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)
He’s coming. I felt it in my bones before he called. Before that burner phone lit up at midnight with a single word:
Come.
To my father's office.
I went downstairs, barefoot and boiling. Zoya stirred as I moved, lifting her head from the pillow, hair spilling everywhere.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft, heavy with sleep.
“It will be,” I tell her, kissing her cheek. “Sleep, love.”
I wanted to believe that. God, I did. But I knew what I was about to do would rip her apart. I only hoped the foundation we’d built, stone by stone, was strong enough to hold.
Now I’m here, sitting across from Branson in my father’s office. The man’s draped across the leather like he owns the place, swirling his drink with that same smirk he always wears when he thinks he has the upper hand. His red hair’s gone gray with age, but his eyes are as sharp and conniving as ever.
“Tell me something, Seamus,” he says lazily, like we’re old friends. “How long’ve you been keeping secrets from me?”
I don’t move. Don’t blink. Don’t let him see me breathe. I have secrets he’s yet to unearth, so I need to play it safe.
I smile and shrug. “’Bout as long as you’ve been betraying my father,” I reply coldly.
He just laughs, shaking his head like I’m a child he’s amused by.
“You say that,” he muses, “but you’ve got no proof.”
That’s what he thinks.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“She’s pretty, that Russian girl, isn’t she? The Kopolov girl.” His tone is mocking. “Sweet voice. Pretty little mouth. I bet you put that to good use, don’t you?”
He’s baiting me, and he’s good at it—gets away with saying shite I wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. My pulse kicks hard, but I don’t take the bait. Not yet.
He leans forward, grinning like the devil.
“Rafail Kopolov’s sister,” he says. “You’ve been fucking her.”
My jaw tightens. Still, I say nothing.
“You think we didn’t see you?” he continues, talking like this is casual. “Think I didn’t know you were holed up at that little bar in Moscow? You think my eyes don’t stretch that far?”
He tosses something across the table. Photos, grainy but clear enough. Zoya and me, her head against my shoulder, her smile soft and real. Us in my car. Us outside my flat.
Fuck.
My father sits still, frowning, his eyes flitting from me to Branson, then back to the pictures on the table.
I don’t look away.
“I married her for a good reason,” I say, steady. “We’ve had enough bloodshed.”
“You should’ve told me, son.”
“No,” I shoot back, holding his stare. “Because you haven’t believed a damn thing I’ve said, have you?”
He flinches. Doesn’t speak.
“Seamus,” he says hoarsely, “you’re my firstborn son.”
“But blood isn’t thicker than water,” Branson cuts in, his voice oily. “I’ve got evidence. He’s been betraying us for years, Keenan. And then he brings her into our home?” He scoffs. “What’s next? Invite the Russians in? Give them a seat at our table? Brought that little Russian girl in so she could relay everything to her family? I’d bet my fucking eye teeth that’s what he’s planning.”
“I’m loyal to this family.” I slam my fist on the desk. “She’s kept quiet.”
Branson snarls. “For how long? You think she’ll keep her mouth shut when we bleed someone in front of her? We’re not in the business of sentiment, McCarthy. She’s a problem. And you,”—he jabs a finger at me—“you’re mine. You’re The Undertaker. You don’t get to play house with the fucking enemy.”
“She’s not a threat,” I snap.
“She’s a liability,” he spits back. “And if you’re vulnerable, you’re useless to me.”
“To you?” I turn to my father. “Do you hear him? He doesn’t care about you. Or this family. It’s about him. His legacy.”
I breathe in through my nose, long and steady. Controlled.
“You lied to me,” my father says bitterly.
Fuck it.
“I did,” I admit. “Because when I told you the truth, you shut me down.”
Branson leans back, smiling like he’s already won.
My father gets to his feet and stalks to the door. “We’re done here, Seamus. Do what he says.”
The door slams with finality behind him. I’ve lost all credibility.
Fuck.
“You want to prove you’re still loyal?” he says calmly. Deadly. “There’s only one way.”
I know what’s coming. I still shake my head as if that will somehow ward him off.
“Kill her.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“You said you were loyal,” he goes on, smarmy as fuck. I hate the feckin’ bastard. “Said your code meant something. Show me.”
I meet his eyes.
“She trusts me,” I whisper. “I’m not going to kill her. She’s my wife.”
“She’s not family,” he says flatly.
“She is now.”
“Right,” he says, standing, buttoning his jacket. “You’ve got one chance, McCarthy. One. Make her disappear. Quiet. No mess. And we go back to normal.”
“Like fuck we do,” I snarl.