Page 17 of Unrequited (Bratva Kings #6)

ZOYA

My eyes drift to the beautiful white wedding gown hanging from the back of my bedroom door.

It glows, almost ethereal in the soft evening light, mocking me with its purity.

I’ve been primped and preened within an inch of my existence.

Waxed, plucked, exfoliated, scrubbed raw and moisturized back to glowing perfection.

There’s not an unwanted hair on my body, not a single one out of place on my head.

My complexion? Spotless. But my eyes betray me. There's a sunken, hollow look in them I can’t quite hide. Since Seamus left, food has been tasteless. My appetite died the day he walked away—no, the day I learned he wasn’t who I thought he was.

I've always been slim, but now I border on fragile. Gaunt. A whisper of who I was .

I sit at my vanity, a small white one from my childhood, painted in fading pastels.

I used to sit here and pretend I was a princess.

Pretend Prince Charming would rescue me from this world and that I’d wear glass slippers and command a court of talking mice.

I knew, even back then, it was just pretend.

Because I was already a princess. A Bratva princess.

And there are no Prince Charmings in our world.

I’ve seen too much to believe in fairy tales.

Once in a while, you see a family that genuinely loves each other. A couple that thrives on real affection. But that only works if they live by a code entirely their own.

That’s not my fate. I’ve already met the one man who could’ve loved me like that… or so I thought.

And now? I’ve seen my future fiancé twice. The first time, he arrived with an entourage—wealthy, slick, polished. He looked more like a model on the cover of a finance magazine than a man about to be married.

He’s rich, no doubt about that. I’ll have everything I could possibly want—except, of course, the only thing I really need.

He came with sleek, black SUVs, the kind that scream power and protection. But I didn’t show how impressed I was. And that pissed him off. He scowled at me, clearly expecting me to swoon.

Not happening. That’s not who I am.

The second visit, he took me to a restaurant so exclusive he rented out the entire first floor. Some people might’ve been flattered. I wasn’t. He treated the servers like dirt. Sent his steak back three times. Complained about the air quality.

Who does that?

And my brothers are marrying me off to him.

He’s not hideous. He’s actually pretty attractive. Strong, tall, fit, I guess. But he barely looks at me. His voice is nasally, and he never shuts up about finance and politics. It’s exhausting.

Tomorrow should be a celebration, but instead, it feels like I’m being led to the executioner’s block. I stare at the dress as if it’s a pair of handcuffs.

Sigh. I’m being dramatic. He’s not… that bad.

But he isn’t Seamus either.

I hear a soft sound at the window.

I freeze. One tap. Then another.

My stomach plummets. I see the flash of a hand.

My room is on the second floor. Who the hell…?

Whoever it is had to get past cameras, then scale the side of the damn house .

Heart pounding, I walk to the window. I open it just a crack. The smart thing would be to call my brothers, but something stops me.

“That’s my girl.”

My chest constricts, and my body heats. Anger flares, but it’s tangled with something else—something dangerous. Something like… hope .

Seamus?

“What are you doing here?” I hiss. “They’ll fucking kill you.”

“Language,” he whispers.

No . We can’t fall back into old rhythms. I can’t let him drag me back into his orbit.

And then—he’s there. I help tug him through my window and into my room.

Seamus . All six feet of hard, masculine beauty. Blue eyes even brighter than I remember. That messy hair, dimpled cheek. That jaw.

Those lips, god, those lips I’ve wanted on every inch of my body. The ink on his arms. The Irish lilt in his voice that still unravels me.

The room isn’t big enough for the two of us.

I slam the window shut behind him. Thank god, we have no cameras in the bedrooms.

“You can’t be here.”

“I am,” he says simply, but his smile is wrong. Distant. Guarded.

Is he angry? At me?

“Why are you here, Seamus?” I snap, tossing my head. “You left me.”

“Left you?” he growls, prowling closer. “Zoya. Jesus, baby. I was arrested. ”

His voice is a hush, and I hear footsteps in the hall. I press my ear to the door—then silence.

We’re safe… for now.

My heart beats so fast I’m dizzy.

He was… arrested?

“I was in jail,” he says, and now that he’s closer to me, I can see the scabs on his neck and shoulders, the haunted look in his eyes. Russian prisons are notorious for their brutality. My stomach plummets.

He was in… he was in prison?

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” I whisper, shaking my head, trying to push him out of my mind. “Whatever we had—it was never real. You orchestrated all of it.”

