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)
Outside, the tension in the streets has been escalating. People talk, and every whisper feels like a threat. Those who are loyal to the Kopolovs are on edge, unsure of what’s coming next. We’ve been forced to make alliances with people we wouldn’t normally trust, and every meeting, every handshaking deal, feels like a moment where one wrong move could spark an all-out war.
The calm before the storm. I can almost taste it in the air—the anticipation, the fear, the certainty that we are standing on the edge of something we won’t be able to stop. Rafail’s anger, Matvei’s cool control, and my own uncertainty about how much longer we can keep this balance… it all feeds into the dread. The war is coming, and it’s going to tear apart everything and everyone I love.
Chapter 14
RUTHIE
Maybe I ran. I knew Vadka would be pissed that I left without talking to him, but I don’t want him to feel responsible for me. Why does that make me so damn uncomfortable?
I call my mother to check in on her, or maybe it’s to remind myself that I have other responsibilities, that I don’t need someone to help me shoulder my burdens.
But my mom is taking a nap, and they tell me she’s stable.
So I go straight to the bar, a little early for my shift. Predictable, maybe. Stupid. But I need to clear my head because I’m starting to feel like I need Vadka like I need air, and that freaks me out.
He’s not gonna be happy. But after I talked to Zoya, I needed to leave.
Zoya—kind, ever-pragmatic Zoya—told me the truth. About losing her parents. About feeling broken and soft and unsure. And she looked me in the eye like she saw right through me. “You think love is supposed to look tidy after loss? After death?”
I didn’t respond, because I didn’t have an answer.
Do I?
“He’s not the same man he was before,” she said gently. “He loves Luka. I believe that with my whole heart. And I do think he loves you, but I don’t think that’s new, Ruthie. He’s loved you for years.”
It feels dismissive and hurtful, even though I know sweet Zoya wouldn’t hurt a flea. What she’s doing is trying to make sure I don’t get hurt.
“Listen, Ruthie,” she said softly. “I’m just not sure he can love you in the way you need. Or deserve. You two are… very different people.”
God, she’s so right.
“I’m not saying it’s wrong,” she added quickly. “Don’t mistake me. I think, in a lot of ways, it’s very right, and my romance-loving heart wants nothing more than to see the two of you together. But I don’t want you to make a decision in the heat of grief or lust or guilt. Not when it could hurt you. Because if it goes wrong between you and Vadka, it’s not just you who gets hurt. Luka does too.”
I thought about that, really thought about it. I can’t just show up at their house, day after day, and then… not come anymore if something happens between Vadka and me. Children need consistency, routine, structure. I’m not one to offer that.
She sighed. “He’s your connection to your sister, and that might color your judgment. I don’t mean that cruelly…”
But I get it. I get it so clearly that it aches. Can I let this… infatuation? Lust? Love? Whatever it is—can I let it cloud my relationship with my nephew? With Mariah’s son?
It would be a grave, unforgivable mistake.
And yeah, Zoya’s right—we’re different. On paper, maybe even wrong for each other. But when people say I don’t belong in the Kopolov Bratva… why does that hurt?
Maybe because here—here with him—I feel close to her. Maybe because part of me believes she’d want me to have this… if this is something real.
So I went to work. No warning. No long goodbye. Zoya said they could’ve talked for hours, and I didn’t have that kind of time to waste.
I strapped on the walking boot they gave me, had my ankle wrapped, took my over-the-counter meds, and got my ass behind the wheel. All I wanted was the comfort of routine. Familiar faces. The rhythm of my world.
But none of it helps. Everything reminds me of him. I want security and comfort, and I have none of it.
I double-checked security like I always do, but this time, I had three uniformed men with me. I don’t usually need that. But today? I do.
Seeing the regulars helps.
Faces light up at the sight of me, their warmth, their familiarity. It's easy to smile, to exchange pleasantries, to be part of the laughter that fills the room. The chatter is light, the air thick with laughter. I can pretend to be okay, pretend I’m fine as I sip my drink, my smile perfectly placed.