Chapter 10 Rafail stands in the shadowed doorway of the kitchen, silent for a moment before speaking. "I need to talk with you. Let's take a walk." That's all he says. Just like that. It's been a long time since my oldest brother asked me to take a walk. That used to be his thing-his way of handling things when words got too heavy for the kitchen table or when he didn't want the younger ones listening in. I don't blame him. He was only eighteen when he had to step into the impossible role of father figure. Thrust into it like a soldier thrown into battle without a choice, too damn young to be raising four wild kids who didn't know any better. But he did it. He tried, and he did what he could. When something came up-if we got into trouble at school, or if one of us hit a milestone we weren't ready to talk about-he'd say it then, the four words we all dreaded. Let's take a walk. And we would. Through the backyard, down the trail by the river, even in the dead of winter. Rafail was tough as nails, never wavered, never flinched. He was a stern disciplinarian, the kind who could make you shiver with just a look. No one got away with anything. But now that we're older, none of us blame him for that. Not anymore. He held our family together when it could've shattered. And honestly? It's because of him that we're still standing, that we know how to have each other's backs, that we understand the value of loyalty and blood. It's Rafail who taught us how to protect what's ours, to defend what's precious. But taking a walk always meant one thing: trouble. He'd caught on. I'm surprised it took this long, really. God. He knows about Seamus. He knows I've been sneaking away. My half-hearted excuses and careful lies have finally caught up with me. Bitten me hard. So I swallow and wipe my hands on the front of my apron, suddenly hyperaware of everything. I shove that thought away, scrap it. No time for sentiment. "Sure," I tell him, setting the stew to a low simmer and sneaking a glance at the rising bread on the counter. It still needs another thirty minutes before it's ready to bake. That gives me time. Not much, but maybe enough. Maybe. He doesn't meet my eyes. A shadow drifts across his features, unreadable. Well, this is new. My heart drums against my ribcage. "What's wrong?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thirty minutes should be plenty," he says simply, then turns and walks out the door. I check my phone, nerves twitching beneath my skin. No messages. Nothing from Aria, Mia, or anyone else who might have known what's happened. I don't know how much I trust Aria, anyway. Did she rat me out? What would I do if she did? But somehow, miraculously, Rafail doesn't ask. He doesn't push. Doesn't press. Not yet. Instead, he heads down the gravel path that winds through the rose bushes, his steps slow and deliberate. It's late spring just outside of Moscow. The air still holds a chill, the scent of thawed earth and everything, giving me hope. The streetlamp casts golden halos through the mist following rain. The pussy willows droop slightly, casting long shadows that slither across the path. It smells like the sun's coming, like life waking up again after too long in sleep. I've always loved this time of year. The green buds on the trees, the slow retreat of winter, the way summer promises longer days and fewer obligations. It always made me feel free. But I don't feel that anymore. I haven't in a while. Not since Seamus left. Still, I shove the thought out of my mind the second we fall into step, side by side. Even thinking of him feels dangerous. Feels like invoking something I'm not ready to face. Rafail exhales sharply. His breath fogs in the evening air. He's got a little gray at his temples now, something he didn't have when he first became head of the family. The years have marked him, but they've also hardened him. Refined him. We're more powerful now. Financially stable. Feared, respected. His name carries weight across every organized crime ring from Europe to beyond. But it wasn't always that way. We've survived betrayal, infighting, chaos. "I knew we'd have to have this conversation eventually," he says, scratching the back of his neck. For a moment, he looks almost boyish. "What conversation, Rafail?" My voice is wary, tight. "You knew, didn't you, Zoya? That eventually I'd have to marry you off." Oh god. That's why he's here? I nod. The lump in my chest rises, thick and sharp. Six months ago, I would've broken down. I would've cried, screamed. Raged. Because back then, I still believed I might get to choose. Still hoped I might get married for love. But now? Now it just feels like the next inevitable season of my life. God, I only hope he doesn't marry me off to some fat, ugly relic with hairy ears and sausage fingers. I'm only twenty. "Yes," I say. My voice cracks. I try to hide it. "I know." I blink hard, swipe at my eyes before he sees. The tears aren't because I'm afraid of marriage. It's because I know deep down it won't be to the man I want. "We did the best we could," Rafail says quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But Morozov's brother Pavel... he'll be a good match for you." I steel myself. "What can you tell me about him?" "He's Bratva, like us," Rafail says. "His family's got businesses that'll blend well with ours. Strategic. Profitable. He's... a little older, widowed." "Pavel?" I repeat, eyes narrowing. "I thought you hated him." He shakes his head. "I don't hate him." But the way he says it-the shrug, the tension in his shoulders-tells me all I need to know. There's something about this arrangement he's not telling me. They've all been watching me lately, and not in the usual way. Not with suspicion, not with curiosity. With concern. I've lost weight, I know it. My clothes hang differently, looser around my waist and collarbone. My appetite's disappeared, like someone snatched it away in the night and replaced it with this constant, hollow ache in my chest. I don't sleep. I can't. The nights blur into mornings, and no one dares ask me why. How do you