Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Disrespect my wife, and you’ll lose that tongue,” I warn. I reach for a butcher knife and wield it. Ready. “Hard to eat pussy without a tongue, O’Rourke, mmm?”
He clamps his mouth shut. I don’t bluff.
“This isn’t a pissing contest, boys.” I shake my head. “Now,” I say in a conversational tone. “We talk. Keenan McCarthy won’t be too happy your work was so sloppy, will he?”
Their patriarch is well known for his ruthlessness and fastidious methods.
“You were the ones who came into Moscow. You blackmailed my wife and tried to take what wasn’t yours.” I shake my head. “We do this my way, or not one of you leaves here alive.”
Silence.
Then the sound of slow, deliberate clapping.
I know who it is before I see him. The Undertaker steps from the back in his signature black bespoke suit. His presence shifts the energy in the room. Even his men are terrified.
“You won this time, Kopolov.”
Motherfucker was here the whole time. He wanted to see what his men would do. I watch him cross an ankle over a knee and sip from a cup of tea. “Efficient,” he murmurs, swirling his tea. “But not as clean as I’d have expected, Kopolov.”
I give him a wry smile and nod.
His lips curl, amused, his voice a low drawl tinged with steel. “But I hope you know I’m coming for your sister.”
Yana’s married, and even he wouldn’t tread on Bratva law. Zoya’s barely an adult. Rage coils in my chest. I don’t react. “We’ll see about that.”
He winks. “Aye. That we will. Now why are we all here, lads?”
Rafail barks, “Weapons down.”
The Undertaker nods. They obey.
I turn back at Cillian. His face is contorted in pain. “This isn’t just about bloodshed anymore. It’s about power. You have your territory, and we have ours. We could keep fighting, but we don’t need to keep bleeding each other dry.”
The Undertaker nods, regarding his injured man with interest. “Whatever did you do to earn this punishment, O’Rourke?”
O’Rourke’s face is mottled red as he seethes, “Nothing, I—”
“Tried to pull a weapon on our property,” I finish, shaking my head like a disappointed parent.
“Aye.” His boss nods before he bends to his man and cuffs him. “What’d I tell you about drawing weapons on the Russians, lad?” He slaps the man’s cheek hard enough to leave a mark. “You walked in here. Did you expect a welcome party? I ought to shoot out the other kneecap to teach you a lesson, mmm?” With a sigh, he straightens, giving me a “kids these days” shake of his head.
Anya stands stoically beside me, her arms crossed on her chest. My beautiful, fearless wife.
“Let’s hear your proposal, Kopolov.”
I clear my throat. “We form an unbreakable alliance. A new order. A new way. The heads of each of the most powerful factions vow not to end each other. We fight our enemies together.”
He tips his head. Thinking. “And we gain?”
I tip my head. “Survival. A seat at the table.”
Nodding slowly, he assesses his men. “This could work in our favor, yes, but only under the grounds of a temporary truce.” He finally nods. “Granted.”
The Undertaker’s lip curls as if amused. Lifting a hand, his men pull O’Rourke to his feet.
“We’ll take this deal. For now.” He opens the door but turns and winks at Zoya before he leaves. “See you soon, love.”
I let him go, but I already know the next time we meet, only one of us will walk away.
I draw her to me. She’s still breathing. We’re safe… for now.
We’ll draw up negotiations and present them to the Irish. We have our work cut out for us, but a temporary truce gives us time.
Anya stares at me. “So that went…well?”
Chapter 32
ANYA
It’s hard for me to believe Semyon and Eli are here together, chatting over shots of vodka and not beating the shit out of each other. Semyon holds the upper hand though. It’s his home, and he’s got me.
Eli’s got more color on his cheeks now under Zoya’s good cooking, but he’s still a bit gaunt, his eyes haunted.
“So this is it,” he says, shaking his head and looking around the room. At first, I think he’s talking about the obvious display of wealth and power in the clean lines of steel and glass and surveillance equipment. The monitors on the far-right wall are at rest for now, but only for privacy. A flick of Semyon’s finger on the keyboard, and they’ll all spring to life. Eli is observant. He knows.
“Your home,” he finishes, his eyes on me. “And you live here, Anya? Stefan too?”
Stefan is peacefully asleep, oblivious to all that’s happened. We haven’t shown him Eli yet.
Semyon bristles beside me, but I think before I speak. If I could go back and tell little Anya that she’d be married to Semyon Kopolov, that she’d be wearing his ring and sharing a bed, and that he was every bit as devoted as she dreamed about—she’d want to pinch herself.