Chapter 16 Jesus feckin' Christ, I'll regret this. But if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't change a goddamn thing, not one, even though the consequences will be severe. I had to. I had to. Zoya McCarthy is mine. "This is your home?" she asks, her voice soft and uncertain. Gentle and sweet as anything. I don't deserve a woman like her. I always imagined I'd be wed to someone my father handpicked. That's the Irish way. Hell, it's the way for most of us raised in power and expectation. But I broke every damn rule to get her into my bed. And I'd break them all again. I nod. "Aye. Bought it years back. No one comes here unless I let them." She swallows, and her eyes go wide. She's starting to see, it's not just a house. It's a sanctuary. A choice. I park the car and catch her trying to open the door. "Ah-ah," I warn gently. She freezes. Smart girl, obedient without being meek. I get out, walk around, and open her door myself. Then I hold out my hand, and she places hers in mine. It's small, delicate, chilled from the night air. I bend down a little. "Why didn't you tell me you were cold, lass?" I ask, taking both her hands in mine, rubbing warmth into her skin. Once I feel the cold leaving her, I kiss her fingers before letting go. She stares up at me, wide-eyed. "It's chilly here," she whispers, giving a little shiver. "Aye, it is," I say. "Ballyhock nights are damp and seep into your bones, even this time of year. I'll get a fire going." "You have a fireplace?" she asks, smiling just a bit, her eyes still wide with wonder. I shrug. "One of those electric jobs, not the real thing, but no mess either. We've a fire pit out back, but..." I trail off, looking at her. "I want you inside till I say otherwise." She nods, swallowing hard. Doesn't push back. I don't press her either. Not tonight. "Come on," I tell her gently. "This is my home, for now. We'll be here a little while." She doesn't ask how long. I may not have married the woman my father chose, but I married right. Zoya is gentle as a doe, but there's steel in her spine. She knows the ways of men like me. She moves quietly through the house, careful, taking everything in with those wide eyes. Stone floors catch her attention. She asks about them. I nod, get the fire going, and put the kettle on. I'd open the windows so she could hear the sea, but I don't want her getting cold again. I like her here with me. I imagined her here with me. This is the one place in the world where I don't wear a mask. My cousin Colm shows up just before dark. He's loyal, brutal, and knows his place. I step outside and speak to him quickly. He doesn't ask questions. He knows better. I cut him off when he pries, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Zoya watching us through the window. Her eyes are wide, curious and wary, and I can't help but wonder what she sees when she looks at me. The cutthroat commander? The man who gives orders like gospel? But when I step inside, I soften. I give her the gentlest voice I've got. Like a skittish fawn, she'll bolt if I raise it. I reach for her arm and brush my fingers over it, light as air. "You hungry, love?" She blinks once, then nods. "All right, darling. Let's get you snuggled up here. I'll cook something." "You cook?" she asks, a tiny tilt to her lips. It's the first hint of anything playful since we got in the car. Back then, I could see it clear as day-she was bracing herself against me, building walls. I wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive me for taking her from her family. And I know what I did. Christ, I know. I shattered whatever future her brothers imagined. Burned their bridges to ash. There'll be retaliation, eventually. But I've got to move first. Right now, though, in the quiet shelter of my home, it feels like maybe, just maybe, we're starting to patch things up. Starting to find our way back to something that once felt like hope. Does she remember how she felt about me before I left? Because I remember every feckin' second I spent thinkin' of her in that fuckin' cell. I shrug. "I try to cook. Know a little bit." I scratch my head. "A bit shite at it, but you've had a long day. It's all right. Sit down and I'll fetch us some grub." "Seamus," she says gently. "I've cooked for my entire family for years. I like doing it. I'm good at it. Just show me the kitchen." I shake my head, sharp, but not unkind. "What did I say on the plane, Zoya?" I remind her, calm but firm. She sighs and drops back onto the couch. Lips pursed, but she doesn't fight me on it. I grunt under my breath and march into the kitchen. And promptly make a goddamn mess. Haven't done any shopping in a bit, so the choices are scant. Burnt eggs. Dry toast. I even manage to butcher half the berries, tryin' to slice them for the side. "Goddamn it," I mutter. Should've just ordered food like a sane man. She laughs. Finally. And Christ, it hits me square in the chest like a hammer. That sound. I love her laugh. And more than that, it means something. She's relaxing. Letting her guard down. Why does that matter so much to me? "Seamus," she says, getting up. The fire's going, and she's shrugged off the coat, still in her wedding dress. "Please, let me do this." She nudges me aside, and I let her. I let her. I don't let anyone push me around. Haven't since I was a lad, and only