Heart of My Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance (Monster Trilogy Book 3)
Heart of My Monster: Chapter 19

“Give up already.”

Sasha growls deep in her throat as she lunges at me. This time, I provoked her so thoroughly that she doesn’t stop and think about strategy.

She’s mindless, brimming with adrenaline and an unhealthy dose of rage.

Sweat trickles down her temples and throat and slips under her sports bra right between her tits. Am I annoyed at sweat for taking the place that’s rightfully mine? Possibly.

I step out of the way when she tries to high -kick me, then I push her in the opposite direction. She falls on the grass, but it’s not hard enough to cause permanent damage.

Or any damage, really.

She’s always asked me to take her seriously and go all in, but that’s impossible. I’ll only hurt her, and I’d rather cut off my arms than do that.

I know she gets off on practicing and violence. She’s a true product of the military life and has unknowingly turned into one of those soldiers who can’t survive without physical stimuli.

And while I relate to the feeling to an extent, I don’t make it my entire personality like some of my men. And Sasha.

We’ve been at the cabin for two and a half weeks, and whenever I’m not fucking her brains out, she demands a match. These morning duels have become a routine that she looks forward to every time. She even dresses for the occasion.

Now, I would like to point out that the tight sports bra and these tiny shorts hugging her toned legs are a huge distraction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was doing it on purpose to scatter my attention.

“Are you done being beaten up for sport?” I cross my arms and stare down at her position on all fours and lower my voice. “We can move on to a more entertaining activity.”

She glares up at me, jumps up, then holds her hands up in guard. “I’m not done.”

A battle cry echoes in the air before she goes in with a punch. I engulf her fist in my palm. “Stop being stubborn. If I decide you won’t get a hit in, you won’t.”

“Ugh.” She pushes with all her strength. “I’m not giving up.”

“In that case, we might have to stay here all day.”

“I don’t care!”

“Well, I do. I prefer other pleasurable physical activities.”

“Dream on, asshole.” She ducks and tries again.

I grab her by the waist while holding her hand so that her back is against my chest. Then I lower my head and whisper in her ear, “I promise you’ll enjoy what I have in mind more than this. In fact, it’ll help reduce that anger.”

“You’re making me angrier right now with your stupid nonchalance.”

“I can also fix you some herbal tea to purge the strain.” I nibble on the shell of her ear.

“Kirill!” she grunts, obviously on the verge of exploding.

“Yes?”

“Fight me seriously and stop playing around.”

“I refuse.”

“But why?” She narrows her eyes. “You think so little of me?”

“No. I’m just not a fan of the idea of hurting you.”

“Really?” She elbows me and slips out of my hold. “You did that just fine when you announced your engagement to Kristina while I was standing right there.”

“You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I won’t. I might consider it if you take me seriously.”

“You’re the one who asked for this, so don’t come crying to me when you can’t walk.”

She grins and doesn’t waste any time. Sasha comes at me with all her might. I push her to the ground, enjoying the feeling of having her trapped underneath me a bit too much.

After a few moments, she manages to escape and tries to high-kick me. I circle her ankle and yank. She loses her balance and hits the ground again.

Usually, she’d jump right back up, but she remains unmoving.

I didn’t put power behind the pull, so she should be fine.

Right?

“Ow,” she grunts, balling into a fetal position and holding her stomach.

“Fuck.” I run to her side. “Are you okay?”

Her face is contorted, eyes half closed and sweat beading on her upper lip.

Fucking fuck.

I reach a hand toward her. “I told you not to fucking fight me! Where does it hurt? Can you move—”

In a fraction of a second, she rolls onto her back and kicks me in the face, then jumps away while wearing a shit-eating grin. “Got you!”

I touch the throbbing spot in my cheek with the back of my hand. The little fucking—

Without a word, I turn around and head toward the cabin. My tendons nearly snap with tension and my head feels like it’s at the point of exploding.

Sasha soon falls in step beside me and pushes my shoulder with hers. “Don’t be a sore loser. Let’s continue.”

I say nothing.

“Oh, come on. You throw me down all the time. You don’t see me acting butthurt.”

She does—all the time, whining and grumbling like a fucking baby. Sasha seems to have the memory of a goldfish about some things but has no problem recalling all the grudges she holds against me.

“Is it so wrong for me to win even once?”

No reply.

“Are you seriously pulling the silent treatment on me because I kicked you?”

I face her so suddenly, she crashes into me before stepping back.

Her throat bobs with a swallow when her eyes meet mine. “Why…why do you look so scary?”

“I thought you were seriously hurt because of me. Don’t you ever, and I mean fucking ever, do that shit again. Do you hear me?”

