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)
"It's been a while, Semyon," he says smoothly before turning to Anya. "And who is this? Your lovely little wife?"
Asshole.
Anya bristles beside me, immediately on edge. Makarov is ruthless and unpredictable, and I don't trust him.
His eyes immediately narrow on her, and his voice lowers. I don't want her to touch him, but when he reaches for her hand, she sticks her hand out and shakes his—mercilessly.
"Yes. Anya Kopolov. His ‘little wife.'" She emphasizes the words, and I love that she does.
He narrows his eyes. “Well, aren’t you the brave one?”
"And you are?" she presses, unbothered. Pride surges in my chest.
His eyes flash with amusement—a man like Oleg enjoys pushing boundaries, especially with people like Anya, who aren’t seasoned for his world. He chuckles, leaning in too close for my liking. “Someone you don't want to fuck around with,” he finishes, baring his teeth.
“I don’t see what’s so brave about stating my own name,” she says with a cold smile. A part of me wants to cheer her on. Attagirl. Another part of me wants to shove her behind me to protect her.
“Careful, girl,” he mutters, “In our world, some people don’t appreciate a brazen woman.”
Alright, that’s enough of that. I put myself between the two of them. “I fucking do. That’s enough from you.”
The shift in the atmosphere is immediate. The polite mask drops from my face, replaced by something much darker. He freezes as if sensing the threat between us, but since he doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, something harsher might be in order. “You have something you want to say to my wife?" I whisper. "You know she and I pledged vows to each other. You also know what that means, don't you?"
I imagine how this will play out—the way I'll take him, my fist hitting his jaw. He'll fall back to the ground, his head cracking against the concrete. And no one will move. Not one single person will bat an eyelash because this is nothing out of the ordinary for my family—for this gathering.
But I don't. Not yet. I decide to behave myself. For Anya.
Until he decides he has something else to say to her.
"You're his first wife, aren't you? Enjoy that. Don't you know what this family does with their wives?" His voice taunts again, this time meeting my gaze. "I'm disappointed in you, Semyon. Would've thought you’d have taught your wife her place by now."
Anya's jaw drops.
I get in his face. "I don't think I'm the one who should be careful," I warn him. "Rumor has it you have some affiliations with the Irish. And they're on the move. Doesn't seem like it's in your best interest to fuck that up, does it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, but his cold smile falters. His sharp incisors glint at me. “You moved in on the bakery without wasting any time. Seems like you like to take your wife there too, don't you?"
My fist connects with his jaw. It only whets my appetite. “You son of a bitch!" I snarl and shove him into a glass table that instantly shatters. Glass showers down, and Anya screams. No one even looks our way.
He chuckles, getting to his feet as he brushes his sleeve across his broken lip, smearing blood. "I knew it," he murmurs. "That was a test… and you failed."
I step after him, but a heavy hand falls on my shoulder.
"Don't." It's Matvei, his eyes boring into mine. "It's a distraction. You know what it is. Distracting you from what is the real question."
Makarov is gone.
Anya stares at me, her eyes wide.
"No one even looked over here," she says, shaking her head. “You punched him, broke the table and shattered glass, and no one even batted an eye.” She gives me a reproachful look. “Is this how you boys always handle things?”
Just when I seem to be making traction in understanding her, she throws me a curveball.
Matvei huffs out a laugh. “This is how we do things, Anya. Every guest here tonight is somehow affiliated with a family that doesn’t think twice about making a statement.” His eyes track the exits. “Stay close to Semyon.”
"Let's get some fresh air," I suggest, pushing away from Matvei to a paved area illuminated by moonlight. It seems to do the trick with my sisters.
Matvei walks away from us, but I don't miss the way his hand goes to his waistband—ready to draw a weapon.
“Can we go home now?” There it is again. Home.
“Soon.”
I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to happen, another puzzle piece falling into place.
I walk with Anya. The garden paths are dimly lit, shadows stretching across the stones. It's quiet here, the distant hum of the party fading into the background.
Something is off. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I inhale deeply as if the scent will give something away, but I can't catch it. Instead, I notice the way Anya's eyes flick to the shadows, the slight hitch in her breath.