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)
But the raw emotion in her gaze is something it takes me a moment to process. I've never seen it before. She's shaking, yes—but there's something more. Something deeper.
What does it mean? Maybe I have seen it before and never realized it.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The intensity of her stare makes my chest tighten. The world swims in front of me, and my face feels too hot, the skin too tight. Shit.
I give her a grim smile. "Violence isn’t enough. Life and death happen in the blink of an eye in our world, and the world just keeps spinning, Anya.”
Slowly, the weight of my words sinks in. But I can feel it—her fear isn’t just for herself anymore. It's for me.
Matvei returns, panting slightly but composed. He leans in. “Definitely the Irish,” he confirms, his gaze flicking to Anya. We listen as he gives us more details, but it’s only confirmation of what we already knew.
Zoya returns with Mikhail Romanov, the Romanov family pakhan, and someone I don’t know by his side, a young man with swarthy skin dressed all in white. His medic, I’d guess.
“Alright,” he says with a tight smile. “Let’s get you inside and patched up.”
"We're not safe," Anya says. “God, Semyon.”
I reach for her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
"We never were, Anya."
Yana returns to us, triumphant and fierce, dragging a bound hostage in her wake. Mikhail’s brows shoot up. Anya pales. The man stumbles, a smear of blood trickling from his temple. Yana has a hand fisted in the back of his shirt, the other clutching a gun pressed tightly against his ribs. She moves as always, with deadly grace.
“Got this bastard sneaking toward a getaway car. Couldn’t get the others, but we’ll get answers out of him.”
I step forward, ignoring the burning ache in my shoulder. Anya shifts nervously, but I wave her off. I’m in control now. “Who sent you?”
“You know who,” he says in a drawl, not bothering to hide his thick brogue.
“We’ve got all night,” Yana whispers, smirking.
His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed as he spits on the ground. “You’ll get nothing out of me.”
I shake my head. This bastard’s responsible for a threat against my wife. My blood boils. “We’ll see about that.”
Chapter 25
ANYA
"He's alright,” I say in a low voice, twirling my hair around my finger. It reminds me of when I was younger, hiding in my mom's closet, twirling the phone cord around my finger. Back when phones had cords.
"What happened?" Ophelia asks. "This is crazy. It's like all of a sudden, you're living in a romance novel."
"I don't know. It was like we were ambushed or something. I don’t really know what happens in these families," I tell her, shaking my head. "All this time, I thought Eli was mafia adjacent. I didn't think he was fully involved. But it seems like there’s a lot I still don't understand."
I glance at the sleeping form of my husband. He refused pain meds, of course, because he had to brave it out on his own. I think the real reason is because he has a hostage to talk to.
The man who once seemed so emotionally distant stirs in his sleep. When he wakes, he looks at me, reaches for my hand, and gives it a squeeze.
“What time is it?”
I glance at the time and cover the mouthpiece of my phone. “Six.”
Of course. Semyon is like clockwork. Gunshot wound? A… what do they call it… hostage somewhere waiting for his questions? Doesn’t matter. Dinner with his family is at six.
Ever since Semyon was injured, Rafail has insisted that we stay in their large family home. Stefan, of course, is overjoyed because Zoya is here. And we haven’t missed a single dinner since.
"Semyon?" I say quietly. "You want to go down for dinner? You don’t have to.”
He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. “Of course I do.”
"Rafail told you to stay here and rest."
"I'm fine. It’s a fucking paper cut, Anya.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he’d say that.
“We have a lot to discuss, and much of it directly affects your safety,” he says, insistent. “We’re heading downstairs.”
I go back to the phone. “I have to go.”
“Call me soon, babe. I love you and miss you so much. And when are you opening the bakery back up?”
“Soon,” I promise, but it’s beginning to sound like a broken record. “Love you.”
I hang up the phone. Semyon frowns at me, and I’m not sure why.
“Alright, if you feel up for it…"
"I wouldn't go if I wasn’t," he says stoutly.
I brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead and adjust his glasses. His steady gaze warms me, his voice a low growl. “Just because I need a little recovery time doesn’t mean I’ve lost my stamina, woman.”