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)
In that moment, standing across from him, he is as immovable as the stone pillars surrounding us. “I’m ashamed of you,” he says, shaking his head.
It burns. It stings.
A sharper blow than any blade. Sharper than any strike I’ve taken to the ribs or jaw. I taste bile and swallow it down like poison.
“I need you to trust me,” I say, softer this time, almost pleading. He leans in close.
His whisper is deeper than his threats. “You murdered her betrothed, Seamus. They’ll come for blood, son.”
I shake my head. “Not if I can help it.”
My breathing evens out, steady now. Every lesson he taught me, every scar he gave me, I’ll use them all. I’ll make them my armor.
I know she’s being held somewhere secure. I pray she is. Somewhere close. I tell myself maybe my mother is near, maybe Bronwyn’s with her, two women with hearts made of iron and gold. Maybe they’ll protect her for now, shield the rest.
But I didn’t marry a stranger. Not some woman dragged off the street.
She was raised by Rafail Kopolov himself. She knows how to survive under fire. She was forged in it. And yet… I hate this. I hate the pain of being apart.
I haven’t felt like this in years. Not since the last time I made a reckless, desperate move. I’ve spent years crawling back into my father’s good graces. Rebuilding the broken bridge of his trust, brick by agonizing brick.
And now, here I am.
His phone chimes, and he glances down. “Your mother says it’s time for dinner,” he says, clipped.
Annoyance flickers in his eyes. Probably not at me, at her. Maybe both.
I guess she’s calling for him. I push up to my feet, exhale hard, and nod. A silent reprieve. A moment to breathe.
An escape. Dinner’s early tonight. We don’t usually eat this early. It feels off.
I know I’m not finished here, not by a long shot. But I’ll take the moment anyway.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“Aye, you will. And you’ll behave in front of your mother.”
He snaps the words at me like an order. I stop and turn toward him.
“I’m not a child anymore.”
For the first time, we meet eye to eye. I look down at him and realize… he’s shorter than I remember.
Time has taken something from him. He’s still strong, still built like the soldier he once was. He still trains, still lifts, still carries the weight of the past on his shoulders.
But I’ve grown. I’m in my prime. And he knows he can’t overpower me now.
I see it in his eyes, the flicker of something like fear. “Da,” I say softly. “Please. Trust me.”
His jaw locks as his gaze bores into mine. “You’ve left me no choice.”
“I know,” I whisper, letting go of his wrist.
“Let’s go to dinner.”
I step past him, across the threshold. His glare lingers behind me. But I have other priorities.
I need to get back to Zoya.
I’m not letting the hammer drop. Not tonight.
But tonight, it’s time for a call to Matvei Kopolov.
Chapter 22
ZOYA
“Aren’t you a wonder,” Caitlin says, her voice warm as she places a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into a quick hug. “No wonder Seamus loves you so much.”
Her words catch me off guard. Make me ache. I think of my mother.
“Did your mother teach you to cook like this?” she asks, her eyes bright, looking at the honey cake cooling on the counter.
I shake my head, looking away. “No. She’s been gone a long time. I was just a child when she died.”
“Oh, sweet girl, I’m sorry,” Caitlin says.
I breathe out slowly. “Thank you. I taught myself. I’m pretty good at it.”
“Are you?” she asks, smiling. “I’m not very good myself. I had a sheltered life. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday. Not now.” She winks.
“My son likes to eat. They all do. Tonight’s a little celebration,” she says with a smile. “Doesn’t feel right asking the bride to cook though! I hope Seamus isn’t put out. Do you like wine?”
“Yes.” I nod eagerly.
“White or red?”
“Either’s fine.”
“It’s all right, lass. You can pick.”
“I actually like both,” I admit.
She chuckles. “Good. My son needs someone agreeable.”
I shrug. “Only one person can be in charge, I guess.”
“Oh, I know how that goes.” She laughs again. “Now let’s see. You teach me how to cook, and maybe I’ll teach you how to survive a McCarthy man, eh?”
I shake her hand with a laugh. “Deal.”
We start pulling things together for the meal, her guidance easy and practiced. The ingredients are simple but fresh. Roasted chicken with garlic and lemon. Buttered green beans. Honey-glazed carrots. Fresh bread, baked earlier in the day.
And for dessert, a honey cake, light, golden, and fragrant.
“This is amazing,” Caitlin says, watching me mix and move. “Seamus will scold me for putting you to work.”
“I’d rather stay busy,” I reply. “I cooked for him back at the cabin.”