But for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run. Not from him, anyway. From the Kopolovs? That’s another story.
The Cottage is quaint in name but not in reality. It’s ostentatious in the way that only men with something to prove build their homes. Old money—cold, quiet, powerful—but beautiful. So beautiful. It stands against the darkening sky like a beacon, flanked by sprawling grounds, roses still in bloom.
I wonder, for the briefest moment, what it would have been like if I had lived here.
I almost did.
I would’ve been the new matriarch of the family.
That’s why I ran, of course.
O’Rourke was the one who warned me. Told me what the Kopolovs were really like and what to expect. What Rafail was like—cold, merciless, commanding, the undeniable patriarch.
Argh.
The late afternoon air is cool on my skin as I step out of the car, but it does nothing to ease the nerves curling low in my belly. I am not the kind of woman who gets nervous. I’ve been in rooms with killers before, in spaces where every breath was measured, every word weighted.
But this?
The knowledge that I was supposed to marry this man—the knowledge that he replaced me with my own sister—makes me uneasy in a way I can’t shake.
Matvei parks. We are the only ones outside.
He walks over to open my door, takes my hand, and meets my eyes.
"You don’t belong to Rafail," he says, and I don’t know if he’s convincing me or himself.
"I don’t belong toanyone," I counter.
Hello.
When he leans in, his eyes locked on mine, he gives me a wicked grin.
"We’ll discuss that later, won’t we?” He shakes his head at me. “My little witch, always casting spells."
I step out of the car. He’s close. Too close. His hand presses against the small of my back, the warmth bleeding through my top like the brand on his own skin. I tense, and he feels it—his fingers flex slightly. Not reassurance—a warning.
"Tell me again, who’s here today?"
"Rafail, obviously. And his wife, Polina, who I’m sure you’re eager to meet."
I’m not sureeageris the right word. I’m nervous as fuck.
"My cousin Semyon, second oldest and second-in-command. His wife, Anya. Her brothers are here often, but they’re not here today.”
Anya. Pretty name.
I nod, trying to keep track as he goes on. "That’s all?"
"It’s an intimate gathering," he says quietly. "Vadka will be here as well. He’s one of the family’s enforcers, not related by blood."
I know the name. I know all their names.
Still, I want his reassurance.
"And Grandfather will be here, as always.”
Oh.As always.