Her throat works up a swallow. “I didn’t think…”

“You obviously didn’t. If you want to hit me so badly, I’ll just stand there and take it. Don’t do that fucking nonsense again.”

“It’s not that I want to hit you.” Her voice shakes and she clears her throat. “I don’t want to hurt you either, but you’re a provocative asshole who never takes me seriously.” She touches my hurt cheek. “Is it very painful?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Come on.” She pulls up on the corners of my lips with her forefingers. “I won’t do it again. Can you stop with the long face?”

I don’t even know why I’m so fucking enraged about this.

No. Actually, I’m well aware of the magnitude of these emotions.

When I thought Sasha had died, a part of me believed it was because of me, and that only made me spiral further out of control.

I hate that wayward version of myself that couldn’t stop my disintegration process.

So to be put in the same situation again—to think Sasha’s in pain because of me again— drew out those infuriating feelings from the depths of my black soul.

I step away from her. “I’m going to town for some shopping.”

She releases me, but her shoulders hunch. I was supposed to prepare her a surprise tonight, and I still am, but my mood for the occasion is nonexistent at the moment.

After I finish showering and changing clothes, I replace Sasha waiting for me in front of the house, already showered and wearing her coat.

She stops kicking rocks upon seeing me. Her soft face lights up with a careful smile. “I’ll come along.”

I do want her to come along for my plan to work, but I didn’t think she’d volunteer.

Usually, we walk to town, but about a week ago, I asked Viktor to bring me a truck in case of an emergency.

I drive in silence and Sasha fiddles with the radio stations. She loves listening to music, singing along, and trying to make me join to no avail.

Today, however, she doesn’t seem to be in a singing mood. After a few minutes of changing stations, she turns off the radio and sighs.

“Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole.” She faces me in her seat, arms crossed. “I already said I won’t do it again. What got your panties in a twist?”

“Just stay quiet.”

“Fuck you.” Her voice trembles before she catches herself. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad at you for all the shit you’ve pulled. I won’t allow you to make me feel guilty for some trivial matter.”

Trivial.

Did she just call that fucking shit trivial?

I tighten my hold on the wheel to stop myself from reaching out and choking the fuck out of her, which defies the whole purpose of not wanting to hurt her.

“If this is one of your manipulative, reverse psychology methods, then I’m sorry to inform you that it won’t work, you fucking bastard.”

“If you’re done, shut the fuck up. I mean it.”

She huffs, opens her mouth, probably to say something more infuriating, but she thankfully closes it again.

The town is the opposite of our mood. Considering today is Christmas Eve, everyone is doing last-minute shopping. Carols sound in the distance and kids sit on a bored Santa’s lap, reading their belated gift wish lists.

Colorful Christmas trees and decorations line the front of every shop and a general disgustingly joyful atmosphere lingers in the air.

I was never a fan of Christmas, or any holiday, for that matter. Those are for families, and I never really had one.

Roman was more interested in shaping me into his heir and thought the silly occasions would make me mellow. Yulia only celebrated holidays with Konstantin.

I used to wrap gifts for my siblings, but I soon quit that after my decision to put distance between us.

Now, it’s just an annoying time of the year where everything is colorful and disgustingly happy.

When we first came to this town in the lead-up to Christmas, Sasha said that she wanted to love it, but couldn’t.

Christmas reminds her of the day she witnessed her family die in front of her and, therefore, she prefers not to celebrate.

However, while I’ve turned into a grinch, she actually enjoys the town’s atmosphere. Even now, her eyes brighten whenever she hears the repetitive Christmas songs or sees a family going around the shops.

She sings along with the clownish lyrics, too, sometimes.

“Just because it was traumatizing for me, I guess I like to know it’s still a happy occasion for everyone else,” she told me the other day.

She’s always been compassionate with a pure heart—except when she holds grudges against me, of course.

And no, I won’t be shutting up about that anytime in the near future.

We buy a few groceries, and I glare at anyone who gets too close to her. She notices that, smiles, then shakes her head in resignation.

When we walk the length of the main street, she snaps pictures of the decorated shops. After some time of filming the mundane things that start to blur together, she faces me. “Would you hate it if we got a last-minute Christmas tree?”

“Yes.”

She purses her lips and releases a long, frustrated breath. “You’re a real joy to be around today.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. Is it so wrong to feel the spirit?”

“What spirit? Besides, we don’t celebrate Christmas tomorrow. It’s on January the seventh in Russia.”

“Even better. We can do it twice!”

“I would rather die.”

