Page 44

RUTHIE

Vadka is safe. And so is Luka.

The room’s too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that screams.

Vadka finds me, and the moment he does, he wraps his arms around me like I might disappear.

I collapse into him, pressing my cheek against his chest. There’s a steadiness there, a certainty—his body is warm and solid, his breath slow and even.

My fingers trail across the worn leather of his jacket, then up to his jaw.

He smells like cold air, burnt metal, and the lingering echo of gunpowder.

He’s here. He’s safe. But he’s not okay. I can feel it in the way he holds me. The tension in his shoulders. The quiet concern in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask softly, pulling back just enough to see his face. “What happened? Why? I-I don’t even know what I want you to answer first. ”

He doesn’t speak right away. His jaw tightens before he finally says, “Have you seen Zoya?”

That catches me off guard. “No… I assumed she was here. She’s not?”

He exhales, a breath that sounds too heavy for his lungs. “Her tracker says she is,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “But she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Oh no… Is she okay? Did somebody?—”

“We believe she’s okay,” he interrupts, his voice low, but there’s no certainty there. “That call she made to me? She made it to all of us—all her brothers. We all showed up expecting… devastation. But all we found was silence.”

“What? Why?” I whisper.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Why. And the short answer is… we don’t know.”

None of us does.

“We need to find her,” I say, my heart thudding. “Rafail must be losing his fucking mind.”

“He is,” Vadka replies, almost too quietly.

“I’m not even one of you guys, and I would be too,” I admit.

“For now,” he says, pulling back just enough to start stripping out of his clothes, “we need sleep. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.” He presses a kiss to my temple, soft, sorrowful.

Will it always be like this? Walking the edge between life and death, grief and survival, love and devastation. Fear. Hope. Loss. Life. The edges blur .

I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But I wake again. And again. Each time with that same weight pressing down. Finally, I can’t take it anymore—I push myself out of bed. Vadka’s still asleep, fully clothed, softly snoring. He looks exhausted. My heart aches for him. I want to curl back beside him, but nausea wins.

I use the bathroom, splash water on my face, and check my phone. Google says I need protein. Fine. I quietly head downstairs. The house is quiet and somber. Still.

In the kitchen, I find a wedge of cheese and some crackers. The salty crackers settle my stomach. I’m just starting to feel human again when I hear footsteps behind me. I tense. Guards are stationed at the doors, and cameras monitor every angle—so I don’t know who to expect.

But I definitely don’t expect Zoya.

“Ruthie,” she says softly, her voice raw, her eyes troubled.

“Are you all right?”

I nod, but her voice wobbles when she responds, “I will be.”

“Sit,” she says. “Did you take that test?”

I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. Despite everything between us, despite the storm we’re all wading through, her being here feels like a breath of something good.

“I did…”

She reaches for me. “And?”

I nod, this time grinning. I don’t know how you’re supposed to tell people news like this. There’s no guidebook for what we are, for how we live. But yeah.

“Don’t tell the guys yet,” I say quickly. “They’ll go nuclear or something. But yeah… I’m having a baby. Vadka’s, obviously,” I add sheepishly.

Her gasp is immediate. “Oh my god,” she whispers, throwing her arms around me so tightly I can barely breathe.

“Oh my god, I’m so happy for you!” Her eyes shimmer with tears.

“Another baby. Ruthie, your sister left us—she left this gaping hole in our lives. But now… now you’re bringing new life into the world. This is amazing.”

She kisses one cheek, then the other, and then hugs me again. “How are you feeling about all this?”

I pour myself some tea, still unsure. “I don’t know. I mean… I’m happy. Scared. It’s a lot.”

“Sit down, sit down,” she says, taking the tea from me and guiding me to the table. “But keep your voice down. If my brothers hear we’re down here, it’s going to turn into the third degree, and I am not ready for that.”

I laugh softly. “You do owe them some kind of explanation.”

“I know,” she says, a hard edge to her tone. “And now I know for sure I did the right thing.”

“What happened last night?” I ask, watching as she bites her lip and lowers herself into the seat beside me.

“I can’t tell you everything,” she says, eyes searching mine. “But I need you to cover for me. Can you do that?”

She’s one of my best friends. I trust her with my life .

“Why?” I ask, wary.

“Eventually, I’ll tell you,” she says. “Or… maybe I won’t. But you know… my brothers are at war with the Irish.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“I know someone within their ranks,” she says, her voice tight, guarded. “That’s all I can tell you.”

She pauses, eyes flickering away before finding mine again. “But it became very clear to me that the Irish were planning to hit this house. They were coming here , Ruthie.”

Her voice wavers, then hardens.

“There wasn't enough protection to hold them back. Not here. Not last night. And I thought about Luka. I thought about you. And now—now I know I did the right thing. Especially with you carrying that baby.”

She lowers her eyes, shame barely concealed in her next confession. “So I diverted them.” I don’t ask how she did that. I’m not sure I want to know.

Her voice drops to a whisper like she can’t believe it herself.

“I knew Rafail was headed there, but I figured—I thought—I could pull him back in time. And I did.”

She looks up at me then, like she wants to be absolved, like she's still unsure if she deserves it.

“So I told them to go to the warehouse. It was the furthest place from here that I could think of. I knew that if I told them all to go, it might scare them. But that would be a hell of a lot better than someone actually dying. ”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “If they’d come here, the Irish would’ve killed them. If they’d gone to the bar, same story. Instead, I sent them on a wild goose chase.”

Her mouth twists. “I knew we were safe here. Don’t ask me how. I just… knew. And I knew the Irish wouldn't find them at the warehouse.”

Zoya is sitting on a mountain of secrets, and I had no damn idea.

“All they know is that you lied to them,” I say slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You sent them to the warehouse under false pretenses.”

She meets my gaze without flinching. “Correct.”

“They also believe you weren’t here. Even though your tracker said otherwise,” I add, my eyes pinning her to the spot.

“But you were,” I murmur. “We were downstairs in the kitchen. Having…”

“A nightcap,” she finishes, voice a breath against my skin. “I don’t drink tea.”

Of course she doesn’t. Zoya’s full of sharp edges and hidden softness, the kind of woman who sips hard liquor while looking like she’s plotting an escape route.

“Thank you, Ruthie. I mean it. I swear, I have everyone’s best interests at heart,” she says.

“Even mine?” I ask, gently laying a hand over hers.

She exhales slowly, unsure. “I’m doing what I can to keep this family safe. ”

We fall into silence after that. A rare, comfortable one. We talk about the baby. Her brothers. She mentions Vadka—just his name, but it’s enough to paint an entire story between them. Then, after a long beat, she bites her lip and nods, eyes downcast.

“He’s going to ask you to marry him, Ruthie,” she says, voice barely audible. “Maybe not now. But eventually. And it’ll be the right thing to do. It’ll give you a kind of protection and loyalty that being his girlfriend never could.”

I nod slowly. “I’ve figured as much. Still… isn’t it strange? Marrying my sister’s husband?”

She shrugs like she’s heard it all before. “As if that’s never happened. The question isn’t whether it’s strange. The question is—is it right?”

I sit with that. Let it settle.

She’s right. That’s the only question that matters. And yeah—it is right.

Deep voices echo from the hallway—male, low, familiar.

Zoya sighs and leans back in her chair. “Here we go.”