Lies of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

PROLOGUE - KIRILL





AGE THIRTEEN





If you lose, it’s your fault.

If you win, it’s natural.

Those are the words my father has engraved in my mind ever since I learned how to talk. I’ve come to the realization that I’m nothing more than a commodity to him. He invested in me, and he expects returns in any form he deems necessary.

Roman Morozov isn’t my father. He’s my keeper.

One day, I’ll get out of this fucking house and take Konstantin and Karina with me. Better yet, I’ll kick him and Yulia out and live in the mansion with my siblings.

Why should we leave when they’re the abnormal ones?

I step through the school’s gate and wait for the driver to pick me up. The gloomy sky casts a shadow of sadness over the school grounds, but a certain cheerful atmosphere fills the air since it’s the last day before the Christmas holidays.

Everyone attending this private school is either rich, influential, or both. It goes without saying that my father would enroll me in this fucking circus where everyone’s first question is, “What does your father do?” I can’t exactly answer with, “He kills people,” because that would be frowned upon due to their fragile morality. I settle for ignoring them instead.

Usually, Viktor would be glued to my side like a magnet, and his stonelike presence is enough to ward off unwanted attention. However, he was forbidden from attending today due to some guard event.

Whenever Roman feels Viktor has gotten too close, he doesn’t miss the chance to remind him and the rest of my personal security that they’re only guards—servants—he can get rid of whenever he pleases.

Or, more like, he does it to remind me that if he chooses to, he can isolate me from everyone. My father insists on grooming me to believe that my only role in life is being his heir. Not anyone’s friend, sibling, or son.

I’m just a fucking commodity.

A few students whisper as they pass by. I don’t have to hear them to know what they’re saying about me.

“I heard his father is in the Russian mafia.”

“He’ll become a gangster one day.”

“Don’t look at him, or he might get you killed.”

“Have you seen the way he glares?”

If Viktor were here, he’d terrorize these kids until they pissed themselves. Me? I couldn’t care less. Let them gossip all they like. After all, that’s the only thing weak people can do.

Adrian trudges in my direction then stops beside me. He’s a few years older than me, but since I was an early bloomer, I’m not that much shorter than him. While I ignore all the other kids, I have an excellent relationship with the teachers and make it my mission to charm them for good grades. Adrian, however, only talks to his closest guard, Kolya, who’s currently standing on the corner.

Adrian has made himself an outcast on purpose. His expression is closed off and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his khaki pants. I was a bit taken aback when he approached me since students usually avoid me like the plague.

He definitely has no reason to stay away from me, considering his father and mine are two of the New York Bratva kings.

He has no reason to initiate contact, either. We’re not friends.

In fact, the concept of friends doesn’t exist in our world. There are two categories—allies and enemies. He falls under neither.

“Waiting for your ride as well?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

He says nothing and continues staring ahead with his depressing gray eyes that could be mistaken for a wayward cloud.

Adrian’s mother was a mistress who somehow snatched the wife position after a lot of drama. He’s never appeared to feel comfortable at any of the events we’ve been pushed into together. And he rarely talks, no matter how much the other children and I try to bring him out of his shell.

He acts like such a drama queen, as if he’s had it worse than the rest of us or something.

“You know.” I jut my chin in his direction. “You’ll never get anywhere in this world with that attitude of yours.”

He meets my gaze and then motions at my neck. “Worry about yourself and those bruises you’re doing a shitty job of hiding.”

I grin despite the tingling that starts in my neck and slithers down my spine. “Battle scars shouldn’t be hidden.”

“That’s called abuse, Kirill.”

“Oh yeah? Are you an expert?”

“I know it when I see it.” He faces me fully and steps closer so we’re toe to toe. “That is not okay.”

“Fuck off.”

“You being defensive is also a result of abuse.”

“Hey, don’t push your luck, and stay out of my business.”

“Closing oneself off is a symptom, as is defending one’s abuser.”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’m going to punch you.”

“That’s another form—”

Before he’s finished his words, I’ve already driven my fist into his face. He stumbles back a step, but then he swings his arm and punches me in the cheek.

I reel back but catch myself before I trip.

We exchange a few more blows until our noses are bleeding, our lips are busted, and we need to lean on the stone wall for balance. A few onlookers gather around, but Adrian’s guard, who’s around his age, scares them to death while kicking them away. He did try to stop us at one point, but a single look from Adrian was enough to derail him.