“Grinch.” She pushes past me and a little girl stumbles into her.

Sasha lowers herself to the girl’s height and ruffles her red beanie. “Are you okay?”

The girl smiles shyly and plays with the pompons dangling from her hat, then shouts, “Merry Christmas!” before running off to her awaiting mother and sibling.

“Merry Christmas!” Sasha shouts back and waves with more enthusiasm than needed.

I watch her bright expression and glittery eyes intently, picturing them with our own children one day.

She’d make a wonderful mother, and most importantly, she’d look fucking hot carrying my baby.

Impregnating her is the surest way to keep her around more than the three blasphemous months she’s adamant about.

The question is how.

There are no pills.

She’s religious about renewing the shot. If my calculations are correct, she should be renewing it soon. In a couple of weeks, probably.

How can I tamper with that process without making her hate me?

You can just ask her.

The stupidest part of my fucking brain that’s a disgrace to even exist whispers.

The answer will obviously be no. Would she agree to have damn children when she put a timeline on how long she’s staying with me?

There are only seventy-one days left, by the way. I know because I’m counting every fucking one of them.

I stop beside her and jut my chin in the retreating family’s direction. “One would think they’re a walking Christmas tree with all the red and green.”

“Stop being a grinch.” She hits my shoulder with hers. “I think they look so cute.”

“The children or the amateur Christmas fashion?”

She suppresses a smile. “Both. And seriously, stop it. Just because you disregard the holiday doesn’t mean everyone should.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You’re merely judging them?”

“And the eyesore color selection they willingly wear like a badge.”

“You’re just jealous you won’t look cool wearing a Christmas sweater and drinking some hot chocolate with marshmallows like normal people.”

I stare down my nose at her. “I look cool doing anything.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

I see exactly what she’s trying to do, but since I’ve been an asshole due to my own insecurities, I go with her subpar manipulation attempt anyway.

An hour later, we’re dressed in matching Christmas sweaters that I wouldn’t subjugate a homeless person with wearing. Sasha even bought the red Santa hat with the white pompon.

She offered me one and I threatened to shoot the whole store down if she put the thing on me, so she gave up.

We’re now sitting on a pier overlooking the forest and sipping hot chocolate filled with more sickeningly sweet marshmallows than any human should consume. A giant Christmas tree is behind me, its annoying decorations hanging above my head. I chose this seat because Sasha wouldn’t stop taking pictures of me.

She’s been doing that ever since I agreed to this plan that I’m starting to regret. I don’t really, though, because she’s been smiling the entire time and getting as giddy as a kid with all the shopping and trying on different clothes.

“Are you going to stop taking pictures anytime soon?”

She snaps one more. “You’re so photogenic.”

I adjust my glasses. “I know. Comes with the superior genes.”

She rolls her eyes. “Would it hurt you to be more humble?”

“No, but it wouldn’t do me any good either.”

She goes through her phone, probably checking her camera roll. “Would Karina feel bad if I sent her these…? What am I saying? Of course she would. She said she wanted us to celebrate Christmas together.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I couldn’t. But maybe I should’ve. I can’t not celebrate it all my life, after all.”

I reach across the table and grab her chin between my fingers. Her startled eyes meet mine, brimming with green and soft yellow. “W-what?”

“Look at me when you’re talking to me.”

She slowly slides the phone onto the table. “You could’ve just said that. Why do you have to be intense about it all of a sudden?”

“How else will I be the center of your attention?” I stroke her chin before I release it. “I know I look perfect in pictures, but I’m better in real life.”

“Wow. I can’t take this anymore.”

“That’s what you said last night.”

She watches the people buzzing around us and hisses while laughing. “Kirill!”

“What? Wasn’t that the reference you were intending to go for?”

“No.” She laughs again, her expression the happiest I’ve seen since our wedding day. “You’re seriously impossible sometimes.”

“Does that mean I’m tolerable other times?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She takes a sip of her hot chocolate but keeps watching me from over the rim. “At the risk of feeding your ego, I’ll admit that you look cool even in a Christmas sweater.”

“I know.” I take a sip as well. “With the pure intention of feeding your ego, you look edible, even while wearing these hideous colors.”

She grins like an adorable idiot. “Really?”

“Yes. In fact, I wouldn’t mind you sitting on my lap to show you the evidence.”

I didn’t expect much from the statement, but Sasha leaves her seat and comes to sit on my lap. Her legs are on either side of my waist and she wraps her arms around my neck. “Guess it can’t be helped since you’re being a good sport today, I forgive you for being an asshole this morning.”

“I forgive you for scaring me to death.”

