Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"Son of a bitch," Vadka mutters into his drink. "Who knew?"
Matvei exhales a sharp, amused breath. "Gleb, that’s who.”
I stare, unblinking, at the beautiful woman standing before me now. Willowy where I’m curvy, but the same white-blonde hair, the same blue eyes, the same upturned nose.
I’m dressed in dark-colored jeans and a black top with shiny, high-heeled boots, and she wears a simple pale-pink peasant dress tied at the waist paired with ivory flats.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” she says. It’s so bizarre hearing a voice so much like my own.
Polina.
I stare at her. Her hair is long like mine, falling down her back like silk sheets—pale, blonde, straighter. Mine’s wavy. But we have the same eyes, and where I know I’m jaded, her face is soft. Trusting.
God, I miss being able to trust someone.
She wears tiny gold hoops and no other jewelry, except for a gold band on her wedding finger, and I have a line of earrings that go all the way up my ear, gold bangled bracelets, and rings on several fingers.
She extends her hand to me.
“Polina Kopolova. You must be Anissa.”
“Yes.”
I’m usually bolder than this. Braver. But right now, I feel like a child.
“It’s nice to meet you too—except, please understand, I just found out about you. I didn’t even know I had a sister.”
“I know,” she whispers. Something unexpected that I can’t quite name passes between us.
And then we’re hugging.
I never hug strangers. But this… this feels right.
This woman is my sister.
And I am completely unprepared for the way I react. My eyes sting with tears, my throat tightens, and I can barely swallow past the lump rising in my throat…
Until a deep voice clears his throat beside Polina, and I jump back as if waking from a dream.
Right. Her husband, Rafail Kopolov himself. Fuck.
Is this where he puts me in stocks or lines me up in front of a firing squad?
One of Moscow’s most feared. Tenacious. Ruthless.
His reputation precedes him—a hardened criminal who shows no mercy.
I let her go as if she’s hot to the touch and force myself to meet his gaze without flinching despite the cold, merciless ice in his eyes.
Should I say… I’m sorry?
He is the only one here I have a history with. And none of it is good.
“Anissa,” he greets, his voice even, unreadable. “I have to say, I’m surprised.”
“Life is full of surprises,” I answer, unsure of what, exactly, he’s surprised about.
Why did I say that?
“I didn’t expect you’d look like my wife’s double in an alternate universe.” Someone barks out a cough, but no one talks as Rafail’s gaze narrows on me, assessing. Cold. Unforgiving.
And then Matvei is beside me, between me and Rafail.
He’s bigger than Rafail. And though he is outranked, there’s a steadiness to his presence that makes it easier to breathe. Wordlessly, he presses his hand to the small of my back. “Remember your promise to me, cousin,” he says in a low, quiet voice.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful he’s so possessive.
Rafail’s eyes narrow just slightly. There’s a tick in his jaw.
Finally, after a long pause, he nods. “I never go back on my promises.”
They don’t need to say it out loud. He’s promised Matvei that I’m his.
Matvei told me as much.
And by giving me to Matvei, I assume any retribution Rafail would seek is now void, but… it’s an assumption, and those are dangerous.
“Well, well, well,” an older, raspy voice says behind me. “We have mirror images here. In all my years, son…”
I turn. Matvei shadows me like he’s my bodyguard. I guess here… he is. His hand rests possessively on the small of my back.
The elderly man who spoke is hunched over, one gnarled hand gripping the curved end of a cane. His clothes are old and faded but neatly pressed, and there’s a twinkle in his sharp eyes.
“I was good friends with twins back in the day,” he continues, nodding sagely. “But they knew each other. This? This is the kind of thing they do on reality television, don’t they?”
He studies me, then Polina, before his gaze flickers back to me.
“Do you know what we say in Russia about twins in the family?” He smiles. “Two pairs of eyes, one soul.”
I blink. My throat is tight. Polina gives me a soft smile that almost negates the look of hatred from her husband.
The old man extends his hand. “They all just call me Grandfather,” he says. “Welcome, welcome.”
Then, his eyes harden as he waves his cane at Rafail and winks at me.
“I’ll make sure my grandson behaves himself.”
Polina clutches Rafail’s arm. “So will I.”
I nod to Grandfather. “Something tells me that cane isn’t just a prop.”
Someone snorts behind me, and another laugh follows. Sometimes, I think before I speak. Most of the time, I don’t.
A door in the corner of the room bursts open, revealing a bustling kitchen behind it. The air fills with the fragrant scent of garlic and onions, and my stomach twists with hunger.