then 'cause mam had the final say. I watch her, amused, as she puts on the kettle. Her movements are confident. Easy. Like she belongs. The eggs come out perfect. The toast is golden and buttered. She works some kind of kitchen magic with the odds and ends in the fridge, turns the meal into a work of art. "Here," she says softly. "Let's eat." She settles into one of the little chairs I pull out for her, and I sit across from her. The food's brilliant, but I barely touch it because I'm too busy watching her. I feel as if I blink too hard or fall asleep, I'll wake to find she's vanished, that I only imagined her here with me. "Something the matter?" she asks. Is something the matter? Christ. The whole feckin' world's the matter. But none of that means anything right now. Now that she's here with me. I reach for her hand and brush my thumb over her knuckles. "No, I just..." I look away, my throat tight. "I've made some terrible decisions. But this, you, this isn't one of them." My voice cracks. "Be careful, Seamus," she says, and her voice breaks too. I tilt my head. "Why, lass?" "Because you're making it very difficult to stay angry with you," she whispers. And then she blinks, and a single tear slides down her cheek. "Zoya, why're you crying, love?" I ask gently. "Because I hate that you've made me choose between you and everyone I love." She swallows hard, then looks away. I nod, but don't speak. Just clear the dishes. "Here, I'll⁠-" "No," I say firmly. "We've got a rule. Actually, we'll have many rules. But this one starts now-one cooks, the other cleans." I glance back at her. "I watched my mam work her fingers raw. My da was old-school, you know? Not a tyrant, nothing like the bastard I'm named after, but he didn't lift a finger in the kitchen. Didn't want to. Ma didn't want him to either." I shake my head. "That's not how it's gonna be with us, Zoya. I might be the one in charge, but I can wash a feckin' dish. Period." She lets out a soft laugh. "All right." "Why don't you change out of that dress and take a shower? You'll feel better, won't you?" She nods. "I think so." I show her to the bathroom, and she looks around with wide eyes. "This house is beautiful, Seamus. Nothing like I expected from you." I don't ask what she did expect. Just nod and shrug. Her words make me feel... bashful. Christ. No one ever makes me feel bashful. Around Zoya, I almost forget who I am. I almost forget who she is too. And that's dangerous. While she showers, I leave some clothes on the little table outside the door. Mine, of course. Way too big on her, but fuck, I can't wait to see her in them. I looked forward to this more than I did seeing her in that wedding dress. When she comes out, her hair's still wet, skin flushed from the heat. She walks to the fireplace and sinks down without saying a word. I join her. We sit in silence for a long while. "So," she says eventually, "you bought this house with... I don't know. What do you call it? Blood money?" I don't flinch. Just shrug. "Aye. First job that ever mattered." She stares at the fire. "I believe you." Her voice isn't accusing, it's accepting, soft like an exhale. It's nothing less than what her brothers have done, really. I've heard stories. "Your brother became the guardian of all of you when he was still just a lad, eh?" I say gently. "I don't envy him that." "Right," she murmurs. "It was rough, you know. I was only a child." She trails off, her eyes dim. "I only remember bits and pieces." "Do you remember the night your parents died?" I ask, quiet as a breath. "Yes," she replies, even quieter. A whisper. "One of those memories I sometimes wish I could forget." "Do you want to tell me about it?" I ask her, and to my surprise, I want to hear it. Every brutal, blood-soaked detail. Not for the gore, god no, but because I want to know her. All of her. Even the parts that hurt to hold. "Why?" she asks, almost to herself. "What happened?" I press, gently now. "I want to know." She draws a breath. "We found out years later that my mother was having an affair," she says, her eyes distant. "And the man she was seeing... he came to kill my father. She wouldn't leave my father for him, so he killed them both. He was disturbed. Madly in love or whatever." She stumbles over the words, like they're stones underfoot. Her gaze goes somewhere far away. "I don't remember much," she admits. "I remember someone shoving me into a closet, probably Rafail. And Semyon barking at us to stay put. He was young, too, but he had that voice. That tone. Like there'd be hell to pay if we didn't listen, so we did." "Rafail was eighteen, Semyon about sixteen. I was only six." She pauses. "To me, they were giants. Legends. I did whatever they said." She gives a soft laugh, the kind that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Rodion. He's the youngest, yeah? He tried to help my brothers, but they weren't having it. Semyon yelled at him to stay put, threatened to hurt him if he didn't." She takes a deep breath. "They didn't know better and did what they knew. Violence was language in our house. Old-fashioned, maybe. Brutal, definitely." She swallows hard. "We all sat there in the dark, and we heard everything. The screams. The gunshots." Her voice falters. "All I could think about was my mother. I just wanted to see her face. Wanted to know she was