Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy, #3)(3)

“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.