumor that I’m married that’s spread like wildfire through the criminal community. The best thing I can do right now is keep my distance from Stasya. The less I’m seen with her, the better.

  Now, instead of rushing to get home from my meetings outside Moscow, I stay longer or drive slower. Every second away from her makes me miss her even more.

  But staying away isn’t enough and no matter what I do, I still don’t know how to correct the situation. The one person I’ve been avoiding since the day I took Stasya into my home is the one person who can help me in this situation. The longer I go without calling him, the more danger I put the love of my life in.

  I’m sitting on the hard, uncomfortable mattress in an overpriced Leningrad hotel, staring at the phone on the nightstand. My knee bounces up and down as my nerves take control.

  “Come on, Kirill, man the fuck up,” I scold myself out loud. Voicing the command gives me courage to lift the handset and dial my uncle’s number.

  Viktor answers on the third ring. “I’m listening.”

  “I fucked up,” I admit, instead of greeting him.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “Stasya got into it with a guy from Sobakin’s crew at Cherikovsky. She told him she was my wife. Now everything is fucked.”

  “Your wife?” Viktor’s voice booms. “Kirill Konstantinovich, are you married?”

  I rub my forehead with my fingers and close my eyes. “No, but—” My hesitation tells him all he needs to know. According to the State, we may not be married, but we are in my heart and soul.

  “When you began this life, I explained vory code to you for many reasons. Though I never required you to live by them, I expected you to respect the rules. Especially the ones pertaining to loved ones. You know how much I’ve feared for my parents, you, and your mother my entire life. You witnessed the lengths I took to keep all of you safe, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In taking Miss Kravtsova as your life partner, you chose yourself over her. And that selfishness puts her in grave danger.” He pauses. “You’ve made her fucking target number one now.”

  He’s right. Bringing Stasya into my life was the biggest mistake I could ever make. If I had been thinking about her best interests instead of my own, I should have sent her to America with Vanya and stayed away. Slava would have hopped on the first plane without a second thought if I’d asked him to go to America to protect the Kravtsov twins.

  “You let your own desires dictate your decisions, which is a strength when it comes to business, but not when it comes to an innocent woman’s heart.”

  “I didn’t intend for it to happen,” I say, but as the words hit the air, I hear the lie.

  There’s a reason pride is a cardinal sin. It blinded me to reason. I ignored everything I knew, and thought I could defy the odds and keep her safe by having her close.

  “You know what you have to do, Kirya.” Victor’s voice is softer now. “If you truly love Stasya, you must stay away from her.”

  I lift my eyes to the ceiling and take a deep breath. “Will you help me?”

  24

  Kirill

  January 1991 - Moscow

  It’s been one week since Viktor and I spoke, and the plan to get Stasya out of Russia is already set. When I told Slava, he had the same reaction I did when my uncle told me where we were placing her.

  “You’re sending her to Morozov? The only other guy she’s fucked?” Slava asks. “Why wouldn’t she live with Vanya?”

  “Because that’s the first place Sobakin will check. It’s leading her right to the slaughter.”

  “Yeah, well, you might be doing that here. Drago said Stasya is all they’re talking about. They know taking her out is the best way to get rid of you. They think you’ll blow your own brains out if she’s dead.”

  I laughed, but it wasn’t far from the truth.

  If anything happened to Stasya, I wouldn’t want to live another day.

  I never planned on ever keeping a secret this big from her. Then again, I never expected to have to send her out of my life forever either. The guilt has been weighing on me and I know she can feel it. In keeping my distance, she fears for our relationship. But staying away from her is the only way to keep quiet.

  I can’t tell her about the plan to move her to America. She’d refuse to go. She may even do something completely insane, like chain herself to a cross on top of an onion dome on St. Basil’s Cathedral. There’s a greater chance of everything not going according to plan if she knows.

  It feels like I’m helping Vanya escape all over again. The entire trip is planned to the very last detail. I’ve been ticking things off my list mentally. Slava and Drago know exactly what to do. Her travel documents are set. I’ve already shipped a box of things to her new residence so they’ll be there when she arrives. There’s a black backpack loaded with clothes and toiletries she’ll need for the flight in the trunk of the car.

  The only thing left to do is kiss my love goodbye.

  * * *

  On the morning of her flight, I wake her in her favorite way—with my cock sliding into her pussy. She reacts the same way every time I press myself into her ass, wiggling and grinding into me. That’s how I know she’s awake and ready to accept me. She’s always ready to accept me.

  I reach between us, line up my cock, and push into her.

  She sighs.

  My arm snakes around her stomach, bringing her as close as possible, and I press my lips to her neck. I breathe in deeply, memorizing her sweet scent of lavender and sweat from the sex we had last night. I’m going to miss everything about her.

  Every. Fucking. Thing.

  My fingers move to her clit, rubbing it as I keep up my slow, rhythmic thrusts. She moans and presses into me, her breath catching as I move faster. Four fingers up and down then two fingers in circles—switching it up in the cadence she loves until she explodes all over me.

  Kissing her shoulder, I slide out of her and out of bed, giving her time to enjoy the orgasm in her sleepy haze. I go to the bathroom to clean up before making my way to the kitchen to make her breakfast.


  Stasya shuffles in about a half hour later, wearing my favorite outfit: disheveled sex hair and one of my white button-down shirts.

  “Do you have any plans today?” I ask, scooping a soft-boiled egg out of the saucepan and delicately placing it into an egg holder.

  She stretches her arms above her head, giving me full view of her naked body. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, Kirya!” she says after a yawn. “I think we should spend the day in bed.”

  She sits at the kitchen table, folding one leg under her. I let my gaze linger, taking in the curve of her neck and the way she always seems to glow in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  “Not today, my love! I have a surprise.” I bring her breakfast to the table and hand her a spoon. She accepts it while lifting a piece of buttered rye from a plate of toast in front of her, as I give her a wink. “We’re going for a walk down memory lane.”

  “Really?” she asks with an interested smile.

  “Yes. And I’m going to quiz you on your English!” I tease. “So, you better grab that dictionary from your desk.”

  “Do I have time to finish my breakfast?” she asks.

  “Yes. Fill your stomach, my love. But be quick, because I’m going to fill your pussy once more before we go as well.”

  * * *

  We’re standing on the street in front of the communal apartment we grew up in together. Memories of all the laughter and tears during the time we spent here flood my mind. Emotion makes words stick in my throat.

  “You have many bad memories of this place, I know. But there’s only one thing I want you to remember.” I lift her chin so our gazes meet. “This is where we met. And if we never met, I would have never known what it feels like to truly know love.”

  She smiles. “Kirya—”

  “I need you to know, Stasya, my love. Everything I do is because I love you. You may not understand. You may not agree, but you know…” I place my hand on her chest. “In here, you’ve always known that I act out of love.”