Blood of My Monster: Chapter 15

The concept of home has been foreign to me since…forever.

It’s not a place where I feel safe or even liked. It’s a mere battlefield, where only the stronger comes out alive.

My father didn’t shower my siblings and me with affection. He downright pit us against each other so we’d become invincible.

My mother had only one purpose—get her favorite child to lead the family, no matter how many strings she had to pull.

That sense of internal wars and calculations has been a part of me since I was a child, and it’s only continued to grow over the years.

When I was old enough to put an end to it, I took the chance and flew to the other side of the ocean.

Though I always knew I would come back, because my ambition can’t be contained in the military, I didn’t know it’d be this soon.

Here I am. At the doorstep of our highly secured mansion that’s located on the outskirts of New York.

It’s huge, old, and has the spirit of a dozen devils rolled into one building. The brick façade looks dull, unassuming of what actually lurks behind the walls of this place.

The three-story house sits on a large piece of land with huge gardens surrounding it, a pool in the front, a clinic, and two annexed houses for the staff, one on the east side and the other on the west.

It’s exhausting to recount the facilities Roman made sure to include in his lion’s den. Such as an indoor pool, a golf course, and even a spa.

He turned the property into a royal castle, since he likes to think of himself as some sort of king.

Upon my arrival, it’s no surprise that only the staff comes to meet me. Not that I want to see anyone’s face right now. I only came for one purpose and one purpose alone.

My father.

He killed my men, and that was the last mistake he’ll commit in his lifetime. I’ll make sure he rots in that grotesque body of his until he wishes for death.

The rest of the men went to the annex house to settle the injured in at the clinic and visit any family members they have here.

The only two who remain with me are Viktor—since he sometimes considers himself my shadow—and Sasha.

Maksim calls her name and asks her to join him and Yuri in whatever vain endeavors they’re going to engage in, but she tells them, “I want to meet everyone first.”

“Yikes, good luck with that.” Maksim gives her a salute.

“You know where to find us,” Yuri supplies needlessly.

I cast a glance behind me, and her smile drops as fast as it appeared. Instantly, she returns to her stoic expression that’s a marvelous imitation of Viktor’s grumpy existence.

Everyone has discarded their army uniform, but she’s the only one who looks small and thin in her black slacks and white button-down.

Or maybe I’m the only one who sees it, considering I know exactly what’s hidden by the bandages.

To say I’m taken aback by her decision to come with us would be an understatement. It always felt as if she had roots buried deep in the Russian soil, and in the military specifically.

She nearly lost it when I told her to discharge in the beginning, which means she had a motive to be there.

I never thought she’d easily abandon that motive and Russia to follow me here.

But then again, maybe she did it because of Maksim and Yuri. Considering that she was always a lone wolf, she’s annoyingly close to those two and might think of them as companions for a lifetime.

Whatever her reason, I don’t give a fuck. She made the mistake of offering her existence to me and I’ll have so much fun molding her into whatever the fuck I wish her to be.

Usually, this isn’t a game I like to play, but then again, no one toys with my steel-like control the way innocent-looking Sasha does.

Viktor clears his throat from my right, and it’s then I realize that she’s shifting in place under my scrutiny. It’s not too noticeable, but it’s there.

I push my glasses up my nose with my middle and ring fingers. “Don’t leave my side. Got it?”

She swallows twice before answering, “Yes, sir.”

My lips twitch as I face the entrance again. I like how she calls me sir; it’s different from when everyone else does it.

“Kirochka!”

I’m attacked out of nowhere by a warm hug from a small woman with dark skin.

I pat her back as she hangs on to me with all her might and only pulls back to inspect me left and right as if I’m livestock.

One might think Anna is my mother for all the care and affection she shows me. Truth is, she’s the only mother figure I’ve had, and I’ve only known her since I was a teenager.

