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)
Always within my line of sight. I won’t ever forget the way she looked at me when she told me I broke her heart.
I’ll make it up to her.
Rafail turns to me, his expression grim. “The Morozovs demand payment,” he says. “And there’s word that the Irish are pressing in on our territory.”
The Irish. My god. In recent years, the Irish have grown in strength and number, commanding all of the eastern coast of Ireland but strengthening their connections in Boston. Their tendrils reach deep into the underworld of Europe and North America, and every goddamn one of us knows it.
“What does that mean for us?” Polina asks.
“It means,” I say, stepping closer to Anya, “that everyone needs to be accounted for. It means our enemies will exploit any weakness.” For one brief, passing moment, I almost call Zoya back to us, so I can assure myself that she and Stefan didn’t walk to the kitchen and straight into a trap.
I turn back to Rafail. “And what about Elizar?”
I can feel Anya’s eyes burning into me. I wish she trusted me the way she did when we were younger.
We’ll get there.
Before he can respond, the front door bursts open. My uncle and aunt stride in; their presence is an immediate reminder of the rot that sometimes infects even the closest families. Eduard’s gaze narrows on Anya, and Irma walks in on a wave of blonde hair and perfume.
Their son Matvei enters behind them. He and his brother Gleb grew up alongside us. Strong, dependable, and unwavering in support of our family, it’s been a thorn in his side that his nuclear family lacks the same loyalty.
Broad-shouldered, with a quiet intensity, Matvei knows the ins and outs of Bratva life better than most.
Matvei nods to me. “Semyon, we have to talk,” he says quietly. “Later.”
My grandfather catches my eye from across the room. He’s seated in an armchair, and when he winks at me, I’m not sure what it means. Subtle body language has never been my strength.
“This is a delicate situation,” my grandfather says, his wise gaze settling on Anya. “We protect our own.”
“Always,” Rafail growls, standing to his full height, his fists clenched. “Matvei, show us what you found.” Grainy footage fills the flat-screen TV on the wall.
Eli. His face is bloodied, broken, his nose at an odd angle, red lacerations on exposed skin.
Something tightens in my chest.
Eli was my friend.
I married his sister.
We thought he betrayed us. I took her as payment. And now…
I cross to Anya and rest my hand on the back of her neck. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to accomplish, but I’ve seen Rafail do it, and it always seemed to help.
“Where did you get this?” I ask. “Was it a plant? Did someone send it to you?”
“My inbox,” Rafail answers.
The footage continues. A pair of hands wraps duct tape around Eli’s mouth and shoves him into the trunk of a car.
“I don’t understand,” Anya says, her voice breaking. “What does this mean? Someone tell me.” Her eyes meet mine as she utters one whisper. “Semyon.”
My heart tumbles in my chest. All she has to say is my name in that tone, edged with desperation, and I’ll do anything, fucking anything, for her.
“It means we’ve been operating under the assumption that your brother ran,” I say quietly. “But he didn’t. He was taken. This is a message.”
“Or a plant,” Matvei says, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He’s loyal to our family to a fault, constantly questioning motives and truth.
“Why?” she demands, shaking her head. “Why him? He got into so much trouble with so many people. I can’t even tell you how many threats came to our door…”
She flattens her palm against her chest. My fingers on her neck tighten.
If only I’d known. If only I’d paid attention.
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, my voice steady.
“Neither did I. I knew he was gambling, but I thought he ran. That’s why I… I thought he’d left his phone behind to avoid being traced.”
Yana taps her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe he was planning to run. But someone got to him first.”
“Wait,” Anya says, her eyes narrowing on the screen. “Go back. The first few seconds, there’s something I thought was just a blur, but—I want a closer look. Please.”
Yana rewinds it.
“Look closer,” Anya says as Yana zooms in on the footage. “Can you zoom in further?”
A flash of a hand crosses the screen—a fleeting image almost too quick to notice. But when Yana pauses the frame and zooms, we see it clearly: a shamrock tattoo with a drop of blood beneath it.
“The Irish,” Rafail says, shaking his head. “I knew it.”
“You were the one who brought this filth into our family,” Eduard says, his eyes narrowing on me. “They aren’t Bratva. They aren’t family. And now, because of this bullshit, our family’s at risk.” He points an irate finger at Anya. “She—"