still there." Her hands tremble slightly. "I wish I had more memories of her." She speaks so quietly, I barely catch it. Zoya nods, thoughtful. "My brothers are... protective. Rodion lets me think I'm free. Rafail doesn't." And there we are, our families at war, a moment of stolen peace. She leans against me, barely a shift in weight. "This won't last," she whispers. "I know." But mother of god, I wish it would. For a moment, the war is distant. For a moment, we're not enemies. We're just two lost souls putting together the pieces. I notice her eyes flick to the bedroom and back again. A quick little move, as if she doesn't even know she's doing it. She's afraid of me. Of what I'll do to her when we're alone. And I can't blame her. I took her from her home, her family. And my reputation? She's heard every fucking word, I'm sure. She probably thinks I'll hurt her. But I won't. Never. I'll treat her like she's breakable, like glass. And I won't fuck her tonight. No, not yet. She's been through too much. God knows, I want her. I ache for her. But not tonight. Tonight, I'll ease her into this mess I've made, before my family turns on me, before my father finds out what I've done. "Tell me more about your family," she says, hopeful, her eyes searching mine. And so I do. I tell her about my sister, Kyla. And the youngest, Bronwyn. "Kyla's only a few years younger than me, but you'd never guess it from the way she carries herself. She got our grandmother's red hair, but not her softness. Kyla's like iron, burns hot, never bends. Put our parents through hell. Still does. Then there's Bronwyn." My voice softens when I speak of her. "You'll like her," I say. "Not sure you'll like Kyla." "She sounds like someone you have to warm up to," she says with a little smile and a wink. "I know the type. Did you forget who my brother is?" "Tell me about them again," I say. "I only know them as my enemies." She flinches, but barely. She quickly rights herself and swallows hard. "There's Rafail, you know him. He's about your age, I think," she says quietly, glancing at her hands. There's a gap in our years, but I like it. I like knowing she's younger, a little more untouched by the world. Some would call me a bastard for what I plan to do to her, but they don't know the half of it. I've done worse. Much worse. And I'll take good care of my little Zoya. "Rafail is... hmm." She thinks for a second. "Probably the most loyal person you'll ever meet." Great. That bodes brilliantly for me. "He's good to his wife, his kids. His family. Gave up his whole life to raise us after... well, after everything. Against some heavy odds too." I don't want to admire the bastard, but I do. Reluctantly. "Eighteen years old, your whole life ahead of you, and you become a father figure overnight? No thanks." I shake my head. "And then there's Semyon," she says, her brows knitting. "He's... harder to explain. With Rafail, what you see is what you get. But Semyon, he's different. Doesn't show emotions like the rest of us. Some say he doesn't feel them at all." She pauses, her voice going soft. "But that's not true. It's not." There's something about the way she says it, like she's trying to convince herself too. "He married his childhood crush. Her name's Anya. She's the one who owns the bakery. And she has a little brother, Stefan. They became his guardians, the pair of them." I nod. I know all this on paper, sure I do, but it hits different, hearing it from her own lips. "Then there's Rodion," she says with a smile, her voice warming. "He was always kind of our class clown, you know? Always, and I mean always, in trouble with Rafail." She shakes her head with a soft laugh. "There's nothing any of Rafail's kids can throw at him that he hasn't already seen or had to handle, thanks to Rodion." I smirk. Yeah, I understand that well enough. "The youngest probably thinks he's bulletproof, eh?" I say, and she nods with that knowing little grin. But then, just for a moment, her expression falters. She looks a bit sad. She misses them. I can tell. They're practically all she's ever known. Her whole world. "And Rodion's married too, yeah?" I ask, softening my tone. "Yes," she says with a nod. "He married a girl named Ember. She's the one who got me into romance books." "Romance books?" My brow quirks. "You like to read romance?" "Like?" She laughs. "I read two hundred fifty books last year." "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I don't think I've read two hundred fifty books in me whole life," I admit. She laughs again, and it's bloody adorable. She covers her mouth like she's trying to stifle it, her shoulders lifting a little. It's bashful, sweet. I want to pull her into me, tuck her under my chin, and kiss that little temple of hers. "What do you like about romance novels?