Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Oh wow.
“He doesn’t always carry a weapon, they say, because he is one. Never raises his voice, yet even the most hardened criminals fear and obey him.”
I swallow. And Seamus works for him?
“No one’s ever seen him bleed. He doesn’t threaten either—everything he says is a promise, they say.”
My heart thunders.
She blows out a breath. “They call him The Undertaker because no one has ever survived crossing him, and anyone who tried was buried. His code is older than dirt, and he doesn’t break it, not for anything.”
“Oh,” I murmur, quiet and shaken. “Well. Isn’t he married?” I ask. “I mean… men like him usually are. Older. Settled. Right?”
She laughs, a light sound that doesn’t match the weight in my chest. Shakes her head. “He’s not old,” she says. “And no, he’s definitely not married.”
“Oh.”
A chill creeps down my spine, trailing like icy fingers. I sit up straighter and try to swallow—but something hard and dry is lodged in my throat.
I reach for my water glass and sip. Just a little. Just enough to wet my mouth.
“He’s… he’s not?” I manage.
“No. Not The Undertaker. He’s quite young considering his reputation and rank, actually.” She tilts her head, considering. “Older than you by about ten, twelve years. About Rafail’s age.”
“About Rafail’s age?” I echo. “What else do you know about him?” I ask, trying to sound offhanded.
“He’s the oldest son of Keenan McCarthy,” she tells me. “The head of the McCarthy clan.”
I blink at her. “The McCarthys?”
“They’re powerful,” she says. “In Ireland. Old blood. They live in this little place called Ballyhock.”
The words drop like stones in my stomach.
“Ballyhock,” I repeat, the name catching in my throat. My voice sounds hollow. “That… coastal village. Just outside Dublin.”
The one Seamus has told me about over and over and over again, so vividly I feel like I’ve been there.
Oh my god.
Nooooo.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Holy shit. Okay.”
I try to play it off, casual. “Do you happen to know his real name?” I ask. “The Undertaker’s?”
I feel so stupid. Idiotic. How could I have not seen this? How could I have believed something else, anything else? But I know. I know the truth before she says it.
My body knows. My bones know. Every nerve ending is screaming.
She looks me straight in the eye. “I think his name is Seamus,” she says.
The lights flicker.
Downstairs, someone screams. It’s like someone flipped a switch—sunlight replaced with shadow. The bedroom is swallowed in darkness.
“That’s strange,” Polina whispers, rising to her feet. “Zoya, I need to see what’s going on. Stay here,” she says quickly. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Of course I do,” I reply, steadying myself.
What is happening? Is it just my hopeless romantic brain wanting to believe he's coming for me—that he meant it when he said he would? No. He came last night. We exchanged words, fired off every emotion like bullets. And now… even if he wanted to claim me, he can’t.
I’m engaged to another man.
Then why do I feel like I’m about to cry?
I square my shoulders as calm settles over the house again. I’ve made up ghost stories in my head as if there’s something to fear. No. I need to get this wedding over with. Now.
Polina returns. “All good. I’m not sure what happened there.”
Interesting. I swallow hard when she smiles at me. “You ready?”
I turn to my makeup. If they’re going to take pictures, if I’m going to be a bride… I will be the most beautiful damn bride they’ve ever seen.
Concealer, thick and perfect under my eyes. Foundation. Powder. A touch of highlighter, not too much. Mascara, eyeliner, lipstick. I never go this far. Never. But today… today feels like it calls for it.
Still, it all feels like a dream.
“I’m ready.”
I walk down the stairs as if facing my execution. My steps echo on the floor, but I don’t shake. I won’t.
Strings of music play. Everyone looks gorgeous, all dressed in formal wear. The house has been decorated in whites and ivory, gold ribbons and bouquets of white flowers.
Rafail smiles at me. I give him a half smile back.
One day, maybe I’ll forgive him.
I look to the altar, but don’t see my groom.
That’s a little odd.
Rafail looks where I do and frowns.
“Open the doors,” he orders.
A gasp rips through the room.
Because it’s not Pavel Morozov standing there.
Rafail’s gun is drawn, and Semyon is already moving.
“Stand down,” Rafail orders, his voice hard.
Seamus holds my gaze across the crowded room.
I can’t breathe. Because even now, even knowing who he is, what he’s done, my heart betrays me.
Another gasp echoes, but Seamus’s voice cuts through the tension like a bullet.
“Quiet,” he says with authority. “Everyone, stay still. This entire place is rigged.”
My breath catches. The air is suddenly thinner.
“Kopolov,” he says, his eyes locked cold on Rafail. “Before you even think about pulling that trigger, know this. I was under orders to take your family that night at the Wolf and Moon. You remember that? The night your little sister betrayed you?”