Page 24 of Unrequited (Bratva Kings #6)

“I don’t remember much,” she admits. “I remember someone shoving me into a closet, probably Rafail. And Semyon barking at us to stay put. He was young, too, but he had that voice. That tone. Like there’d be hell to pay if we didn’t listen, so we did.”

“Rafail was eighteen, Semyon about sixteen. I was only six.” She pauses. “To me, they were giants. Legends. I did whatever they said.”

She gives a soft laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Rodion. He’s the youngest, yeah? He tried to help my brothers, but they weren’t having it. Semyon yelled at him to stay put, threatened to hurt him if he didn’t.” She takes a deep breath.

“They didn’t know better and did what they knew. Violence was language in our house. Old-fashioned, maybe. Brutal, definitely.”

She swallows hard.

“We all sat there in the dark, and we heard everything. The screams. The gunshots.” Her voice falters. “All I could think about was my mother. I just wanted to see her face. Wanted to know she was still there. ”

Her hands tremble slightly. “I wish I had more memories of her.”

She speaks so quietly, I barely catch it.

Zoya nods, thoughtful. “My brothers are… protective. Rodion lets me think I’m free. Rafail doesn’t.”

And there we are, our families at war, a moment of stolen peace.

She leans against me, barely a shift in weight.

“This won’t last,” she whispers.

“I know.”

But mother of god, I wish it would.

For a moment, the war is distant. For a moment, we’re not enemies. We’re just two lost souls putting together the pieces.

I notice her eyes flick to the bedroom and back again. A quick little move, as if she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

She’s afraid of me. Of what I’ll do to her when we’re alone.

And I can’t blame her.

I took her from her home, her family. And my reputation? She’s heard every fucking word, I’m sure.

She probably thinks I’ll hurt her.

But I won’t.

Never.

I’ll treat her like she’s breakable, like glass .

And I won’t fuck her tonight. No, not yet. She’s been through too much. God knows, I want her. I ache for her.

But not tonight.

Tonight, I’ll ease her into this mess I’ve made, before my family turns on me, before my father finds out what I’ve done.

“Tell me more about your family,” she says, hopeful, her eyes searching mine.

And so I do.

I tell her about my sister, Kyla. And the youngest, Bronwyn.

“Kyla’s only a few years younger than me, but you’d never guess it from the way she carries herself.

She got our grandmother’s red hair, but not her softness.

Kyla’s like iron, burns hot, never bends.

Put our parents through hell. Still does.

Then there’s Bronwyn.” My voice softens when I speak of her.

“You’ll like her,” I say. “Not sure you’ll like Kyla. ”

“She sounds like someone you have to warm up to,” she says with a little smile and a wink. “I know the type. Did you forget who my brother is?”

“Tell me about them again,” I say. “I only know them as my enemies.”

She flinches, but barely. She quickly rights herself and swallows hard.

“There’s Rafail, you know him. He’s about your age, I think,” she says quietly, glancing at her hands.

There’s a gap in our years, but I like it. I like knowing she’s younger, a little more untouched by the world. Some would call me a bastard for what I plan to do to her, but they don’t know the half of it. I’ve done worse. Much worse.

And I’ll take good care of my little Zoya.

“Rafail is… hmm.” She thinks for a second. “Probably the most loyal person you’ll ever meet.”

Great. That bodes brilliantly for me.

“He’s good to his wife, his kids. His family. Gave up his whole life to raise us after… well, after everything. Against some heavy odds too.”

I don’t want to admire the bastard, but I do. Reluctantly.

“Eighteen years old, your whole life ahead of you, and you become a father figure overnight? No thanks.” I shake my head.

“And then there’s Semyon,” she says, her brows knitting. “He’s… harder to explain. With Rafail, what you see is what you get. But Semyon, he’s different. Doesn’t show emotions like the rest of us. Some say he doesn’t feel them at all.”

She pauses, her voice going soft. “But that’s not true. It’s not.”

There’s something about the way she says it, like she’s trying to convince herself too.

“He married his childhood crush. Her name's Anya. She's the one who owns the bakery. And she has a little brother, Stefan. They became his guardians, the pair of them.” I nod. I know all this on paper, sure I do, but it hits different, hearing it from her own lips.

“Then there’s Rodion,” she says with a smile, her voice warming. “He was always kind of our class clown, you know? Always, and I mean always , in trouble with Rafail.” She shakes her head with a soft laugh.

“There’s nothing any of Rafail’s kids can throw at him that he hasn’t already seen or had to handle, thanks to Rodion.”

