Heart of My Monster: Prologue

AGE SIXTEEN

“Catch me if you can!”

My squeal echoes in the air as I jog through the snow. The twins, Erik and Eduard, follow right behind, their steps squishing in the wet slush.

They’re wearing pants while I’m in a stupid dress that doesn’t allow me to move as much as I want.

I’m screwed.

“You’re so dead, Sasha!” Erik shouts, his voice reverberating in the silence.

I’m so tempted to check how far back he is, but that will only slow me down.

My shoes sink in the deep snow. Papa told the staff not to shovel it out of the garden, just the entryway. It’s impossible to win the battle against snow in the northern part of the country. And yet my family owns a few vacation houses in these areas due to the stunning, undisturbed nature.

As I sprint the length of the vast garden, my breath catches at the sight of the gigantic trees surrounding the property and the calming white that extends as far as the eye can see.

“Damn it, Sasha!” Eduard yells when I slip out of his reach.

I turn around and make a face while still running backward. “So slow, so slow. Can’t believe you’re supposed to be my age.”

A few blond strands escape his beanie and get in his eyes. Eduard shoves them away with clear impatience. We’re mostly blonds in this family, but our eyes differ. The identical twins have light blue eyes that can blend with the snow. They’re also annoyingly taller than me. It’s impossible to jump as high as they can, and they’ve been rubbing it in my face all through puberty.

However, I’m faster despite wearing a dress, girly shoes, and a soft pink coat to match.

“Cat got your tongue?” I mock. “What’s the use of your height if you can’t catch me…?”

I trail off when the back of my head bumps against a solid surface. I slowly turn around and wince as Anton, my older brother—and the eldest grandchild—stares down at me.

He’s one of the exceptions to the blond genes running in the family. His hair is dark brown and often styled to perfection. While I’m always looking for trouble and riling up my cousins so they’ll join in, Anton is the manifestation of collected and a bit boring.

What?

I really can’t remember a time he’s played something other than annoying board games with me. He says it’s to teach me critical thinking, but I honestly don’t see the point behind it.

“What are you doing, Malyshka?”

Did I mention that he loves scolding me? Because he does, and he does it all the time. He also tends to show love in the strangest ways, like buying me gifts but never giving them to me personally.

I kick the snow. “Just playing.”

Erik and Eduard touch me on each shoulder, grin like Cheshire cats, and scream at the same time, “We won!”

“No, you didn’t. This doesn’t count!”

But they’re already running back to the house, only turning around to make gloating faces at me.

I glare up at Anton. “It’s all because of you. Why did you have to be here?”

Anton raises a perfect brow. “Shouldn’t I be the one who asks that? Aren’t you supposed to be waiting inside like Mama said?”

“Yeah, well. It’s boring to stay inside all day. And Babushka would be like: Sit properly, Sasha! Stop being a clown, Sasha! Don’t make me repeat myself, Sasha! And then she’d correct my posture with her cane.” I huff. “I hate that thing.”

My brother shakes his head more in resignation than anger. “You’re never going to grow up, are you?”

I throw my hands in the air. “What’s so fun about growing up anyway? Besides, you’re grown up enough for the both of us.”

His lips twitch in a smile as he grabs me by the nape and starts dragging me back to the house. “It’s time for dinner.”

“No!” I try to wiggle out of his hold to no avail. “It’s still too early.”

“Stop acting like a baby.”

“But I don’t want to. Leave me alone, Tosha.”

He only tightens his grip and basically pushes me inside the house and deposits me like I’m a sack of potatoes.

A joyful atmosphere explodes all at once. Christmas vibes spill in front of us like a royal feast. A few trees decorate the circular entrance hall, and a huge one stands in the middle, nearly reaching the chandelier hanging from the ceiling at the end of the second floor.

It sparkles and glitters with dozens of golden ornaments and blinking lights. It’s even surrounded by a ton of snow and there’s a real snowman beside it that the twins and I insisted on bringing in.

Papa ordered for it to be preserved with some special freezing method since the house is warm.

