Page 123 of Unbroken

“I can’t tell you everything,” she says, eyes searching mine. “But I need you to cover for me. Can you do that?”

She’s one of my best friends. I trust her with my life.

“Why?” I ask, wary.

“Eventually, I’ll tell you,” she says. “Or… maybe I won’t. But you know… my brothers are at war with the Irish.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“I know someone within their ranks,” she says, her voice tight, guarded. “That’s all I can tell you.”

She pauses, eyes flickering away before finding mine again. “But it became very clear to me that the Irish were planning to hit this house. They were cominghere, Ruthie.”

Her voice wavers, then hardens.

“There wasn't enough protection to hold them back. Not here. Not last night. And I thought about Luka. I thought about you. And now—now I know I did the right thing. Especially with you carrying that baby.”

She lowers her eyes, shame barely concealed in her next confession. “So I diverted them.” I don’t ask how she did that. I’m not sure I want to know.

Her voice drops to a whisper like she can’t believe it herself.

“I knew Rafail was headed there, but I figured—I thought—I could pull him back in time. And I did.”

She looks up at me then, like she wants to be absolved, like she's still unsure if she deserves it.

“So I told them to go to the warehouse. It was the furthest place from here that I could think of. I knew that if I told them all to go, it might scare them. But that would be a hell of a lot better than someone actually dying.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “If they’d come here, the Irish would’ve killed them. If they’d gone to the bar, same story. Instead, I sent them on a wild goose chase.”

Her mouth twists. “I knew we were safe here. Don’t ask me how. I just… knew. And I knew the Irish wouldn't find them at the warehouse.”

Zoya is sitting on a mountain of secrets, and I had no damn idea.

“All they know is that you lied to them,” I say slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You sent them to the warehouse under false pretenses.”

She meets my gaze without flinching. “Correct.”

“They also believe you weren’t here. Even though your tracker said otherwise,” I add, my eyes pinning her to the spot.

“But you were,” I murmur. “We were downstairs in the kitchen. Having…”

“A nightcap,” she finishes, voice a breath against my skin. “I don’t drink tea.”

Of course she doesn’t. Zoya’s full of sharp edges and hidden softness, the kind of woman who sips hard liquor while looking like she’s plotting an escape route.

“Thank you, Ruthie. I mean it. I swear, I have everyone’s best interests at heart,” she says.

“Even mine?” I ask, gently laying a hand over hers.

She exhales slowly, unsure. “I’m doing what I can to keep this family safe.”

We fall into silence after that. A rare, comfortable one. We talk about the baby. Her brothers. She mentions Vadka—just his name, but it’s enough to paint an entire story between them. Then, after a long beat, she bites her lip and nods, eyes downcast.

“He’s going to ask you to marry him, Ruthie,” she says, voice barely audible. “Maybe not now. But eventually. And it’ll be the right thing to do. It’ll give you a kind of protection and loyalty that being his girlfriend never could.”

I nod slowly. “I’ve figured as much. Still… isn’t it strange? Marrying my sister’s husband?”

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