Page 18 of Unrequited (Bratva Kings #6)

“I showed up for you,” I whisper, and I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes. I don’t want him to see how weak I really am.

“I showed up. Week after week after week. I sat in the same corner, drank the same drink. I came looking for my Mr. Thursday. I risked everything just to sit there and wait for you. But you…” My voice breaks. “You never came back.”

“I couldn’t, love,” he says softly.

“Don’t call me that.” I shake my head, turning away again. “Don’t. And now you say I betrayed you? How dare you?”

His gaze sharpens. “Zoya, you looked at information that wasn’t yours.”

“You were going to kill my family because The Undertaker told you to!”

My voice comes out too loud. I clamp it down and whisper instead .

“You work for a man who wants to wipe out my family, Seamus.”

There’s no room left for negotiation. “There can’t be an ‘us’ anymore,” I say bitterly. “Leave. Let me marry this stuck-up.” I stifle a sob. “Go away. Go back to Ireland. Go serve your Undertaker .”

And I can’t even pretend to hide the bitterness bleeding through every word.

“Zoya,” he growls, but before he can finish, there’s another knock on the door.

“Zoya, it’s me, Yana. I just have something to show you.”

He lets me go, and my hand flies over my mouth. How can I hide him?

The doorknob turns, and my god , there she is. I gasp, expecting shock on her face, expecting her to draw a gun and shoot him between the eyes. But she doesn’t even blink. Not even a hint of surprise.

I swallow hard and risk a glance over my shoulder.

The window’s wide open. Curtains billow in the breeze like ghosts.

He’s gone.

Seamus is gone.

My Seamus. The man I hate.

The man I still long for.

He came back into my life at the worst possible time, right when I needed him the least . And now, he’s disappeared again.

“Are you all right?” Yana asks, her face drawn and pale. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Have I?

A ghost would’ve been easier to handle.

I sigh and offer her a watery smile.

“I’m fine.”

It’s the biggest, boldest lie I’ve ever told. Bigger than the night I sent my brothers to that warehouse. Bigger than the wild goose chase I sent them on. This lie is darker. Deeper.

“I’m fine,” I whisper again, hoping that maybe if I say it enough, it’ll start to feel true. Hoping it’ll stitch the bleeding pieces of my heart back together.

I cry myself to sleep the night before my wedding.

I try not to because who wants photos with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks?

But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what else to do.

I don’t know what else to think, or how to stop the aching inside me. It feels a lot like the hollow grief I felt when my parents died.

Raw. Scraped out. Gutting .

Only then, I was just a kid. Too young to fully understand.

Now, the pain cuts from a different place. Because now, I know too much.

And that knowing is a different kind of wound.

I wake early and stare out the open window. I half wish, half beg for him to be there. To see him again, just once more, even though I know it will kill me, and it won’t soothe the aching in my heart. If anything, it’ll make it worse.

I can imagine him there.

Perched on the windowsill, blue eyes steady on me, cheeks flushed with emotion, that maddening dimple in the corner of his mouth.

I saw how it hit him like a two-by-four when I said the word Undertaker .

He doesn’t know that I know who it really is. But now I’ve said it out loud. Now I’ve exposed him for what he is.

And because of that… he’ll never come back again.

He can’t. After today, there will be a ring on my finger, and I will be Zoya Morozova.

Oh god. It could be worse, I remind myself. It could’ve been someone cruel.

That’s something, I guess. I swallow hard, swipe at my eyes, furious with myself for crying. And when I catch my reflection in the mirror, they're not as puffy as I feared. Not great, but not ruined either.

I dress for my wedding. Alone.

What if Pavel is cruel? I’ve heard horror stories. We all have. It’s why none of my family will make eye contact with me anymore.

There’s a soft knock at the door. “Yes,” I say, resigned. And Polina slips back in.

Polina, with that blonde hair so long it brushes the top of her butt. With those soft, understanding eyes and that gentle spirit that makes everything feel a little less sharp. “How are you doing?” she asks tenderly, like if she’s careful enough, she might make this bearable.

I only sigh.

“Oh, honey,” she says, settling on the edge of the bed and taking my hand. “You’ve been crying. I’m so sorry.”

Her voice wobbles. “When I tell you that Rafail agonized over this decision… When I tell you…” She trails off and shakes her head. “You had suitors, you know. Plenty. Men who wanted you. But he went through every single one of them.”