In the years since I last saw her, she’s become thinner and bonier. A few more lines surround her eyes and appear on her forehead, and some white hairs start to invade her hair.

She’s dressed in an elegant brown skirt and a pressed white shirt.

“You’ve gotten bigger and even have more muscles. Oh my.” She pats my arm. “Have you been eating right? Did you make sure of it, Viktor?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Even Viktor’s tone of voice changes to that of complete respect in front of Anna.

After all, she’s the only mother figure he knows, too.

She faces him. “And have you been eating well? You look skinnier to me.”

“I’m just fine.”

“Don’t fine me, young man.” She swats him on the arm and then hugs him. He just remains stoically in place. He’s never really known how to accept the flood of affection Anna offers.

“Welcome home, boys. I missed you.”

She then pulls back and casts a narrowed glance at Sasha, who has been silently watching the exchange. “And who is this boy who looks malnourished?”

“My name is Aleksander. Everyone calls me Sasha.”

Anna stares at me. “You brought someone new?”

“He wanted to come.”

“You can’t just bring him over because he wanted to come.” She points a finger in Sasha’s direction without looking at her. “He looks suspicious.”

“I’m actually over here,” Sasha says in a calm tone, but her ears are turning red. Also, she actually speaks with no Russian accent. It’s a bit stiff, but it sounds natural.

That’s hard to accomplish, even for an American-born Russian. The accent is usually there no matter what. Viktor, Maksim, and Yuri have it.

She really did have those private tutors in her previous life.

“Hush, boy.” Anna still doesn’t look at her. “Why are you doing this, Kirochka? It’s not like you.”

She’s right. It’s not.

When Sasha expressed her desire to come along, the most logical solution would’ve been to refuse.

One problem, though. I couldn’t.

Especially when she agreed to place her life in the palm of my hand to do with as I please.

Is it sadism? Probably. But even I can’t recognize what the end goal behind it is.

I can sense the contempt rising in Sasha, but the moment she steps forward, probably to give Anna a piece of her mind, I ask, “Is my father inside?”

A dark shadow falls over Anna’s face, and she seems to forget about Sasha and her suspicions. “Why, yes. The lady of the house and Konstantin didn’t want to inform you of this, probably not wanting you to come back, but Mr. Roman is…not doing very well. He has been severely ill for a while now, and it only got worse after he went to Russia last week.”

Even better.

When I step in the direction of the house, Anna takes my hand between her smaller ones. “Be tolerant of everyone inside, my boy. Everything’s changed, but some things remain the same.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Nonsense.” She gets on her tiptoes to touch my hair and pat my face. “I’m going to see the others. You take care of him, Viktor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With one last unsure look, she heads to where my guards went earlier. Anna is the mother of the orphans. Whenever a child lost his parents, she took it upon herself to raise them ‘right.’

I’m not an orphan, but I found more affection in that woman than in my own parents.

The moment I stroll inside my so-called home, I’m greeted by the tension-filled, unwelcome atmosphere of the living room.

The baroque style of the sofas, chairs, and ceiling gives it an elegant aura that’s stained with invisible splashes of blood.

Two pairs of eyes fall on me in pure contempt. The first belongs to the woman who gave birth to me.

She hasn’t changed one bit. Her golden hair falls to her shoulders in the usual stuck-up sprayed style. She’s wearing one of her straight red dresses with a gold belt and matching heels, and she’s sitting like a queen on her throne.

If Yulia Morozova were an actual ruler, I would’ve been sentenced to death the moment I was born.

The second malicious stare that could get someone accidentally killed belongs to my brother, Konstantin, who’s two years my junior.

He has lighter hair than me, a more angular facial structure that could never look friendly, and my mother’s eyes.

Which is the first reason to put him at the very top of my hit list.

“Look who’s done playing soldier and came back.”

The second thing that would land him on my hit list is the aggravating way he speaks. It’s like he’s begging to be shot, just so that he can be silenced forever.