Excitement, chatter, and endless footsteps echo around the house. The staff is busy carrying dishes, preparing the dining table, and making sure everything is as impeccable as Babushka instructed.

Yes, Papa and my uncles take care of business, but she’s the absolute monarch of this house. My uncles’ wives call her the queen dowager behind her back, but Mama never joins in the slandering my aunts enjoy.

She’s just too nice and wouldn’t participate in anything that hurts others—including my impossibly strict Babushka, who hardly likes anyone or anything.

Anton is the exception, probably because he’s cut from the same authoritarian cloth as she is. He’s never lived his life, never had any form of fun, and he’s always concentrated on either his studies or whatever he does with Papa for ‘work.’

“Malyshka!”

I wince at Mama’s voice, and my bastard of a brother releases me with a small twitch of his lips.

Mama stands in front of me with a hand on her hip. She’s a tall, absolutely stunning woman with dark hair, a round face, and big hazel eyes that she passed down to me.

Her dress for the night is a simple dark green one that stops above her knees, but it hugs her figure in all the right places and makes her look no different than a model. I’ve come to the realization that she might be a vampire, because she hasn’t aged one bit since I was young.

“Hi, Mama.” I play with the belt of my coat.

“Don’t hi me, young lady.” She reaches into her cross-body bag and retrieves a small brush. She always has these little kits and emergency stuff that can be used for everything. “You look like a rat who’s out of the sewer. Didn’t I tell you to be presentable, at least for today?”

“That’s what I said,” Anton adds needlessly. “Apparently, your daughter wants to act like she’s ten forever.”

I glare up at him, and he merely watches me with that stupid blank expression of his. I swear to God, he’s growing up to be a second Babushka—minus the cane.

Maybe one day, he’ll inherit our grandmother’s cane and chase me out of the house with it.

Mama undoes the buttons of my coat and removes it in swift, firm movements. “I guess I should be glad that you didn’t smudge or tear your dress yet. I don’t even know what to do with you anymore, Malyshka.”

She gives the light pink lace a little fluff and adjusts the ribbon at my waist, then brushes my hair.

“I’m okay, Mama. Look.” I pull at my dress. “It’s all good.”

“Your shoes are ruined!” She rushes to the cabinet underneath the stairs and comes back with a second pair that looks exactly like what I’m wearing. Only Mama would buy duplicates of things because she knows I’ll destroy them in no time.

She helps me change my shoes while Anton just shakes his head like a bastard. He could’ve left or something, but he’s leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, looking pristine in his suit and judging me six ways to Sunday.

He’s also enjoying watching me being scolded until eternity by our mother.

All I get to do is lower my head and take it with a pout. If I attempt to defend myself, she’ll really give me an earful. Not that I have too many arguments that could work in my favor.

The office door opens, and Papa steps out with Uncle Albert. My papa, Akim Ivanov, is the most handsome, compassionate, and charismatic man I know. I don’t care that those who work for him think he’s as authoritarian as Babushka. He’s not that way with me or with the rest of the family, and that’s all that matters.

Anton takes after him in almost everything except for the dark hair. I’m the opposite, yet I have Papa’s golden hair.

Upon seeing me, he smiles. “Sasha!”

I release myself from Mama’s merciless hold and run into his open arms. He embraces me and kisses the top of my head. “You look so good, my Sashenka.”

“That’s only because I salvaged the situation last minute,” Mama says from behind me with a huff.

“And I prevented a disaster from happening,” my brother supplies.

“Sasha will always be Sasha,” Uncle Albert says with a heartfelt laugh.

“That’s my charm.” I smile coyly at my father. “Right, Papa?”

He caresses my head. “Correct. You’ll be my little girl forever.”

“Yes!”

“Don’t encourage her, Akim,” Mama scolds him as well. “You’re the reason she’s like this.”

“I agree.” Anton stands beside our mother. “You’re spoiling her too much, Papa.”

