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

Sasha has pulled away from me.

She used the pretense of needing a shower, and since I had to call Viktor, I let her go.

For now.

After washing up in the downstairs shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and dry my hair with another one.

With the phone at my ear, I walk into the living room.

“You need anything, Boss?” Viktor replies with a half-sleepy tone.

I forgot that it was early in the morning. And while Viktor needs the sleep after months of being deprived, there isn’t time for it.

“We were attacked tonight.”

There’s silence on the other end, followed by a fumbling noise. Something knocks on his end as he says in a sobered-up voice, “I’ll be there in a few.”

“No.”

“What the fuck do you mean by no? I told you it was a stupid idea to be on your own without any protection.”

“Is this the moment where you say I told you so?”

“I’m not in the mood for joking. I should’ve stayed.” I hear the rustle of clothes and the sound of a belt.

“Stop changing. You’re not coming, and if you do, I’m going to lock you the hell up with Maksim and Anton. You hated the atmosphere there the other time, so maybe you’ll change your mind if you spend a few more days in their company.”

“What am I supposed to do if I don’t come to protect you?”

“Look for who did this.” I throw the hair towel down and stare out of the window at the pitch-black darkness outside. The cabin might appear old and unkempt, but the glass is double-glazed and bulletproof. The walls are thick enough that it’s hard to hear the night animals chirping outside.

“Which is why I should go to the scene to gather evidence,” Viktor says.

“I doubt there’s anything left. They probably cleaned out their corpses by now.”

“Is it the Ivanovs?”

“I thought that as well. It makes sense that they’d come to rescue Anton, but their weapons weren’t of the variety we located at the warehouse during that mission. I doubt they changed weapons since the last operation after Sasha came back. Besides, they attacked her.”

“Or she could be faking it to play along and trap you.”

“That’s my wife you’re talking about, Viktor.”

“She still belongs to the family who is out to eliminate you. I suspected it all this time, but she was the one who lured you to Russia before you got shot, wasn’t she?”

“Drop it.”

“No can do. You’re trusting her too much when she hasn’t proven to be loyal to you since she returned.”

“How the fuck is she supposed to do that when she believes I hurt her family?”

“How about not thinking you’re subhuman enough to orchestrate the murder of children?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s annoyingly right, and I want to punch him, but since that option isn’t available through the phone, I release a breath. “Have you heard from Makar lately?”

He pauses, probably caught by surprise at the change of subject. “No. Doesn’t he have direct contact with you?”

“Look for him. The last location I know of is that he was in Chicago.”

“Why should I locate him?”

“Because he’s the traitor. Sasha thinks I tried to kill her in that cottage, because she saw Makar. I want to know who the fuck sent him there.”

“On it.” He pauses. “And be careful. I’m not in the mood to collect corpses.”

I stare at the phone after he hangs up. The asshole is being more daring than usual lately. It’s mostly due to a lack of sleep, which I should probably be apologetic for.

The thing is, I didn’t ask him to be an annoying shadow. He picked that position himself, and he needs to take full responsibility for it.

“Was that Viktor?”

I slowly turn around at Sasha’s voice. I fully expected her to go to sleep, or pretend to, and to have to wake her up for round two.

Good thing no waking will be happening, since it’s guaranteed to make her cranky.

She stands by the stairs, wearing a woolen dress with a cut-out in the middle. It’s one of the pieces of clothing I had delivered here earlier today when I devised this plan to corner her in a place where it’s only the two of us.

No Karina, Rai, Anna, Kristina, or my fucking guards.

What? She chose to direct her attention toward them instead of me, and I’m not a fan of being a side character in my wife’s life.

I head to the minibar and pour two glasses of vodka, then offer one to her. “Yeah. Viktor.”

She takes a sip and side-eyes mine. “Since when are you a vodka person?”

“Since I’m trying to placate my wife.”

She stops herself before rolling her eyes, but she smiles and hides it by taking another sip.

I mirror her, tolerating the bland vodka. Now, I’m sure my Russian ancestors would turn in their graves and curse me to the lowest pit in hell for that statement. Viktor even accused me of being a ‘fake Russian’ for slandering the holy messiah of his existence.

Maksim also said I should apologize to his Russian blood.

Lucky for them, my beautiful wife loves the drink, and, therefore, I’ll refrain from any unnecessary shit-talking.

Sasha takes her vodka seriously. She sits on the sofa, her stance somewhat relaxed as she relishes every sip. My attention is completely stolen by the soft features of her face and the wet blonde strands that fall to her neck.

But the masterpiece is the large hickey I left on the side of her throat earlier. The belt’s red marks surround it, bruising her skin as evidence of who owns her.

Spoiler alert: That would be me.

After a few moments of silence, she raises her head, and her eyes widen the slightest bit when she finds me leaning against the cabinet and staring.

She clears her throat. “You’re really asking Viktor to look for Makar?”

“Someone’s developed eavesdropping habits.”

“I didn’t mean to… I just happened to be passing by.”

Just how much of the conversation did she hear? Thankfully, she couldn’t have listened to Viktor’s atrocious comments, since those certainly don’t play in my favor.

“If you asked Viktor to search for him, that means you don’t know where he is.”

“Or what he’s done.”

“Or that,” she repeats in a low, soft voice.