explain the kind of grief that can't be named? That's what happens when you fall in love with someone you were never meant to have. Someone you can't keep. Seamus. Just thinking his name is enough to send my chest spiraling into a tight knot. Mourning something that was never mine in the first place feels even more impossible. But I've done it. I'm doing it. Because I have no choice. This is the only way. "We tried to make dinner plans, tried to put it off," Rafail says, shaking his head, a hint of regret in his voice. "But it didn't work. He wants you now, Zoya. We barely talked him into the end of the month." I nod, trying to absorb it, but it feels like I'm underwater, his words distorted and muffled, reality pressing in around my ears. The kind of cognitive dissonance that settles into your bones when you hear life-altering news and your mind refuses to fully register it. Like it's protecting you. Like it knows if it sinks in all at once, it'll shatter you. Still, I nod. Go along with it and ask the only question that matters. "Will this help our family?" That guilt, always simmering in the background, flares up, hot and nauseating. Every secret I've kept, every stolen night with Seamus, every lie I told, every cover I spun-it all boils to the surface. I hate lying to them, I whisper inside my own head. But I'd do anything for them. "Yes, Zoya," Rafail says, meeting my eyes, his tone serious. "More than I can even tell you." He pauses, shakes his head as if the weight of it all is too much. I nod again, slower this time, absorbing his words like they're some kind of absolution. Like if I just believe them hard enough, the rest will be easier. "What happens if I don't marry him?" I ask quietly. He exhales, his shoulders slumping just a little. "Then I find you someone else. Someone who still brings benefit. But if it's not him... then I'm afraid it might be someone older. Maybe meaner. Maybe not so understanding. And I don't want that for you." He sighs. "You deserve someone who's going to take care of you." "That's what this is?" I ask, forcing myself to stay steady despite the storm swirling in my chest-curious, suspicious. "Yeah. Pavel was just a kid before. Young and full of himself. Pompous, too full of his own goddamn hubris." Rafail sighs, blowing out a breath, his eyes flicking up like he's asking the heavens for patience. "But he's grown up. That was a couple years ago. He's had a hard life, Zoya. He's ready to settle down now." I arch a brow. "Is that your opinion, or do you actually believe that? So I'm engaged to a player?" There's a smirk tugging at my lips. I can't help it. It's the only armor I have left. Rafail groans, clearly exasperated. "For fuck's sake, Zoya. No. Not a player. He was... wild. Known for it. But that's not who he is anymore. He'll be loyal. He'll be good to you." "And exceptionally wealthy," I mutter dryly, rolling my eyes. "As if I care about that." He glances sideways at me, something unreadable behind his eyes. "I expected you to be more emotional about this." I shrug. "I expected me to be more emotional too. But why? I knew it was going to happen eventually." What I don't say out loud is that if I can't have the one man I want, what good is there in hoping for anything else? I swallow the lump in my throat and look away. "You said he'll be good to me," I murmur. "He'll take care of me?" "Yes. He will." "When do I meet him?" "Tomorrow," Rafail says. "I've invited him for dinner." I sigh, trying to brace myself. "Great. If that's what you want, Rafail." After all the lies I've told, after all the ways I've betrayed them, this is the one thing I can do. The one thing I can give back. A shred of loyalty to pay for all the secrets I've buried. Seamus isn't coming back. And I don't want another man. "It's more than just what I want," Rafail says, his voice turning heavier. "If you're with him, Zoya, we gain protection. Power. Our family's standing with the Morozovs solidifies. No one questions us. No one moves against us." He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's mutually beneficial on every level. Financial, political, strategic. Every one of us has made sacrifices." I nod, resolute. "All right. I'll do what you say. I'll come up with something good to cook." Rafail leans in, presses a kiss to my cheek, and wraps me in a rare hug-tight, grounding. "No, I'll have it catered this time. You are so good to our family," he whispers. "So loyal. So brave." Am I? I think. Am I really? I sigh and nod. "I try." "I was afraid you'd fight me on this," he admits. "Afraid I'd have to make you." "Make me?" I ask, lifting a brow. He shrugs. "I'm just... relieved. It's best you make a good appearance," he adds. "Do you want to go, I don't know... shopping? Haircut? New dress?" I shrug. "Does it really matter?" Can you cover up the face of heartbreak? He gives me a sheepish look and shrugs again. "Honestly? Yeah. It does. We want to make a good impression." I nod. Because that's what this is. A performance. A sacrifice. A war disguised as a wedding. And I'm the weapon. "You think this will be a good match?" I say, unable to hide the snideness threading through my words. There's no point pretending anymore, not with him. I don't know if anyone else has figured it out, but he should know. This is how it works. He knows. "I do," he says. The weight of his voice makes me pause. "All right." I nod, trying to stay composed. "If this will help you, I'll do it," I agree, swallowing my pride. I'll sign everything away, I think silently. My hopes. My dreams. Any lingering fantasy of marrying someone who might actually love me. Maybe it won't be as bad as I fear. Maybe we'll learn to coexist, even find common ground. That's all I can really hope for now. Love? I've let that go. I've let him go. But I won't run. Not again. Never again. This is a new chapter. No, a whole new volume. A Fated Encounter movie summary talks about Emma Brown who is forced by her father Henry to take her sister Bella's place and marry Tommy Anderson to save her business. Unlike the rumor Tommy turns ou...