Chapter 16 - Raya
I wake up confused. I’m in the bedroom, which I know for a fact isn’t where I fell asleep.
I was curled up on the couch with my paperback.
I slowly blink open my eyes; it’s still dark out.
Yakov is lying on his back right next to me, perfectly still, his sharp jawline set as he stares at the ceiling.
He has the rigid, hyper-focused look of someone awake for hours, chewing on a dark reality he hasn’t shared with the room.
He turns his head the second he feels my gaze.
The hard, icy gray of his eyes instantly thaws, and he gives me a slow smile that does several dangerous things to my heart rate.
I smile back. I can’t stop myself. It’s mortifying.
Then, my phone violently vibrates against the nightstand, shattering the spell.
I reach for it without sitting up, my skin still warm from his side of the bed.
I glance at the screen, and the warmth drains out of my body.
Matvei. My oldest brother does not call in the early hours of the morning unless something is dead wrong, and the only dead wrong thing I can think of that would have him calling is us.
I look straight to Yakov to warn him, but his expression has already locked down into a stone-hard mask.
He already knows exactly why he’s calling.
I press answer and bring the phone to my ear.
“Raya,” my brother’s deep voice rumbles.
“Matvei—”
“Come outside.”
The line goes dead. I’m already throwing the covers off and rushing to the bedroom window before the echo of his voice fades.
Yakov is a shadow right behind me, his solid heat pressing against my back as we peer through the glass.
Down on the asphalt below is—my brain slams into a complete, disbelieving halt.
What in the actual hell?
They’re all here. Matvei is standing at the front of the driveway, his arms folded across his massive chest, wrapped in that dead, unyielding silence that means he’s already played judge, jury, and executioner.
Adrian is to his left, Egor to his right.
Behind them is a small army of heavy-set Volkov soldiers I don’t immediately recognize, but given the tactical vests and the visible gleam of automatic weapons, they didn’t come for a family breakfast. High beams light up the entire driveway, a deliberately theatrical power move by Matvei because he has always loved a good entrance when he gets to make one.
Thank god there are no neighbors around to witness this and call the police.
Simon is standing slightly off to the side, his hands raised in a stiff gesture that screams, I tried to stop them.
“Yakov,” my voice comes out hollow.
“I know.”
“My entire family is outside this house with assault rifles.”
“I know.”
“How do they know where this house is?” Adrian Nikolai. It has to be. Sofie let it slip that Matvei had him hunting for a location—I should have known my brother wouldn’t just sit around waiting on me to be ready. I bolt for the front door.
Yakov’s left hand shoots out, his fingers catching my arm. “Raya, wait—”
“Don’t,” I snap, wrenching my arm free and looking him dead in the eye. “I am handling this.”
A flash of raw surprise moves across his face, followed by something fiercely respectful. He drops his hand.
I fling the front door open and march down the steps barefoot, wearing the same wrinkled leggings and sweatshirt I slept in, my dark hair a wild, tangled mess.
I am fully aware that I look a crazy mess, and I do not give a single damn.
Yakov steps out onto the porch behind me.
I can feel his protective, heavy presence in the space behind me without even turning around.
Adrian takes a menacing step forward, his hand resting on the grip of his holstered piece. “Raya, get over here right now. Step away from him.”
That is the wrong thing to say to me. In the history of stupid shit my brothers have said to me, I’m pinning this one right up there. Adrian really should know better.
I halt right in the center of the concrete path, the early morning dew freezing my bare soles.
I look at Adrian. I look at Matvei. I look at every single one of them lined up in the dirt with their shiny trucks, their drawn weapons, and their arrogant certainty that they have this entire situation figured out.
“You didn’t think to ask me first?” My voice isn’t a scream, though god knows I want to scream at them.
“I already told you this, Matvei. On the phone. Word for word. I told you my security failed once already, and more of it wasn’t going to fix that.
I told you I felt safer here than I did with your men.
You heard me say it, and you got in your trucks and came anyway. ”
Matvei parts his lips to bark an order.
“I’m not finished, Matvei,” I slice right through him.
His jaw clamps shut. I don’t think a single human being has told Matvei Volkov to zip it in the last decade. I don’t care. I’m past the point of caring.
“Do you understand what you’ve actually done?
You’ve driven a small army to a location his father has been trying to find for weeks, at the crack of dawn, loud enough that I’m amazed half the town hasn’t tracked in behind you.
If Alek has eyes anywhere near here—and after everything, you should assume he’s following you at the very least—you’ve just handed him exactly what he’s been asking for.
A war, out in the open, that he gets to point to and say I told you so.
Did any of you stop to think that might be the entire point? That he wants exactly this?”
Nobody answers.
Simon’s jaw grinds, his eyes drilling into the sidewalk. He stays dead silent.
“So do not,” I growl, stepping closer to the headlights, “stand on my lawn with your toys out and tell me to get away from him like I’m some stupid, brainless captive who doesn’t understand her own life.”
Nobody breaths.
The silence is deafening. Slowly, the guns start to lower. Not fast, and certainly not gracefully, but the barrels dip toward the dirt.
Matvei finally looks past my shoulder, his icy gaze locking onto Yakov. The silence between them stretches.
Then Matvei speaks. “We need to talk to him. Alone.”
I turn around. Yakov is leaning against the doorframe, his uninjured arm loose at his side, watching the entire spectacle with those unreadable gray eyes.
He looks down at me. I look up at him. I don’t even know what I’m trying to communicate with my eyes anymore—some desperate cocktail of I’m sorry they’re here, and please don’t kill my brothers.
He gives me a microscopic nod. He understands.
I look back at Matvei, my chin lifted high. “Fine,” I say. “But if a single one of you touches him—if you do anything at all to ruin what he’s building—I will never forgive you. Any of you. And that includes you,” I add, pointing a fierce finger at Simon, who actually has the decency to flinch.
I turn around, march past Yakov, and walk straight back into the house.
I don’t look back. I storm into the kitchen, grab the kettle, and slam it under the faucet to fill it.
I set it on the stove, turn the burner to high, and plant both of my palms flat against the counter.
My hands are trembling violently now, a physical tremor I observe with a weird sense of detachment.
The adrenaline is finally dropping, leaving me cold and hollow.
I know the feeling. I’ve had plenty of reasons in my life to know what an adrenaline crash feels like. It’ll pass.
I stood in front of the lot of them and defended him.
I brew a mug of tea I have zero intention of drinking and stand alone in the quiet kitchen, waiting for my brothers to finish their back-alley negotiation with my husband.
A sudden, sickening wave hits my stomach at the mere thought of them hurting him.
Is it strange that I don’t feel ready for this to end yet?