She’s not being dramatic. “He vetted them. We talked, just the two of us. We spoke to their families. We asked the right questions. It was like… they were applying for a job or something.” She lets out a dry laugh, the kind that doesn't reach her eyes.

As if that absurd detail is supposed to make me feel better.

It doesn’t.

“He just wanted someone who’d take care of you,” she says softly. “This guy? He will. ”

I nod stiffly. “Worked out well for you, didn’t it?” Her marriage to my brother.

She brushes the hair from my eyes, leans in, and kisses my temple. The gesture is small but sincere. “Yes, sweetheart. It did. It can work out, you know,” she continues, coaxing. “Especially when someone’s married to the likes of you.”

“I’ve seen it not work out,” I counter, needing to argue. To push back, just a little. To remind her that this isn’t all hearts and flowers.

Because yes, I’ve been crying. And maybe, just maybe, she’s right about why. She wouldn’t be that far off.

But she can’t know the real reason. No one can.

“All right,” she says gently, shifting back to business. “Your brother said it’s time to get this over with.”

So it’s an early wedding. He didn’t want me to have to sit with it or dwell. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? I have these little eye masks you can wear to bring down the puffiness.”

She offers me a soft smile. “All those sleepless nights with babies, I swear by these.”

We stand as she helps me to my feet, our fingers linking briefly. I do look pretty, I’ll admit that much.

And I’m glad. I don’t want to walk in there looking like a forgotten orphan.

“Look at you,” she says with a smile that feels like sunshine. “So beautiful. My god, this dress.”

It is beautiful, sleek and elegant in its simplicity .

She shakes her head slowly, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I absolutely love it. All right, show me your shoes.”

I lift my skirt just enough to reveal the rounded toe of my pearly slippers.

“Oh, they’re so pretty. Everything’s beautiful, Zoya. You’re a gorgeous bride.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“All right,” she says. “I’m going downstairs to appease your brother. He’s pacing a hole into the rug. I’ll tell him you’re getting ready and that you’ll be down soon. Do you want anything to eat? Drink?”

“I’m good.”

She smiles again. “All right. Twenty minutes, okay?” I nod.

“Okay. Thank you,” I say, looking away. There’s a lump in my throat that won’t go down. I stare at my vacant window.

She’s right. Maybe, just maybe, there’ll be something there to like. Something waiting for me.

I’m told he has a beautiful home. I haven’t seen it yet. And honestly? I don’t want to.

My gaze spins toward the window, irrationally hoping Seamus might materialize there like a phantom. He left last night. So why do I think he might come back?

He said I betrayed him. And I did—I read those texts, and I accused him of conspiring with a murderer.

What would I even do if he showed up? He didn’t come for me .

I’m here, alone.

Polina comes back, a tray in her hands with ice water and some small snacks. “Try to eat something,” she says, setting the tray down gently, her eyes full of concern.

She sits across from me.

“Can I ask you a question, Polina? Or… if I do, do you have to report everything back to Rafail?”

Her expression softens, lips curving in a knowing way. “Girls can have some secrets,” she says, lifting her chin and meeting my gaze. “What’s your question?”

Can I trust her?

I swallow hard, nerves prickling my skin. “What do you know about The Undertaker? The Irish?—”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about.” Her whole face changes. She bites her lip, turns away from me, troubled. “Why do you ask that?” she says quietly.

“Because I overheard you all that night. In the kitchen. After the bar.”

“Of course I remember,” she says. “Now why are you asking about The Undertaker?” She gently adjusts a pin in my hair.

I watch her in the mirror as she smooths one curl and straightens out the other, methodical, careful. Her fingers work fast, and she pins them in place like she’s done it a thousand times before.

“I’ve heard a lot of people talk about him,” I go on, a little too calmly. “But I want to know what he’s really like. Will you tell me? Please?”

She exhales slowly, like she’s been holding something in for a while. “I can only tell you what I know, darling,” she says gently. “And I know that one of the reasons Rafail is marrying you is because The Undertaker told Semyon he was coming for his sister.”

Her voice drops to a hush. “And we assumed,” she says, “that the sister he meant was you.”

I blink. Of course.

Yana is already married. There are no other sisters. Who else could he have meant?

“He said he was coming for me? Why didn’t anyone ever mention that? That’s… strange.”

What does Seamus think about that ?

“Right,” she says with a sigh. “And Rafail didn’t want to risk that happening. The Undertaker… the things they’ve said about him. He… he can disappear in a crowd, but you feel him. They say he once made a man confess his sins just by folding his coat in front of him.”

Oh wow.