“I don’t care. I want her to stay young for as long as possible.” He hugs me again, and I nuzzle my nose in his chest.

Papa smells like winter. Harsh on the outside but with a warm core on the inside. He feels like an anchor that can never be snatched away.

Mama and Anton—who belong to the tough love club—shake their heads as Papa holds me by the shoulder and leads me to the dining room.

Everyone is already inside, chatting among themselves and starting to take their seats. The dining room is majestically decorated with a Christmas theme. The long table takes up most of the room, overflowing with countless dishes covered with golden cloches. Matching utensils are aesthetically placed in front of every seat.

Erik and Eduard both make a face, and I make one back as I grab onto Papa.

Uncle Anatoly intercepts Papa and Uncle Albert—and me. He’s the youngest of my uncles, and the twins’ father. He’s leaner than Papa but is the same height and has similar features. His face is closed off, and he has dark circles beneath his eyes.

Papa is the most handsome, Uncle Albert is the least, so that puts Uncle Anatoly right in the middle. He’s also funny and has made cracking jokes his entire personality.

Not lately, though.

In the past few months, it looks as if life has been sucked out of him and left a soulless skeleton in its wake.

I’ve noticed some changes in Uncle Albert, too. He usually has time to indulge us in playing or assembling something we buy, but not lately.

Only Papa is an unchanging anchor, short of some dark circles because he’s been spending a lot of time in the office lately.

“What have you decided?” Uncle Anatoly asks in a low voice.

“This is not the time,” Uncle Albert whispers back.

“You shut up!” Uncle Anatoly hisses. “We should’ve stopped this before it got to this stage, but no, we had to hold on to a sinking fucking ship—”

Without letting me go, Papa reaches out his free hand and squeezes his shoulder. “Not another word, Anatoly. This is neither the time nor the place. I need you to get yourself together. Go sit beside your wife and children and be an Ivanov. Control that turbulent energy of yours and calm the fuck down.”

Shivers break on my skin even though the words aren’t directed at me. This…is the first time I’ve heard Papa be so…insensitive.

It’s clear that Uncle Anatoly is suffering with something, but instead of offering him any form of comfort, Papa all but humiliated him. No, maybe humiliating is a strong word. He scolded him.

In no time, a smile lifts Papa’s lips, and it’s like he’s flipped a switch to return back to the father I know. “We’ll talk after dinner.”

Uncle Anatoly glares at both of them. “We’re in immediate danger, and all you care about is a stupid fucking dinner?”

He shakes his head and, without waiting for an answer, walks to his wife, then flops down beside her while wearing a solemn expression.

“Never mind your uncle Anatoly, Sashenka. He’s just tired.” Papa kisses the top of my head. “Go take your seat.”

I smooch his cheek and then trudge toward my chair. When a leg trips me and I nearly fall, Erik’s and Eduard’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

Oh, you want to play?

I push Erik’s chair and both of them almost tumble to the ground.

A cane taps on the ground, and I straighten. Babushka, who’s at the head of the table, narrows her eyes on me and I smile and then sit beside the twins. These bastards want to see me die by our grandmother’s cane.

After everyone is seated, Babushka nods at the head maid, who’s as stoic as she is, and the lady motions to the rest of the staff to remove the cloches.

Sounds of appreciation fill the room as countless smells tickle our noses. There are different types of soup, a giant roasted lamb, and some of the vegetables are shaped like Christmas trees and stars.

We start eating, and chatter echoes around us. Erik and Eduard try to annoy me, but I kick and pinch them underneath the table until they whine out loud. This time, they’re the ones who get Babushka’s stare of disapproval.

Papa’s chief of security rushes inside the hall, his face contorted with exertion. This is the first time I’ve seen him distressed and on edge.

Papa’s harsh gaze turns to him. “Didn’t I tell you not to bother us during family dinners?”

“This is an emergency, sir. The central security system was disabled, and I’m getting no updates from the guards stationed outside—”

His words cut off when a red laser dot appears on his forehead, and then it’s blown to bits. Blood splashes on the Christmas decorations and the food in front of two of my cousins as the man drops with a thud.