“Missed you, too, little bro.” I smile, matching his provocative tone with my own, then nod at Yulia. “Mother.”

She rises, her posture stiff, and walks in my direction. When she stops in front of me, I’m gutted by the smell of her strong perfume that could be used like a weapon. “Why are you back, Kirill?”

“Yes, brother.” Konstantin stands beside Yulia like a good little mama’s boy. “You said you might give up everything here, and we wouldn’t see your face again, so what brings you here?”

“Your father. He’s a pesky, insistent piece of work, that one. He even killed my men to force me back here. Seems we can’t get rid of each other that easily.”

“Take the plane to Russia and leave,” Yulia announces as if it’s a given. “You’re neither wanted nor needed here.”

This woman treats me as if I’m lower than the dirt beneath her shoes. A long time ago, I used to wonder why she hated me so much, why she looked at me with so much contempt that I thought she might kill me one day.

When I saw other mothers shower their kids with love and affection, I wondered why I didn’t have one of them.

Now, I don’t give a fuck.

“What Mom said,” Konstantin supplies. “I’ll be the Morozov leader as soon as the old man is gone.”

“How about no?” I guard my cool façade and even smirk. “I don’t know what type of plan you two have, but I’m tempted to tear it to pieces and bathe in its blood. I’ll make sure to watch you flounder and die as slowly as possible.”

The slap reverberates in the air before I feel it. Soon after, the burning starts where Yulia’s hand connected with my cheek.

“Insolent,” she spits out.

“So you keep telling me, Mother. I’m glad to live up to your expectations.”

She raises her hand again, but this time, it’s gripped tightly before it connects with my face.

By Sasha.

“Please refrain from physically abusing him, or else I’ll take drastic actions.”

“You…who has the audacity to touch me…” Yulia, obviously lost for words due to the volatile turn of events, stares at Sasha as if she’s a demon.

Konstantin starts to push her away. “I’m going to kill this fucker—”

I grab Sasha by her free hand and push her in Viktor’s direction so he’ll keep the suicidal little shit in check.

“How dare he touch me?” Yulia all but shouts her head off. “I want him dead. Right this instant!”

“Yeah, no.” I smirk. “Aleksander just takes his bodyguard job way too seriously. He reacts badly whenever I’m harmed, so I advise you to refrain from doing that in his presence.”

“So you’re out picking up stray cats now?” Konstantin’s words are laced with mockery.

“Maybe. At least they’re more loyal than your mercenaries.” I start to turn around. “I’m off to see Father.”

“You won’t win in this, Kirill,” he shouts from behind me. “The power has shifted since you left, and the ball is in my court now.”

I glance at him over my shoulder. “You say that as if I can’t just snatch it back.”

“Sooner or later you will leave. I promise you that,” Yulia says all confidently with her irritating aristocratic tone.

But I don’t pay her any attention.

Sasha, however, doesn’t move as swiftly as Viktor and I, probably glaring at Yulia or something equally useless instead.

Viktor all but drags her out with him, whispering something to her in clipped words.

Soon after, the three of us are in front of my father’s office. However, his senior guard tells us he’s in his bedroom.

My parents haven’t shared a room for as long as I can remember.

Viktor and Sasha remain outside as I knock on the door and, without waiting for a reply, slip in.

The dark curtains are drawn, casting a pitch-black shadow on the vast room. The stench of illness reeks in the air, blending with the walls.

I hit the light switch, bathing the place in harsh yellow light.

There’s a cough, and then a moan of pain reaches me from the corner of the room.

The bed creaks under the extravagant weight lying on it, and a small voice whispers, “Kirill, is that you?”

Of course, even when he’s sick as fuck and battling death tooth and nail, he knows that I was on my way.

He planned it. Made it happen and gave me not one ounce of a way out. Yes, I could’ve forced my men to go back and insisted on staying in Russia, but then I wouldn’t be able to get my revenge on this man.

