Page 2 of Unbroken

My wife.

Rafail’s gaze travels to the broken shoe on the floor. He swallows hard. This is when he tells me about the innocent lives at stake, how hard we’ve worked for peace, and reminds me of our limited resources. He might even pull rank.

But this time, he doesn’t say any of those things. No. A flicker of genuine fear seems to run through his words when he says in a hoarse whisper, “Think of Luka.”

The words hit harder than his fist would. My breath stops cold.

Luka. My boy. My miracle, asleep and safe.

Rafail presses harder. “Do you think Mariah died so you could abandon him? Or bring harm to him through your own recklessness?”

“Don’t, Rafail.” I drag a hand across my brow as a well of pain pushes at my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Don’t.”

“I have to. I can’t let you destroy everything we’ve built and everything we hope for because of revenge. I can’t.”

I yank my hand away from my face and stare at him. “As if you wouldn’t raze the fuckingearthif someone killed Polina.”

He flinches as if I slapped him. His jaw clenches, and he looks away. We both know the truth. He’d like to tell himself that he’d make decisions that would benefit the rest of his familyand our Bratva. He likes to think he wouldn’t cave to the temptation to murder the entire bloodline of any motherfucker who harmed a hair on her head. But we both know the truth.

He’d lose his fuckingshit.The Rafail we all know and love would be gone and buried forever.

Just like me.

Just like me when I lost Mariah—my last link to sanity. Without her, the world blurs and ceases to have meaning.

“I won’t abandon Luka,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “I will cleanse this city of every trace of the Irish before they get within breathing distance of him.”

He turns to go, and the empty bottle rolls and hits my foot. I’m seized with blinding, irrational rage. Without a second thought, I grab the bottle and hurl it across the room. Rafail watches, implacable.

The sound of glass shattering doesn’t do what I hoped it would. It only makes what’s broken feel irreparable.

“Then pull yourself out of this fucking quagmire and act like it,” Rafail snaps, his limited patience fraying. “Because right now, brother, you’redrowning.And you’re dragging the rest of us under with you. Promise me. No more. Not until I give you thego-ahead.”

I nod, my voice hoarse. “I promise.”

I rise slowly, my gaze on Rafail. My breath still heaves with the effort of breaking the bottle. With the effort of not falling apart.

“Maybe we fucking drown themfirst.”

Chapter 2

RUTHIE

I wipedown the bar top for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Zoya says thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. “It’s really okay to only wipe that down like fifty times. It’s a bar, Ruthie, not an operating room.”

At twenty years old, Zoya Kopolova is easily the youngest one here. Petite with dark-brown hair and brown eyes, she makes the room feel warmer and the crowd friendlier.

“That’s whatyouthink.” My voice is flat, but my lips quirk up. “If you knew what truly happened at a bar, you’d realize it’s not as far from an operating room as one might think.” Here, hearts are broken and mended, pasts buried and surfaced. Here, couples meet and break apart. I have seen it all and sometimes fancy myself part therapist, part miracle worker.

The Wolf and Moon isn’t a popular bar for young adults but an older bar with worn wood and comfortable seats savedfor regulars. We’re filled to near capacity on weeknights, and weekends are barely tolerable.

There are trendier places for the younger crowd to go, but Zoya chose here. She was always what my mother called “an old soul.”

“Refill, please,” Zoya asks sweetly, pushing her empty glass to me.

“Haven’t you already had two?”