Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Hello,” she says. “And what have we here?”
She doesn’t waste time with niceties. This woman’s been doing this a long time—straightforward, no bullshit, but with kindness beneath the efficiency.
“Definitely bruised and a mild sprain,” she says after examining me. “No signs of a break. I’m going to recommend you stay off your feet, ice, and elevate. Follow that, and you’ll be back to normal in a few days.”
She gives me a professional smile and starts packing up.
The door opens again, and Zoya hurries in—cheeks pink, slightly out of breath, like she ran the whole way.
“Hey, babe. Look at you— What happened?”
“You’re safe here,” Rafail tells me before he and Vadka leave the room.
Zoya settles in beside me as I tell her what happened, leaving out the details. All I say is that I tripped on a tree root.
“Oh, Ruthie.” She winces. “That sucks. Okay, do you have meds? Have you eaten anything?”
I shake my head. “Not since breakfast.”
It makes me think of Luka and the nanny… and the uneasy feeling in my chest returns. He didn’t seem troubled, but I am. It doesn’t feel right, leaving him like that.
“Something you wanna talk about, babe?” Zoya asks gently.
My throat tightens. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. I’m not the type to get all emotional, but here I am.
“I think I’m in love,” I whisper.
Chapter 13
VADKA
“This is not good,” Matvei mutters. His jaw’s tight, the muscles twitching.
Matvei, Rafail’s cousin, is one of the coldest, most brilliant minds in our crew. If you need someone to decode a message, hack a system, or find patterns in chaos—he’s your man.
“Take a look at this.”
He turns the screen toward us.
“Motherfucker.” My voice is low. My hands curl into fists. “They want my son? Over my fucking dead body.”
“I know,” Rafail says, slow and measured. “But we have to be careful. No rash moves.”
“You’ve got bodyguards at your house, right?”
“Of course. Luka’s safe.”
Still, for my own peace of mind, I pull up the app on my phone. The nanny’s washing dishes, and Luka’s at the kitchen table, coloring happily. I see guards stationed at every entry point, cameras everywhere. Nothing’s getting through that perimeter.
Still… that sinking feeling doesn’t leave me. Because only a monster would target a child. And monsters do exist.
“What about Ruthie?” I ask, voice tight. “Do they have anything on her?”
Matvei scrolls. “No. Nothing yet.”
“How do we know this isn’t a setup? Or misinformation?”
“We don’t,” Rafail says. “Which is why we keep it business as usual. Until we know more.”
He blows out a breath, then shows me the message on his encrypted channel.
Sever the bloodline. The letters are crimson, bold.
“Sever the bloodline,” I echo.
Rafail nods. “They mean us. The Kopolov bloodline. That includes our children. Our wives. All of them are targets now.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “What the fuck, Rafail?”
“How many of them did you kill?” he asks, tone sharp.
I shake my head slowly.
“You don’t know… because you stopped counting.”
I check the Wi-Fi—encrypted and locked. GPS jammers in place. Cameras. Patrols. Motion detectors. Nothing's getting through, not unless we let it.
Still.
“Nothing,” I say. “But I need to speak with Rafail. Privately.”
Matvei gets up and steps out of the office.
Rafail glances at me. “Something I need to know between you and Ruthie?”
I scowl. “You judging?”
“Of course fucking not,” he says. “You think I’d judge you? After everything? You think I’m a heartless bastard?”
I shrug.
He punches my arm, light but firm. “Don’t answer that.”
Then he softens. “Seriously though, Vadka. What’s going on between you two?”
He has a right to know. He’s my brother in every way that counts.
So I tell him. Not everything, but enough.
“I love her,” I say. Quietly. Like the words might shatter if I speak them too loud.
“I feel so fucking guilty.”
He leans forward, hands steepled beneath his chin, studying me.
“That’s why most people avoid falling in love, Vadka. It makes you vulnerable. I can kill a man, but I can’t kill the ache that comes with losing someone who matters.”
“I know.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“She’s my wife’s sister.”
Rafail nods slowly. Then leans in, his voice deliberate.
“Correction, brother. She’s your dead wife’s sister. There’s a difference.”
I flinch. I knew he’d say it. Still hurts.
“I think she thinks I’m only interested because she reminds me of Mariah.”
He leans back. Ever the pragmatist. “Well. Are you?”
“No. God, no. She’s night and day from Mariah.”
“They didn’t even look alike,” he agrees. “You could tell they were related, sure. But they were nothing alike.”
“Exactly.”
“There’s a simple solution to this,” he says flatly, the kind of pragmatism that grates when you’re barely holding yourself together. “You want to test how she feels? How you feel? Make sure you're not leaping in with both feet before you've had a damn second to breathe, to process? Is that what this is?”
I shrug, but my throat feels like it’s caving in on itself.