Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I don’t remember much,” she admits. “I remember someone shoving me into a closet, probably Rafail. And Semyon barking at us to stay put. He was young, too, but he had that voice. That tone. Like there’d be hell to pay if we didn’t listen, so we did.”
“Rafail was eighteen, Semyon about sixteen. I was only six.” She pauses. “To me, they were giants. Legends. I did whatever they said.”
She gives a soft laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Rodion. He’s the youngest, yeah? He tried to help my brothers, but they weren’t having it. Semyon yelled at him to stay put, threatened to hurt him if he didn’t.” She takes a deep breath.
“They didn’t know better and did what they knew. Violence was language in our house. Old-fashioned, maybe. Brutal, definitely.”
She swallows hard.
“We all sat there in the dark, and we heard everything. The screams. The gunshots.” Her voice falters. “All I could think about was my mother. I just wanted to see her face. Wanted to know she was still there.”
Her hands tremble slightly. “I wish I had more memories of her.”
She speaks so quietly, I barely catch it.
Zoya nods, thoughtful. “My brothers are… protective. Rodion lets me think I’m free. Rafail doesn’t.”
And there we are, our families at war, a moment of stolen peace.
She leans against me, barely a shift in weight.
“This won’t last,” she whispers.
“I know.”
But mother of god, I wish it would.
For a moment, the war is distant. For a moment, we’re not enemies. We’re just two lost souls putting together the pieces.
I notice her eyes flick to the bedroom and back again. A quick little move, as if she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
She’s afraid of me. Of what I’ll do to her when we’re alone.
And I can’t blame her.
I took her from her home, her family. And my reputation? She’s heard every fucking word, I’m sure.
She probably thinks I’ll hurt her.
But I won’t.
Never.
I’ll treat her like she’s breakable, like glass.
And I won’t fuck her tonight. No, not yet. She’s been through too much. God knows, I want her. I ache for her.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’ll ease her into this mess I’ve made, before my family turns on me, before my father finds out what I’ve done.
“Tell me more about your family,” she says, hopeful, her eyes searching mine.
And so I do.
I tell her about my sister, Kyla. And the youngest, Bronwyn. “Kyla’s only a few years younger than me, but you’d never guess it from the way she carries herself. She got our grandmother’s red hair, but not her softness. Kyla’s like iron, burns hot, never bends. Put our parents through hell. Still does. Then there’s Bronwyn.” My voice softens when I speak of her. “You’ll like her,” I say. “Not sure you’ll like Kyla.”
“She sounds like someone you have to warm up to,” she says with a little smile and a wink. “I know the type. Did you forget who my brother is?”
“Tell me about them again,” I say. “I only know them as my enemies.”
She flinches, but barely. She quickly rights herself and swallows hard.
“There’s Rafail, you know him. He’s about your age, I think,” she says quietly, glancing at her hands.
There’s a gap in our years, but I like it. I like knowing she’s younger, a little more untouched by the world. Some would call me a bastard for what I plan to do to her, but they don’t know the half of it. I’ve done worse. Much worse.
And I’ll take good care of my little Zoya.
“Rafail is… hmm.” She thinks for a second. “Probably the most loyal person you’ll ever meet.”
Great. That bodes brilliantly for me.
“He’s good to his wife, his kids. His family. Gave up his whole life to raise us after… well, after everything. Against some heavy odds too.”
I don’t want to admire the bastard, but I do. Reluctantly.
“Eighteen years old, your whole life ahead of you, and you become a father figure overnight? No thanks.” I shake my head.
“And then there’s Semyon,” she says, her brows knitting. “He’s… harder to explain. With Rafail, what you see is what you get. But Semyon, he’s different. Doesn’t show emotions like the rest of us. Some say he doesn’t feel them at all.”
She pauses, her voice going soft. “But that’s not true. It’s not.”
There’s something about the way she says it, like she’s trying to convince herself too.
“He married his childhood crush. Her name's Anya. She's the one who owns the bakery. And she has a little brother, Stefan. They became his guardians, the pair of them.” I nod. I know all this on paper, sure I do, but it hits different, hearing it from her own lips.
“Then there’s Rodion,” she says with a smile, her voice warming. “He was always kind of our class clown, you know? Always, and I mean always, in trouble with Rafail.” She shakes her head with a soft laugh.