I stroll to his bedside, one hand in my pants pocket and the other hanging nonchalantly at my side.

My father has always been larger than life, so to see him as a shadow of his former self is weird. Is this really the great Roman Morozov?

His face is gaunt, and he’s lost weight, even though he’s still large as fuck. His eyes have sunken into dark sockets that barely contain them anymore.

Lips blue, skin pasty, he looks like the real-life personification of death.

His weak hand is holding on to the oxygen mask as he stares at me. For the first time, it looks like he actually sees his son, not the heir he spent years molding into whatever he saw fit.

The heir he beat, put in solitary confinement, and forbade any contact with the outside world for weeks.

The heir he made sure is only seen as competition by his own siblings and a target to be eliminated.

“How far the mighty has fallen.” I shake my head, tsking.

“You’re here,” he says in a weak voice that’s barely audible.

“You made sure of it, no?” My lips tilt in a smirk. “I probably should be thankful since you gave me a front-row seat to see you looking this way.”

“Son…you’ll be the leader now. You can’t…can’t let Konstantin take it…that oaf is…is…”

“Just like you?”

“No. You are like me… When I look at you, I see a younger version of me, son.”

“Lies.” My voice hardens.

“You are, Kirill. You’re a true Morozov. This…this ambition…this need for more and more…the not being satisfied with whatever you accomplish is in your blood. Our blood.”

“Stop it.” I lean over, and he just smiles.

“You, too, are plagued with the need to have everything you can’t see…go bigger…do more and more…and have everything. But nothing is enough… No one is enough…”

“I said. Stop it.”

“Just like me.” He breaks into a fit of coughs, and blood splashes my glasses.

He tries to put the mask on again, but it falls on his chin. He’s so weak that he can’t even move his hands properly.

I grab it for him, staring at him through the red droplets of blood on my glasses. “You killed my men, Father. The very men who followed me and trusted me and had blind loyalty to me are dead because you are my father, and I am a Morozov. You succeeded in bringing me back, but that’s your last mistake. Yes, I will lead our name, but I’ll destroy everything you made all these years. I give you my fucking word.”

He coughs and splutters, a dying man’s breath ripping out of him in a haunting melody.

I don’t look away, don’t even blink as I watch through the red. I stand there as my father spits his last breath, all while holding the mask out of his reach.

When his irises stare at nothing, I snap the mask on his grotesque face and clean the blood off my glasses with his sheet.

When I slide them up my nose again, the world is much clearer and cleaner from the loss of another miserable soul.

Now. It’s time for my reign.

I won’t stop as a higher-up in the Bratva. Sooner or later, I’ll have the whole fucking thing.

He was right about one thing, my father. I will eat the world for breakfast and that still won’t be enough.

When I step out, I find Viktor and Sasha arguing about something. Or more like, she’s arguing, and he looks like he’s contemplating whether to bury her dead or alive.

“So what if she’s his mother? She has no right to hit him.”

“As I was saying, you don’t get involved in anything that’s related to the boss’s family.”

“Says who? And I didn’t know you were such a domesticated cat, Viktor. You act all tough, but it’s actually all white noise.”

“Watch it, you little disrespectful fucker—”

“Meh. Losing respect for you as we speak.”

Finally, they notice my existence, and their bickering comes to a halt.

I face Viktor, “My father is dead. Announce it, make arrangements, and do whatever it takes to get me the will from the lawyer.”

He pauses for a second before he comes to his senses. “Yes, sir.”

Sasha, however, remains frozen long after Viktor disappears around the corner. Her lips are parted, her stance is stiffened, and she looks like she’s seen her worst nightmare.

“What do you mean dead? He can’t…?”

“He can’t?” I repeat.

She opens her mouth, but it closes again, then opens, like a fish out of water.

“Dieee!” A shrill female shout fills the air as my sister attacks me with a knife.

Like they say, home sweet home.