Her lips part. “I didn’t know you were capable of those feelings.”

“I am when it comes to you.” I sink my fingers into her hip. “I’m traumatized from seeing your fake body.”

“Is that why you asked me to apologize the other day?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my mouth. “I wanted to hurt you as much as you’d hurt me.”

“You went above and beyond hurting me back.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, this time peppering kisses all over my cheeks, nose, lids, and lips.

My body relaxes under her touch and I close my eyes just so I can feel her warmth colliding with mine and her heartbeat thundering against my own.

She’s here.

She’s actually here.

Every morning, I wake up thinking my reality is a dream and that I’ll replace myself in an alternative reality where she’s dead.

After what seems like minutes, she pulls back and murmurs, “Now what, Kirill?”

I slowly open my eyes and stare at her expectant face. “Now?”

“After this.” She throws her hands around.

“Why does there need to be an after?”

“We can’t possibly live the honeymoon phase forever. You have responsibilities as the Pakhan.”

My mood shifts, taking a sharp dive in the opposite direction. “Fuck that.”

“Well, I have my own responsibilities.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” I start to get up, but she palms both my cheeks.

“You can’t pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.”

“Watch me.”

“But—”

I shut her up with my lips on hers and my hand squeezing her throat. She gasps into my mouth, but she soon crashes her tongue against mine.

Sasha might pretend that she won’t hesitate before leaving me, but she, too, is being held hostage by this invisible connection she and I share.

The connection that refuses to break, no matter the circumstances.

The connection that’s been present for as long as we’ve known each other.

I’m ready to fight a million-year war as long as I replace her at the end of it.

When we break apart, she’s panting, her lips swollen, and her eyes glittery. “W-what was that for?”

“To shut you up.” I stand and check my phone. When I replace the text I’ve been waiting for, I grab her hand. “We’re leaving.”

She doesn’t say anything, seemingly dazed. But she does put on some disgusting Christmas music and sings along when I’m driving away.

I replace myself smiling every time she gets excited because she knows the lyrics. I might drive slower, too.

When we arrive at the cottage, she climbs out, her shoulders hunched. “We should’ve at least gotten a little tree.”

“There’s no need.”

She stops short in front of the house when she sees the dozen strings of lights and two Christmas trees outside.

“You…did this?”

“I ordered it. Does that count?”

“Yes!” She hugs me, jumping up and down while doing so. Since I’ve become addicted to her hugs, I use every chance I get to enjoy her touch.

After a while, she notices the two cars crowding the driveway and searches my gaze. “Who did you invite?”

She doesn’t wait for my reply as she dashes inside. The house is in full annoying Christmas spirit. Karina is telling Viktor that he’s decorating the tree all wrong and that, apparently, the lights can’t be placed like they’re security wires.

Konstantin and Kristina are placing their own ornaments and smiling at each other like the protagonists of a clichéd Hallmark movie.

“Sasha!” My sister gives up on correcting Viktor’s feeble attempts at decorating and runs into my wife’s embrace. “What do you think? What do you think?”

“This is so beautiful.” Sasha greets the others and even pats Viktor on the back, to which he grunts.

If I’m a grinch, he’s a heretic.

“Is that you?” he says, judging my sweater so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t shoot laser holes through it. “Couldn’t recognize you in those hideous colors.”

“Very funny.” I give him a forced smile and he just shakes his head, suppressing his own smile.

I go upstairs to change out of the awful thing. I’m buttoning my shirt when the door to the bedroom opens. Soon after, toned arms wrap around me from behind and Sasha buries her head in my back.

My eyes briefly close, thinking about that image of her I conjured after I thought she was dead.

No. This is real. She’s back.

My wife whispers, “Thank you for planning all of this.”

I turn around to face her. “You’re not uncomfortable with the whole Christmas vibe?”

“Not as much as I thought I’d be. It’s time I let go of that. Thank you for making me step out of my comfort zone and sharing your family with me.”

“Should I tell Maksim to bring Anton over?”

She shakes her head. “He’ll try to kill you or hold Karina hostage to kill you.”

I’m glad she’s levelheaded enough to recognize that. I only mentioned it to placate her. I’d never allow that vermin near my family. If it were up to me, I’d never allow him near her either.

“Take me to visit him later instead,” she suggests. “For now, let’s just live in the moment.”

The moment.

I like that.

One problem, though. I’m not an in-the-moment type of person.

My mind is already full of possible plans for the future. However, all the noises quiet down when my wife gets on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my lips. “Schastlivogo Rozhdestva, Luchik.”

Merry Christmas.

I’ve never liked this atrocious holiday as much as I do right now.