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)
The door slammed, and he took out his gun. Even then, Rafail was a force to be reckoned with—looming over all of us, tall and commanding, barely eighteen years old. I thought he was unbreakable, untouchable. But through the gap in the closet door, I could see the faint tremor in his hand as he gripped his gun.
"What's happening?" Zoya whispered. “Semyon—" She was only six, too young to understand. Too young to know why our father had suddenly screamed at us to run when the shouting outside turned into gunfire. Too young to know why Mama's screams were abruptly cut off and ended in a gurgle.
I shook my head, unable to comprehend the horror of it all. But I understood it all. The metallic taste of blood that hung in the air. The low groan of my father as he tried fruitlessly to crawl to safety. And the utter hatred and fury of the man who ended it all—my mother's lover, coming to take what he said was his.
"You thought you could get away from me, didn't you?" he sneered, his voice slithering through the walls. "You thought I wouldn’t find her. You thought I wouldn’t take her back."
His voice made my skin crawl.
I flinched as another shot rang out, followed by the sickening thud of a heavy body hitting the floor.
Rafail pulled that trigger. If our enemies realized it was him, if there were more of them—
Rafail had told us to stay here, no matter what, but I had to help.
"Stay here," I growled to the younger ones. I glared at Rodion, bold and reckless, and put every threat I’d ever issued him into my command. “Don’t you fucking move. Make sure they stay here, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
He paused a second as if weighing whether or not coming to their aid was worth an ass beating but finally nodded.
I crept out, unseen by everyone. Rafail stood over the dead body of the man he’d shot—the man we all knew to be my mother’s lover. But it was too late. My father was bleeding out on the kitchen floor, his skin pale as he reached for Rafail.
"Hold them together," he said in a low voice. “Our family.”
Out of the corner of my eye, someone rushed at Rafail.
I moved without thinking. I grabbed the butcher knife from the kitchen counter and flung it with all my might. I knew the second it hit—I knew it would. We’d practiced, over and over again, me and Eli down by the creek, throwing knives into the tree bark. Every time, I imagined it was my enemy on the bank.
Someone grabbed me from behind. Cold metal slashed against my skin as I pulled away, and pain exploded in my hand when they missed their mark.
Rafail leaped from the floor, his hand shaking as he pointed the gun and pulled the trigger.
Thud.
Another body.
The two of us stood, breathing heavily in the bloody aftermath, my father’s eyes now vacant as our mortal enemies bled out on our kitchen floor.
I stared at Rafail. His face was pale and splattered with crimson. His hands trembled as he lowered the gun, crouched down, and took my father’s pulse.
His eyes bore into mine with a fierceness that cleaved straight through me.
"You’re safe now," Rafail said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
But it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true then, and it isn’t true now. Nothing about that night had been safe. Nothing would ever be safe again.
I pour another drink and sip it again, welcoming the familiar burn. I flip on my monitor, arranged by my bed, and look at the sleeping form of Stefan in one room and Anya in the next.
I take a deep breath, let it fill my lungs, and then let it out slowly.
They’re safe.
I didn’t want this responsibility, but it’s mine now, and nothing—nothing—will ever persuade me to allow my family to be in danger again.
Tomorrow, I move in on the bakery. Tomorrow, we make it brutally clear that she belongs to me—that no one will take over her family’s business. Tomorrow, we make it clear that I’ve made the move I need to, to keep my family safe.
I look at the sleeping form of the woman who hates me, the woman who blames me for her family’s ruin, and shake my head.
No matter the cost.
Chapter 12
ANYA
The dim room reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol, with a faint tinge of body odor, the low hum of voices punctuated by the clink of coins and glasses. I hated this place. I hated this place and the people who frequented it even more, but most of all, I hated that my brother was sitting at the center of it, a grin on his face as he threw down another handful of cash he didn’t have and had probably stolen.