Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"I have to take that."
He steps out of the closet, already answering the call, his voice dropping into something lower, more clipped. I don’t hear the words, but I hear the rise and fall of his tone. The sharp curse.
When he comes back, his face is a mask. I wonder if this is what it will always be like with him—these moments of intensity, interrupted by things I’ll never be privy to.
"If you decide to run the moment we step foot out of this house…"
I smirk. "I know, I know. You’ll come and catch me."
But for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run. Not from him, anyway. From the Kopolovs? That’s another story.
The Cottage is quaint in name but not in reality. It’s ostentatious in the way that only men with something to prove build their homes. Old money—cold, quiet, powerful—but beautiful. So beautiful. It stands against the darkening sky like a beacon, flanked by sprawling grounds, roses still in bloom.
I wonder, for the briefest moment, what it would have been like if I had lived here.
I almost did.
I would’ve been the new matriarch of the family.
That’s why I ran, of course.
O’Rourke was the one who warned me. Told me what the Kopolovs were really like and what to expect. What Rafail was like—cold, merciless, commanding, the undeniable patriarch.
Argh.
The late afternoon air is cool on my skin as I step out of the car, but it does nothing to ease the nerves curling low in my belly. I am not the kind of woman who gets nervous. I’ve been in rooms with killers before, in spaces where every breath was measured, every word weighted.
But this?
The knowledge that I was supposed to marry this man—the knowledge that he replaced me with my own sister—makes me uneasy in a way I can’t shake.
Matvei parks. We are the only ones outside.
He walks over to open my door, takes my hand, and meets my eyes.
"You don’t belong to Rafail," he says, and I don’t know if he’s convincing me or himself.
"I don’t belong to anyone," I counter.
Hello.
When he leans in, his eyes locked on mine, he gives me a wicked grin.
"We’ll discuss that later, won’t we?” He shakes his head at me. “My little witch, always casting spells."
I step out of the car. He’s close. Too close. His hand presses against the small of my back, the warmth bleeding through my top like the brand on his own skin. I tense, and he feels it—his fingers flex slightly. Not reassurance—a warning.
"Tell me again, who’s here today?"
"Rafail, obviously. And his wife, Polina, who I’m sure you’re eager to meet."
I’m not sure eager is the right word. I’m nervous as fuck.
"My cousin Semyon, second oldest and second-in-command. His wife, Anya. Her brothers are here often, but they’re not here today.”
Anya. Pretty name.
I nod, trying to keep track as he goes on. "That’s all?"
"It’s an intimate gathering," he says quietly. "Vadka will be here as well. He’s one of the family’s enforcers, not related by blood."
I know the name. I know all their names.
Still, I want his reassurance.
"And Grandfather will be here, as always.”
Oh. As always.
Thank god his parents aren’t coming.
"No Rodion?" I ask. I was kind of looking forward to watching Matvei with his best friend.
He shakes his head. "Not today."
The door is opened before we reach it, a uniformed attendant nodding and smiling graciously before she looks at me. "Welcome."
Her smile falters, her eyes widening.
"My god," she whispers. "The resemblance is uncanny."
"I know," Matvei says quietly. Me. They’re talking about me. I swallow hard.
With a sharp tilt of his chin, he dismisses her.
"Why are they staring?" I whisper, uncomfortably aware of everyone’s eyes on me.
"You’ll understand in a minute," he murmurs back.
His hand finds the small of my back again. This time, I don’t mind.
I’m breathing rapidly, my pulse fluttering. He turns and looks at me, almost curious.
"You ran—repeatedly—from one of the Kopolov family’s most dangerous men," he muses. "And you expect me to believe you’re afraid of a little dinner?"
We both know it’s more than that. I’m about to face the man that has every right, in the eyes of the Bratva, to slit my throat and bury my body. I’m about to face the sister I never knew I had, the one who ended up married to the man I ran from.
I’ve never wanted to run so badly in my life.
But I smile at him anyway.
"I’m not afraid," I lie.
Chapter 17
ANISSA
“Hmm.”
Inside, the large formal dining room hums with quiet conversation. Crystal glasses catch the chandelier’s light, throwing sharp reflections against the walls. I know who everyone in this room is.
Everyone except the woman who looks like my mirror image.
I barely register Semyon, his sisters Yana and Zoya, or even the man who was supposed to be my husband.
My gaze locks on the blonde. A hush falls over the room. Someone drops a glass. It shatters, sharp and brittle in the quiet. No one moves.