Blood of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #1 ) by Rina Kent

“Make it ten.”

“Yes, Boss.” And then he practically turns the car into a bullet.

While I know Yuri is trained in high-speed driving, I still think we’ll crash as he zigzags between cars and nearly hits a truck.

Through it all, Kirill still has his hand on my knee. Or more like, his hand engulfs mine that’s on my knee.

I suspected this before, but I’m entirely sure now. I really hate how much he affects me with his mere words and presence.

And, now, his touch.

My skin tingles, and something on the inside attempts to claw its way out.

Tactfully, I grab his hand with my other one, remove it, and subtly scoot to the end of the seat.

Kirill’s head tilts in my direction, a mysterious look covering his face as he slides his glasses up his nose.

I clear my throat. “Is anyone going to tell me what the plan is?”

“All the pieces will fit together soon enough,” Kirill says.

“Was kidnapping your mother part of the plan?”

“A huge one, yes.”

“Watch your tone, punk,” Viktor warns from the passenger seat, fixating me with his signature glare.

The car comes to a stop in front of a large metal gate. Everyone stays still for a moment, probably being examined by the cameras. Then the gate creaks open, and Yuri speeds inside the enormous property.

By the time we arrive at the mansion's circular driveway, I’m about to vomit from motion sickness.

And I’ve never even had that before.

We step out of the car that’s parked behind a dozen others. We find Konstantin’s men chatting happily with other guards, probably the Pakhan’s.

They stop talking upon spotting Kirill and make way for him. Only two guards are allowed to escort him inside. Since Yuri is staying by the car, I follow Viktor and Kirill to a grand hall.

This place is even more majestic than the Morozov family house, and that’s saying something since that mansion looks royal.

This one, however, has a grimmer feel. In the entrance hall, there’s a huge painting of a war between angels and demons. Blood splashes all over the piece, and gruesome facial expressions are drawn in spine-chilling detail. I can almost hear the horrifying screeches of the mythical creatures.

A big, burly man with a stoic expression that matches Viktor’s opens the double doors to the conference room.

Kirill strides inside without so much as a nod.

Viktor and I follow, then stop when he does.

The dining room is decorated with a gold-themed table, a huge chandelier, and candelabras on the fireplace.

But the atmosphere is neither welcoming nor joyful.

The men who attended the funeral sit around the table. At the head, there’s the Pakhan, the big boss, and the one who calls the shots, Sergei.

Vladimir and Adrian are sitting on the leader’s right and left respectively.

Then there’s Igor and Mikhail. The old-fashioned and older generations.

Beside Mikhail sits Konstantin, looking smug, with a smirk lifting his lips as if he’s already a victor.

On the opposite side, sits…a woman. Blonde, serious, and with elegance dripping from her expressionless face.

I saw her with Sergei at the funeral. Maksim said she’s his grandniece and the previous Pakhan’s granddaughter.

She has no opinion on the on-site operations, but since she’s climbing the ladder in the organization’s legitimate front, V Corp, she has voting rights.

Behind every member stand two guards like Viktor and me.

“You’re late,” Vladimir announces in his booming voice.

“Are we a joke to you, Morozov?” Mikhail adds in an accusatory tone.

Igor nods. “That’s disrespectful, not only to us, but to the Pakhan himself. It doesn’t look good for your application to be part of this table.”

Kirill pushes his glasses up his nose with his middle and ring fingers, not appearing affected in the least. “I apologize for the delay, but I had a legitimate reason.”

He pulls out his phone and shows them a picture of Yulia bound, bleeding, and barely consciousness.

“On my way here, I received this picture of my mother, and I had to go save her. She’s now safe and sound back home.” He faces Sergei. “I don’t believe I’m worthy of any position in the Bratva if I betray my own. If I can’t protect my family, how can I protect a bigger organization?”

Igor turns to Konstantin, whose smile has vanished. “Is this true?”

“I didn’t know she was kidnapped.”

“Oh, yes, you did. You received the same image, no?” Kirill shows the cc at the top of the email. “If you could confirm your attendance via email, surely you’ve seen this picture. The only difference is that you chose to ignore it.”

“You—” He stands up and falls back down again at everyone’s silent scrutiny.

“I apologize on behalf of my brother,” Kirill continues in his serene tone. “He’s still too young and doesn’t understand the value of family yet.”

“You’re the one who left for Russia!” Konstantin accuses.

“At Father’s orders. As I said, family.”

“Roman did mention that he sent Kirill to Russia for further training,” Igor says.

Kirill’s expression remains neutral, despite knowing that’s not the case.