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)
“And when my mother begged you to stop Eli, to get him out of the danger he was in, you didn’t. You didn’t help her that day, Semyon, and you could have.”
I drop my head to his shoulder. I try to hold it in, but I can’t. A sob rips from my throat, and I can’t stop it. I wail, gasping against the weight of everything I lost, everything I’ve carried. I weep for my mother. I weep for the girl I once was. I cry like my heart is shattering all over again. Maybe it is. Maybe a part of me will always be that girl, the one who loved too deeply and only ever wanted someone to love her back.
He grips my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me. I’m done covering for everyone else. Your brother made terrible decisions, and I fucking covered for him. I intervened, over and over, until I couldn’t stop the tidal wave. Eli was in too deep. I tried, Anya, even at my own expense. When you saw me running away…Fuck, Anya. Please just trust me. Please trust that I did what I could.”
I stare at him. Semyon is not a good man, but he doesn’t lie. I let myself believe he could’ve prevented her dying, that he could’ve stopped Eli from his demise. What if all this time I’ve been wrong?
“And that day at the bar? Anya. That was not some random woman but Carolina Korchev. A predator. In Bratva circles, she was a shark swimming in blood, raised in violence, trained to manipulate. She wanted control. She wanted me. She would’ve made you suffer, Anya. She would’ve hurt you, and I feared I couldn’t stop it. She’s no one, Anya. But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that hurt you.”
His lips meet mine as he holds me to him. I taste the salt of my tears before he releases me and holds me to his chest. I cry until the quiet after the storm rolls in. My eyes are swollen, my face puffy. It hurts to blink.
“Then why don’t you want me?”
"Bozhe, Anya.” He exhales, his voice rough, almost broken. "Chyort voz’mi, ty menya svedesh’ s uma."
I’m driving him…insane? Me?
“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” I whisper.
Taking my chin in his hand, he brings my gaze to his. “Listen to me, Anya. I’ve done everything I can to protect you. I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. When I found out the Irish were moving in, I—”
The Irish?
He shakes his head and clenches his jaw, his voice steady but his eyes blazing. “You’re drunk, love. I’m going to carry you upstairs. You’re going to have some water and a drink I’ll make for you, then I’m putting you to bed.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “And when you’re sober, Anya. We’re going to revisit this conversation.”
I let him carry me upstairs.
Roll down the covers.
Undress me and help me get ready for bed.
I drink the water he gives me and take the meds, before I close my eyes and sleep.
Chapter 15
SEMYON
I stand in the middle of the grand living room of our family estate. This house, ironically nicknamed “The Cottage,” hums with activity as our family gathers. My eyes drift to Anya, chatting with Rodion’s wife, Ember. They’re sitting on a loveseat, just far enough apart to remain polite, but I notice every movement. Anya’s back is straight, her eyes flicking to me every so often, but her smile at Ember is genuine. It’s relieved. Ember isn’t like the rest of us. She wasn’t born into the mafia and barely understands this world. But she’s loyal to my brother, and that’s enough.
Last night, I tucked Anya into bed. Made her drink water with electrolytes and take pain relievers. She slept hard, and right when I went to talk to her, Stefan woke up for breakfast and Rafail called.
“We have information about Eli.”
I’ve waited this long for my wife. But I won’t wait much longer.
Rafail paces by the window, his hands buried in his pockets, dressed as always in a bespoke suit. His wife, Polina, is seated nearby, scrolling through a tablet with Yana, my sister. When Anya and I arrived earlier, the greetings were quick—just little waves and smiles—but I noticed the way their warmth touched Anya. Zoya, my youngest sister, immediately took Stefan under her wing.
“I’m baking cookies in the kitchen,” Zoya said with a big smile, crouching to Stefan’s level. “Want to help?”
Stefan had looked to me for permission. I gave him a small nod.
Good. He’s learning.
After I checked on his room and how well he’d followed my instructions, I told him he did a good job. His little face lit up with pride.
Anya doesn’t belong here. She’s fire in a world of ice. So while I’m fine with Stefan following Zoya to the kitchen, I make Anya stay where I can see her.