“Do you believe me now?”

She takes a long sip and releases a sigh. “I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”

“Do you think the men who attacked us tonight were sent by your family?”

She shakes her head. “At least, I hope they weren’t, considering they were trying to kill me and all.”

“How great is the chance of them coming after you to save Anton?”

“Seventy percent?” she says with a pained smile, and I want to kill each and every one of them who put the pain there.

This is troublesome.

If her own family won’t protect her, she’s under serious threat. I’m fine with them coming after me, but if they attempt to hurt her, I’ll have to rip their hearts out. And she might hate me for it.

“That high?”

“I never mattered in the great scheme of things.” She stares out the window at the endless darkness. “When I was a child, I was the clueless, sheltered tomboy who only cared about playing. After the massacre, I was transformed into a soldier for the family. Almost overnight, I became a weapon to be used to protect our assets and to exact revenge. I’m only a support to Anton, a tool he can use when he becomes the heir. The saddest part is that I don’t think I’ll have a purpose after all of this is over. Once everything ends, I’ll have to find myself another role.”

“Have you already started looking for that role by dressing like a woman again?”

Her lips part. “How did you know that?”

“A hunch.”

“Yeah. I told them that I wouldn’t walk around like a man anymore. I’m strong enough to protect myself now. If I’m attacked, then so be it.”

That’s my woman.

I love how her eyes shine with determination at her decision to finally be free. Or partially free since she’s still bound to her family by an unspoken code of loyalty.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I bring her another glass and sit beside her. “No one will be able to hurt my wife as long as I’m here.”

She deposits the empty glass on the table and takes the new one. “Would you stop calling me that?”

“Well, aren’t you my wife?”

“Have you ever considered that you could be hurting me the most?”

“How so? I think I’ve proved that none of your misconceptions about me are true. Imagine if you’d kept believing I married another woman and tried to kill you and your family.”

She tenses. It’s subtle, and she soon conceals it, but the image of that possibility must’ve passed through her mind a thousand times.

Sasha’s weakness—the fact that she tends to be an overthinker—could be her downfall.

After a moment of silence, she looks at me, her eyes a mixture of soft green and harsh brown. “You would still put your plans, ambition, and race for power before me. I can’t trust that you won’t do it again.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Paranoid? I told you I loved you and you announced your damn engagement to the whole world a few hours later. How is that paranoid?”

I start to speak, but she lifts a hand. “Let’s talk about something else. What are you going to do when you find Makar?”

“Torture him for answers. The Albanians said they colluded with a man to take you out.”

“You don’t think that’s Makar?”

“No. He’s been a servant his whole life. He wouldn’t suddenly turn into a master.”

“Do you think someone is behind his actions?”

“I don’t think. I’m sure. Now, I need to figure out how close that someone is.”

“You have suspects?”

“I always do.”

“Of course.” She releases a breath. “So you torture him and then what?”

“Then you do with him what you please.”

“You’ll entrust him to me?”

“Seems fair since he tried to kill you.”

“Wow. Is the mighty Kirill giving someone else the final say about a critical matter?”

“Not someone else.” I slide my arm around her waist and pull her to me so suddenly, a few droplets of vodka splash her chest. “My wife.”

Despite her best attempts to seem unperturbed, a pink hue covers her cheeks.

I stroke those cheeks as if I can feel the blush against my skin. Sasha remains still, but her lips part as I caress her.

“Have I told you that you look hot when you allow yourself to be you?”

“Save it.” She inches away. “I don’t even put on makeup or anything, so there’s no need for the flattery.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I haul her back to my side again, trying not to get personally offended at the way she created distance between us. “I don’t give a fuck about makeup. I’m talking about you and your stunning blonde hair.”

“I knew blondes were your type,” she grumbles.

I grin. “Is that why you dyed it back?”

“Nooo.” She looks the other way like the most horrible liar who ever walked the earth.

“You told me you were blonde, too, when I first got engaged to Kristina.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You also said you could be like her. Were you that jealous?”

“No. Kristina who? I haven’t thought about her since I left.” Even as she says that, her cheeks redden and her lips purse.

I’ll have to buy my new sister-in-law a thank-you card that says, ‘Sorry I called you a robot’ for managing to provoke out this side of my wife.

This shows that she cares, no matter how much she denies it.

She can fight me all she wants as long as she stays by my side.

I will make sure she never has a way out.

Not even one.

Divorce? I don’t believe in that fucking word when it comes to her.

“Why did you marry me, anyway?” she asks after a while. “You could’ve easily gotten yourself another bargain or partnership through marriage.”

“Because you asked me for it.”

She swallows thickly and her next word comes out as a whisper. “What?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘If I wanted to be your wife, would you make it happen?’ So I made it happen.”

“Even though you don’t believe in the institution?”

“I do now. And you know what? I’m still fucking enraged that you faked your death, but I’ll have no other wife but you.”

Her lips part, and slowly, too slowly, she lays her head on my shoulder.

Now, I’d like to point out that my cock is not amused at the prospect of having his promised round two sabotaged, but she’s been through a lot today, and I can allow her to sleep.

Or that’s what I think as I, myself, close my eyes. She grips my hand and places my palm on her steady heartbeat.

And just like that, I’m out.