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)
“I don’t know. Is it?” A hollow laugh, humorless. “Who the hell knows anymore?”
“Then give it time,” he says, always the rational one. “Stay out of her pants.” His eyes cut to me hard. “Don’t even look. As tempting as it might be to bury your grief, it’s only going to cloud your judgment, brother.”
He's right. Of course he's right. But fuck, I hate that he's right.
“You’re worried about Luka,” he adds, voice gentling. “She’s good with him. Makes sense. If my wife weren’t here anymore, I’d be worried about my kids too.” He pauses, lets the weight of it settle before he adds, “But I’m more concerned about how she is with you.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I shoot back, sharper than I intended.
He stares at me. Long. Measured. I just made a guy kiss pavement for disrespecting him and won’t fall into the same mistake now myself.
Rafail levels me with a look. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember, but right now, I’m reminded that he’s a little older, and he has younger siblings he’s raised. He crosses his arms on his chest.
“Are we going to have an honest conversation? Or are you going to take everything personally?”
My spine stiffens. I let out a long, slow breath.
Rafail continues. “You’re wealthy. Powerful. Attractive. Women like that shit. They’re drawn to it. And as your brother—and frankly, your boss—I need to make sure she likes you for the right reasons.”
“And what are those?” I ask, jaw tight.
He tilts his head. “See? You’re not even sure yourself.”
And I don’t answer because I’m not. Everything about this—about her—feels confusing and unsteady and charged in ways I don’t know how to handle.
“Does she support who you are? Do you even know if your values align? Is there real chemistry? 'Cause the most perfect person on the damn planet can be in front of you, but if there’s no spark—no fire—it’s dead on arrival.”
“Yeah, I got it.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Answer to those questions? I don’t fucking know. I really don’t.”
“Maybe you don’t need to know right now,” he says more gently. “Just make your decisions. Protect what’s yours. And then? Let the rest come as it comes.”
It sounds good on paper. Real good. But it’s a hell of a lot harder when your heart—and someone else's—is on the line. What do I even have to offer her?
I go looking for her. But Ruthie’s not where I left her.
Zoya is though.
“Where’s Ruthie?”
I don’t even think to check the tracker app—she was right here. I pull it up now.
“Sorry,” Zoya says, grimacing like a kid who knows they’ve screwed up. “She said she had to get to work. I tried to get her to stay, but she said her job was important.”
“Did you even check her?” My voice cuts sharp, too sharp, and Zoya flinches.
I want to be the one who takes care of her. The one who keeps her safe. “What the fuck did she do with her ankle?”
The room behind me shifts. Rafail’s pissed at how I’m talking to his sister. His presence is like a storm building, suffocating us with an undercurrent of danger. I sigh. “Sorry, it’s not your fault.”
“It isn’t,” Rafail repeats. Then he turns his attention to Matvei and while they talk shop, I make plans to get the hell out of here so I can track Ruthie down, check on her, and give her hell for taking off.
Matvei is back working in the office. I can hear the quiet hum of his laptop. I know he’s not just working but plotting, likely staring at video footage that would make anyone else tremble. He’s the one who keeps things in line, the tactical mind behind this war.
The war—it's not just about the Irish anymore. It's about power, survival, and keeping the Kopolov family at the top. The Irish have been bold—too bold—and they think they can break us. They've stirred up more than a few dark corners of this city and aligned themselves with forces that threaten our stability. I’ve seen the intel, the whispers in the shadows—it's bigger than we thought.
The Irish are targeting our supply routes, cutting us off from resources, trying to weaken our grip. But it’s the personal vendettas that make it dangerous—betrayal runs deeper when it’s in your own blood.
Then there’s the pressure on Matvei. He’s the one who has to keep everything together and make sure the enemies don’t slip through our fingers. I feel the weight of the decision that’s been thrust onto him, a war he didn’t ask for but is now bound to lead. The stakes are high—more than just the family’s wealth is on the line. This is about territory, about loyalty, and about control. Violence is inevitable, and when it comes, it will be brutal.