A scream rips from somewhere in the room, but I can’t look away from the man. When I finally lift my gaze, I find small red dots on Mama’s forehead, chest, and stomach. Papa’s, too.

Everyone has those laser dots.

Oh, no.

No.

Harsh footsteps echo outside, sounding as if they’re coming from underground. No, maybe they’re coming from a parallel universe.

My hopeful thoughts are slaughtered when countless men spill inside the dining room. They’re dressed in black combat gear, heavy boots, and thick helmets, their faces hidden with balaclavas, and are carrying long rifles that are slung across their chests. The only time I’ve seen anything like this was in a movie about the Second World War. I hated that movie. It was all about the siege, young men dying, and rotting cadavers in the street.

It was about the worst time for humanity, where greed and power killed millions and millions of innocent people.

Why does this feel like I’m in that time?

“Everyone down!!” Papa yells and clutches Mama by the nape, but before he can push her to the floor, blood explodes on his chest, and he looks at me even as his eyes start to roll back.

Mama shrieks, but it’s cut off when half of her head is blown away.

I scream and scream and scream, but my voice isn’t heard in the middle of the shooting and other horrified shrieks. The soldiers are like robots, eliminating one person after the other.

Uncle Anatoly grabs his pregnant wife and starts to pull her toward him, but she’s hit in her belly. He retrieves his gun and screams as he fires and empties it without any aim or sense of direction. Before he can finish, he’s shot in the back and falls in his dead wife’s pool of blood.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

All of a sudden, everything turns black.

The screams, wails, and raw shrieks don’t disappear, though. Many things don’t.

The gunshots.

The tangy stench of blood.

The wails and sobs.

The infants’ cries.

The women’s terrified yells.

I think it’s a nightmare, which is why I’m not seeing anything, but then, I realize I’ve been pushed under the table, facedown, on the carpet. Slowly, I lift my head.

“Shh.” Erik places a shaky hand over my mouth, tears clinging to his eyelashes. “Stop screaming…Sasha, please…”

I breathe against his palm. I’m not sure, but I think I’ve been screaming ever since I saw my parents being killed.

“It’s okay,” Erik whispers even as he trembles, his teary eyes filling with unprecedented terror.

Did he also witness his parents being murdered? Did he…where’s Eduard? Anton?

I latch onto Erik’s hand with both of mine, and he hugs me to his chest. Eduard is shielding us both, I realize, and so are Timur and Gavriil—Uncle Albert’s sons. They’re circling us as Erik and I curl on the ground together, crammed in the small space between the table and the wall.

My fingers tighten around Erik’s back. We shake against each other, hiding our faces in one another’s damp necks. Our hearts beat so loud, I feel like they’ll explode any second. My eyes are shut so tightly that they hurt.

A weight falls on me, and I cry, jerking violently against Erik. Something hot trickles down my head and face, and I open my eyes a little.

Blood drenches my soft pink dress and the top of Erik’s head, his cheeks, and his neck. I stare up, and my mouth opens when I see Eduard’s and Timur’s lifeless eyes. Holes riddle their chests, and half of Timur’s face is gone. Gavriil is also clutching his middle and screaming as blood pours out of him.

“No…” Erik sobs, reaching for his twin.

He releases me, his face ashen, and tears streak down the blood on his cheeks.

“Erik…no…don’t…don’t go…” I desperately hold onto his wrist with my unsteady hand. If he sits up, they’ll know he’s alive—

His body jerks back, and I’m about to scream, but he falls on top of me. The weight of his lifeless body suffocates me and I stop breathing.

For a moment, I think I was hit, too.

But if I were, would I still hear the gunshots? Would I feel the blood that’s soaking me?

The shrieks and screams have died down, but the gunshots haven’t. They keep going on and on and on.

All I can do is tremble and cry silently while covered by my dead cousins and a pool of blood.

At this moment, all I wish for is death.

I wish and wish…

But it never comes.