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)
“Hold on with all that bullshit,” Matvei says.
Rafail glares at him, but Matvei nods. “I agree. I’ve never loved a woman, but I’ve loved my sister.” His eyes grow soft, staring into the distance. “No one like her.” His sister was killed in a brutal war ten years ago. He did everything he could to save her but couldn’t. His sister was my cousin, and we all mourned her loss.
“I loved Gleb until he became a traitor,” Matvei adds. “And my asshole dad and mother.”
“They’re still family,” Rafail responds. “And we’re loyal to family.”
Matvei’s loyal to a fault.
“Love isn’t a feeling,” Rafail says. “It’s not just something in your chest or heart. It’s what you do. If you love someone, you do anything for them.” His voice drops, and his eyes grow dark. “Anything.”
The bartender gives him a curious look, pours another shot of vodka, and hands it over to him. “Well done. I’ll call a momentary truce,” she says with a wink before going back to serving the bar.
“We weren’t fighting, but okay,” Matvei says, taking the free drink. He likes a good free drink.
Love.
Holy fucking shit.
I love her.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Rafail says with a grin. “Jesus, brother, you didn’t know you loved her?”
I shake my head. “I knew that I’d protect her, that I was devoted to her, and that I meant every word I said in my vows. But love? No, I didn’t… I didn’t know I was capable of love.”
“Not capable of love,” Rafail scoffs. “You were chasing love when you were five years old, always trying to look up a skirt and find someone who would be devoted to you. Then, one day, your whole world came to a screeching halt.”
Another text comes in from Anya. I stare at my phone.
Anya
How about this one?
I look at the screen. She’s wearing a soft champagne-colored dress that hugs every curve but covers every inch of her. She has a beautiful little shrug draped over her shoulders.
Anya
This is the one I’d wear in public.
Her message pings alongside a winky emoji and a picture. A second follows almost instantly. Then a second picture arrives. She’s taken off the shrug in this one.
Anya
And this is what happens when you take it off.
My lips twitch in a rare grin. Heat stirs in my chest as I rise from the chair, phone in hand. My voice hardens. “I love my wife, motherfuckers. I’m going home.”
Laughter echoes in the room, but Matvei is strangely silent. He frowns at his screen, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Wait.”
“What?” I’m feeling impatient. I need to see her now.
Matvei blows out a breath, his shoulders stiff. “Something… doesn’t fit. But I need to check one more thing first.” He shakes his head. “We’re closing in on the truth, but I’ll need time to confirm it.”
My blood chills. Something is wrong. I pull Anya’s location on my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen.
“How long?”
“Soon. Hopefully tomorrow.”
The knot in my chest tightens. Anya is waiting. She’s worried about her brother, and I know damn well how fragile the peace between us is. The other shoe is about to drop.
Chapter 22
ANYA
I sat on the stoop of our crumbling home, my chin resting on my knees, trying not to cry. Eighteen wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Eighteen was supposed to be special, meaningful. There should have been cake and candles, my favorite treats from the local store, and maybe a book I’d been saving for.
I’d been planning my birthday for weeks, even saving up a little money from errands around the neighborhood. But it was gone now. My brother Eli found it hidden under my pillow—a really stupid place to hide money. He took it, just like he always did when he needed a quick fix for his gambling.
I felt stupid for hoping this year might be different.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. My mom tried—she really did—but she forgot dates so often I doubted she even remembered it was my birthday. And she was working today, anyway.
I told myself I didn’t care, but the tightness in my chest said otherwise. It’s just a day, I told myself. Just a day like any other. And now I’m eighteen.
Ophelia tried to make it special, but she got in trouble at school, and her mom grounded her. She passed me a note in class that said, “Happy Birthday! Your boobs look so much bigger today.”
It made me laugh and smile at her, but later, I found myself secretly staring at my chest in the mirror, wondering if they actually did look bigger.
I told myself I didn’t care that no one else paid attention to me today. No gifts, no celebration, nothing. My stomach growled, and I wrapped my arms tight around my legs, pretending it was just another normal day.