Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Rafail continues. “When he couldn’t pay, he put Anya down as cosigner on the loan.”
Silence. Then, a roaring in my ears. My vision tunnels. The steering wheel creaks under my grip.
Anya. Christ.
I slam my fist against the dashboard, the plastic groaning under the force. My breath comes in sharp, short bursts. They think they can take her? They think they can fucking touch her?
Rafail keeps talking, but I barely hear him. My heart pounds, my pulse racing. Anya, in the filthy, bloodstained hands of the fucking Irish. They’d rip her apart. Break her.
Rafail continues. “And in the eyes of the Irish…”
“A contract is a contract,” I finish through gritted teeth.
The Irish have been circling like vultures. If they get to the Borozov first and take the bakery, they claim access to the harbor… and Anya.
Anya Borzova. Elizar Borozov’s younger sister.
The girl who used to chase fireflies by the creek, the glow of them catching in her wild hair, her laughter making me smile when the world seemed dim and hopeless. The girl who would look at me with such wide and trusting eyes, it would make my heart ache. She’d blush furiously and run whenever she caught my gaze.
I watched her grow from a shy, freckle-faced kid into a headstrong woman with too much light, too much innocence for this world. I kept her at a distance.
I had to.
She was off-limits. Untouchable. I told myself it was to protect her, but the truth was much worse: I wanted her too much. She didn’t belong in this world—my world—and the closer she got, the more I knew I’d ruin her. I knew how easily I’d corrupt her. In my mind, if she was still my best friend’s little sister, she would stay safe.
If I could just pretend—if I could freeze her in time, hold her in my memory as the innocent kid who loved books more than people and dreamed of worlds bigger than ours—maybe she’d stay untouched by this life.
By me.
My mind quickly slides everything into place like the pieces on a chessboard.
“We have an option, Semyon, but I need your buy-in.”
“What’s that?” I curse under my breath, gripping the wheel tighter.
“We clear Borozov’s debt in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage.” A pause. “She’s an option.”
She could never be a fucking option.
“She’s a fucking child.”
“She was when you knew her. She isn’t now. Marriage to Anya secures the bakery and with it, the harbor. It strengthens our family’s power and cuts the Irish off at the knees.”
I shake my head, grateful he can’t see me right now. I’m supposed to protect her, not use her in this endless game.
I’m silent for long moments, unable to respond.
Anya. Beautiful, headstrong, willful, and brilliant. I remember her sitting in the corner of her room with her freckled nose wrinkled in concentration, reading book after book while ignoring her chores, when she wasn’t risking her neck down by the stupid fucking creek.
I grind my teeth together as Rafail continues. “You marry her. Inherit the bakery, and it becomes ours. We pull that pawn right from under The Irish’s greedy hands, and from there, we control the routes they’ve been sniffing around. Tighten our hold on the region.”
I barely hear him. All I can think about is Anya.
Marry her.
A sharp rise of blood pulses through my temples as my hands tighten around the wheel. My teeth grind together. “Anya’s grown up, her brother’s made enemies—ours and others—and she’s out there.” I swallow hard. “Alone. And the Irish are about to take her.”
“Yes.”
“Call her father,” I snap. “And Rafail?”
“Yeah?”
“Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
I hang up and gun the engine.
Chapter 2
ANYA
I yawn so widely that my eyes water, then shake myself awake. I was up before the sun rose and made my way to the bakery in the dark to discover one of our ovens broken and a notice about the increase in the cost of flour. Now Stefan needs help with his homework.
My head is pounding, and my vision blurs. The relentless grind makes a good night’s sleep seem like a pipe dream.
But my family needs me.
“I can’t remember how to do this,” I admit with chagrin as I drop the pencil on the table. The numbers on the page swim in front of my eyes, mocking me. I was a good student once—good enough to make my teachers proud. My mother. But now, the weight of keeping the family afloat has turned my brain to mush.
Why is this so much harder than it was back then?
“Anya.” Stefan sighs. “I have to figure this out!” His eyes blur with unshed tears. He sighs again. “C’mon. You’re smart.”
I lean over and ruffle his hair with a wry smile. “Thanks. Let’s work on the spelling practice next and come back to this. Maybe something will click.”