Page 141 of Unrequited
“Kill her.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“You said you were loyal,” he goes on, smarmy as fuck. I hate the feckin’ bastard. “Said your code meant something.Showme.”
I meet his eyes.
“She trusts me,” I whisper. “I’m not going to kill her. She’s mywife.”
“She’s not family,” he says flatly.
“She is now.”
“Right,” he says, standing, buttoning his jacket. “You’ve got one chance, McCarthy. One. Make her disappear. Quiet. No mess. And we go back to normal.”
“Like fuck we do,” I snarl.
His smile hardens into something cold and brutal.
“If you don’t, you know what happens next.” He heads for the door. “You heard your father. The syndicate’s splintering. We won’t allow that to happen.” His eyes narrow. “Do it.”
He turns away.
Conversation over.
God help me.
Chapter 26
ZOYA
I stare at the calendar,the app on my phone that tracks my cycles.
Not pregnant.
My heart sinks, heavy and low.
Why did I think it would happen the first month? That I could just will a baby into existence, manifest it, like it was magic, and everything would neatly fall into place. That somehow, this chaos could alchemize into something whole and new. No. That’s not how this works. Life doesn’t bend to dreams. It’s not a fairy tale.
But I don’t cry. I don’t even feel the sting of tears. I just sit on the edge of the bed, staring down at my phone like it's a verdict. A sentence. Another month of trying. Another month of hope unraveled.
Another month of trying to be perfect. Another month of trying to keep the peace with my own body, trying to soothe the ache of being too much and not enough at once. I shake my head, the motion small, bitter.
I can almost hear Yana in my head, her voice dry and sharp. “Stop trying to be the one who holds everything together. Just let it go. Things will sort themselves out.” But I can’t. I don’t. Because I let myself hope. I let the dream in, for just a breath, that maybe… maybe I could be more than the burden. Little Zoya, whom everyone had to shield and protect and manage. Maybe this time,Icould be the one who changed things for the better, rather than serving a cup of tea and a hot biscuit.
Maybe this centuries-old war between our families could end… with me.
I walk to the bathroom, my steps slow and silent. I feel Seamus behind me.
I pick up my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth, trying to ignore the weight of his presence. But I see his eyes flicker to my phone, to the mark on the app. He sees it. The little red drop.
“Your period started?”
I nod. He nods back, then turns away. Just like that.
It’s the silence that lands hardest.
Have I let him down?