But I’m only whispering what I’ve feared. I want him to prove me wrong.

“Me?” He steps closer, his eyes dark. “You betrayed me .”

“What?” I throw my hands up. “What the hell are you talking about, you idiot?”

He growls, and suddenly I’m on fire.

I thought I was over him. I thought I was free. But he’s here, warm and real, and my heart aches.

“I know you’re getting married. Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to break out of prison?”

He broke out of prison. For me?

Oh my god . That’s why he disappeared. Why he didn’t answer. Why he vanished week after week, month after month.

“Why?” I ask, even though I know it’s pointless. He could’ve done anything, just like my brothers.

“Doesn’t matter,” he growls. “I never left you. I tried to come back. I couldn’t.” He’s standing too close, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck in that possessive way that makes me melt. “And now you’re marrying someone else.”

“Do you think I want this?” I snap. “Do you think I want to marry this pompous asshole?”

“Language,” he bites again, hand on my jaw now. I step closer, jab my finger into his chest.

He doesn’t flinch. “Fine. You were arrested. But you still left me,” I say, hating the way my voice breaks. “I told you to come back—and now what? You got out because you found out I was getting married? You couldn’t send me a single message?”

Footsteps again. We freeze. A soft knock.

“Zoya? You okay?” It’s Polina. Sweet, gentle Polina. Rafail’s wife.

“I’m fine,” I call. “Just on the phone. Sorry.”

Lying. Again. Ugh.

“Okay,” she says gently. “Let me know if you need anything. I know how hard this night can be.”

She doesn’t know. She couldn’t.

“Thank you. I’m just going to sleep now. ”

They all feel guilty. They know I’m marrying someone I don’t love.

I wait until her footsteps fully retreat before I lower my voice. “Why are you really here, Seamus?” I ask. “You went to prison. Probably deserved it. I’m getting married.” I swallow hard. “Maybe I deserve that too.”

“It was too risky,” he whispers. “Too risky to reach you. I couldn’t.”

“Everything we had…” My eyes are stinging. “What was it, really? Secret meetings in the back of a pub?”

He narrows his gaze. “You think that’s all it was?”

“I know who you are now,” I say. “You work for The Undertaker.”

And the flicker across his face confirms it. I was right.

“He owns all of Dublin. Maybe more. He’s done terrible things, hasn’t he?”

And Seamus works for him.

“I know who The Undertaker is,” I tell him, my voice trembling despite everything in me willing it to stay steady.

“I’ve heard the stories, Seamus. I know what he does.

And you—you work for that man. You work for the most ruthless, cold-hearted bastard in all of Ireland.

I know you do. I heard you on the phone with him.

Right after you killed all those men. You slaughtered them, just hosed them down like they were nothing.

” My voice breaks. “And it was supposed to be my family.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but I shake my head .

“ No .” The word slips from me in a whispered rasp, harsh and cutting, because I can’t risk raising my voice. Not when Polina’s right down the hall. Not when my family’s teetering on the edge, prepared for my collapse.

They fear me, fear the moment I break, because no one wants to see Zoya Kopolova shatter. If I fall apart, it was all for nothing. Every sacrifice, every calculated move… meaningless.

If I fall apart, then none of them will be able to stand tall either because I’m the youngest. I’m the one they all think is made of iron and spite. And if I can’t hold strong in the face of this, then who will?

“I know who you work for, Seamus,” I repeat. “And you know just as well as I do, there can never be anything between us. Not now. Not ever.”

I try to step away, but his grip is too tight.

“Why did you think I didn’t mean it?” he asks, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to understand something that won’t quite fit in his head. “Why did you think I came week after week and risked everything for you?”

“Risked everything?” I hiss, shaking my head, my voice bitter and sharp-edged.

I blink, and hot, fat tears slip down my cheeks. “You won’t even risk being seen with me. You won’t even let anyone know we were together.”

“Will you ?” he asks.

And I look away—because we both already know the answer .

No . Of course I won’t.

“You thought I left you?” he asks again, and the way he looks at me, like his heart is breaking right there in his chest, hurts. “You thought I’d do all that, come week after week, and just abandon you?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” I say, and I blink again. More tears, hot and fast, streaming down my face in thick, silent rivulets.

“What was I supposed to think, Seamus, after everything you said, everything you promised, and then you didn’t show? You couldn’t send a message? You couldn’t get word to me? Nothing? All this time?” I shake my head.