I smirk. Yeah, I understand that well enough.

“The youngest probably thinks he’s bulletproof, eh?” I say, and she nods with that knowing little grin. But then, just for a moment, her expression falters. She looks a bit sad.

She misses them. I can tell. They're practically all she's ever known. Her whole world.

“And Rodion’s married too, yeah?” I ask, softening my tone.

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “He married a girl named Ember. She’s the one who got me into romance books.”

“Romance books?” My brow quirks. “You like to read romance?”

“Like?” She laughs. “I read two hundred fifty books last year.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I don’t think I’ve read two hundred fifty books in me whole life,” I admit.

She laughs again, and it’s bloody adorable. She covers her mouth like she’s trying to stifle it, her shoulders lifting a little. It's bashful, sweet. I want to pull her into me, tuck her under my chin, and kiss that little temple of hers.

“What do you like about romance novels?” I ask, genuinely curious .

“Oh gosh… everything,” she says, and there’s a dreamy look in her eyes. “I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.”

Good to know. My little lass likes the sweet things. And here I am, the devil who dragged her out of her homeland and across the sea.

“And then I came along and swept you out of your home and your country,” I say with a wry smile. “But I don’t regret it. No. I’d do it a thousand times over.” She gives me a sad smile. I reach for her hand. “Is there anything romantic in that?” I ask her, searching her eyes.

She pauses, thoughtful. Her gaze drops for a second. “It depends on why you did it,” she says quietly, her voice shaking just a little.

“If you did it because of pride, or to prove something, or just to get one over on my brothers… then no. I wouldn’t think that’s romantic at all.”

And I know her. I know her enough to hear the hope in her voice, that it wasn’t that. After all those nights in a dimly lit pub, all the conversations… I know her.

I’ll tell her the truth.

Christ, I’ll tell her the truth.

I lean back on the big sofa, legs spread, and pat my right thigh with my palm. “Come here, Zoya.”

It’s soft, but it’s still a command. One I know she’ll obey.

She rises slowly, wearing nothing but my oversized T-shirt. Her hair’s a chaotic mess, half-damp, half-dry. Her face is bare, slightly pink, beautiful. Her eyes, wide and wondering .

She walks toward me, hesitant.

“Right here,” I say, and she perches lightly on the edge of my lap.

That won’t do.

I wrap my arms around her and haul her fully into me, until she’s nestled properly where she belongs. She smells bloody divine. Feels even better. I close my eyes and breathe her in.

I’ll go to hell for what I did. And if me da has his way, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

But I don’t regret one fuckin’ second.

“Look at me, little lass,” I whisper into her ear.

She turns to face me. I frame her face with both hands, gentle but firm, and I make sure she doesn’t look away.

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I was in jail when I found out you were engaged.”

Her eyes go wide, lips parting.

“I broke out, Zoya. Broke out to find you. Because the thought of you belongin’ to another man, of him even thinkin’ he had a claim on you, made me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

She swallows. Her eyes shine.

“There were plenty of things I could’ve done to stick it to your brothers. Believe me, I thought of all of ’em. But takin’ you wasn’t about them.”

I shake my head slowly. “I took you because you were mine. Always were. Always will be. I took you because the idea of you being touched by anyone else made me want to put a bullet in my own skull.”

She swallows hard, and her voice is a whisper. “I’m afraid, Seamus.”

She trembles under my hands as I hold her by the shoulders. I could hurt her easily. Too easily.

But I won’t. Never.

A man like me… we learn our strength early. I was just a lad when I hurt one of my sisters by accident, and me da made sure I never did it again.

I just didn’t know my strength then.

I do now.

And most of the time, I use it. I bend it to my will. I use it to protect, to intimidate when I have to. But around her… I restrain myself. She’s delicate, in all the best ways.

That challenge was part of what drew me in. She made me question everything. Made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.

I didn’t think I had feelings. Not like that. And definitely not for someone Russian.

We were raised to hate each other. And I followed that rule, like all the rest, for the good of the family. Always for the family.

Until her.

“I’ll make this better,” I promise. “I’ll make this right.”

She blinks up at me .

I grit my teeth.

“I want you to promise me something, Zoya. And I want it now.”

She nods, solemn. We don’t lie to each other. Not anymore.

“You’re my wife now. I’m your husband. If I ask you something, I want the truth. And if you ask me, I’ll give it to you. Will you promise me that?”

She nods. “I’m an honest person, Seamus.”