Page 121 of Unbroken

She’s sobbing.

Her voice is cracked, broken glass. “At the bar, Rafail.” She gasps. “Tell me you have him. Tell me he’s with you.”

Rafail locks eyes with me, his face stone. “Who, Ruthie?” he asks, voice like a blade.

“Vadka.” Her voice cracks. “Tell me you have him.”

“I’m here, baby,” I say, my voice loud and raw. “I’m right here.” I don’t care who hears me. “I’m here. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she breathes out. “But… oh, Vadka. Where is everybody?”

“We’re all here, Ruthie,” I say. “Every one of us. We’re safe. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “I’m okay. What happened?”

“Listen, baby, we don’t know what happened yet,” I say out loud so she can hear me.

We’re going back to the house.

We’re questioning Zoya.

“I’ll question Zoya,” Rafail says, his voice cold steel. He’s always had a soft spot for her—she’s like a little sister to all of us—but now…

He waits.

“No answer?”

“Back to the house,” Rafail barks. “Bring your women. Now.”

He turns to Matvei. His expression is grave. “Check in, see what you can find on surveillance. I’ll do the same. We meet back here. Clear?”

Matvei nods. “Yes, sir.”

And I echo him silently. Because Rafail has spoken.

And when he speaks—it’s law.

Chapter 27

RUTHIE

Vadka is safe.And so is Luka.

The room’s too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that screams.

Vadka finds me, and the moment he does, he wraps his arms around me like I might disappear. I collapse into him, pressing my cheek against his chest. There’s a steadiness there, a certainty—his body is warm and solid, his breath slow and even. My fingers trail across the worn leather of his jacket, then up to his jaw. He smells like cold air, burnt metal, and the lingering echo of gunpowder.

He’s here. He’s safe. But he’s not okay. I can feel it in the way he holds me. The tension in his shoulders. The quiet concern in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask softly, pulling back just enough to see his face. “What happened? Why? I-I don’t even know what I want you to answer first.”

He doesn’t speak right away. His jaw tightens before he finally says, “Have you seen Zoya?”

That catches me off guard. “No… I assumed she was here. She’s not?”

He exhales, a breath that sounds too heavy for his lungs. “Her tracker says she is,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “But she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Oh no… Is she okay? Did somebody?—”

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