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Oh gosh... everything," she says, and there's a dreamy look in her eyes. "I've always been a hopeless romantic." Good to know. My little lass likes the sweet things. And here I am, the devil who dragged her out of her homeland and across the sea. "And then I came along and swept you out of your home and your country," I say with a wry smile. "But I don't regret it. No. I'd do it a thousand times over." She gives me a sad smile. I reach for her hand. "Is there anything romantic in that?" I ask her, searching her eyes. She pauses, thoughtful. Her gaze drops for a second. "It depends on why you did it," she says quietly, her voice shaking just a little. "If you did it because of pride, or to prove something, or just to get one over on my brothers... then no. I wouldn't think that's romantic at all." And I know her. I know her enough to hear the hope in her voice, that it wasn't that. After all those nights in a dimly lit pub, all the conversations... I know her. I'll tell her the truth. Christ, I'll tell her the truth. I lean back on the big sofa, legs spread, and pat my right thigh with my palm. "Come here, Zoya." It's soft, but it's still a command. One I know she'll obey. She rises slowly, wearing nothing but my oversized T-shirt. Her hair's a chaotic mess, half-damp, half-dry. Her face is bare, slightly pink, beautiful. Her eyes, wide and wondering. She walks toward me, hesitant. "Right here," I say, and she perches lightly on the edge of my lap. That won't do. I wrap my arms around her and haul her fully into me, until she's nestled properly where she belongs. She smells bloody divine. Feels even better. I close my eyes and breathe her in. I'll go to hell for what I did. And if me da has his way, it'll be sooner rather than later. But I don't regret one fuckin' second. "Look at me, little lass," I whisper into her ear. She turns to face me. I frame her face with both hands, gentle but firm, and I make sure she doesn't look away. "My sweet, beautiful girl," I say, barely above a whisper. "I was in jail when I found out you were engaged." Her eyes go wide, lips parting. "I broke out, Zoya. Broke out to find you. Because the thought of you belongin' to another man, of him even thinkin' he had a claim on you, made me lose my fuckin' mind." She swallows. Her eyes shine. "There were plenty of things I could've done to stick it to your brothers. Believe me, I thought of all of 'em. But takin' you wasn't about them." I shake my head slowly. "I took you because you were mine. Always were. Always will be. I took you because the idea of you being touched by anyone else made me want to put a bullet in my own skull." She swallows hard, and her voice is a whisper. "I'm afraid, Seamus." She trembles under my hands as I hold her by the shoulders. I could hurt her easily. Too easily. But I won't. Never. A man like me... we learn our strength early. I was just a lad when I hurt one of my sisters by accident, and me da made sure I never did it again. I just didn't know my strength then. I do now. And most of the time, I use it. I bend it to my will. I use it to protect, to intimidate when I have to. But around her... I restrain myself. She's delicate, in all the best ways. That challenge was part of what drew me in. She made me question everything. Made me feel things I didn't know I could feel. I didn't think I had feelings. Not like that. And definitely not for someone Russian. We were raised to hate each other. And I followed that rule, like all the rest, for the good of the family. Always for the family. Until her. "I'll make this better," I promise. "I'll make this right." She blinks up at me. I grit my teeth. "I want you to promise me something, Zoya. And I want it now." She nods, solemn. We don't lie to each other. Not anymore. "You're my wife now. I'm your husband. If I ask you something, I want the truth. And if you ask me, I'll give it to you. Will you promise me that?" She nods. "I'm an honest person, Seamus." Then she looks away. "Until you," she adds softly. "You're the first person I've ever lied over." I tilt her chin up with my finger and make her meet my eyes. "Why'd you do it, love?" I ask softly. "I felt... trapped sometimes," she says. "At least, I thought I did. Like a caged bird. I just wanted to breathe outside the family, just for a moment." She pauses. "I saw my brothers getting married, traveling, living. And I imagined myself always stuck there, little Zoya in the kitchen, with only a few friends, not much beyond my family." She blinks rapidly, tears slipping down her cheeks. "But I do love them, Seamus." "I know," I say, pulling her in. I kiss her forehead, then her damp lashes, tasting her tears. "I know you're honest. And I know sometimes pressure makes people do desperate things. Things they're not proud of. But that doesn't define you." Maybe I'm saying it for both of us. "Will you give me that promise, love? Please?" She nods. "And I promise too. You ask, I'll answer. Truth for truth." I nod. "So let me ask you something, then." I lower my voice. "What are you afraid of?" "You," she whispers. And I know, in that moment, she's telling the truth. "When I was with you... before I knew who you really were... I thought you worked for The Undertaker, and that was bad enough. God, I was such an idiot." I growl low and shake my head. "Ah-ah. You don't say a word against yerself like that again, hear?" Swallowing hard, she nods and continues. "I never imagined... not in a million years... that you were the man. The one everyone fears." Now the tears fall freely. Her voice breaks as she says it, raw and real. "And I thought I loved you," she says. "But I don't know how I could love someone who's done those terrible things." It's the truth. And it cuts deeper than I care to admit. But we've only just begun, haven't we? There's still time. I'll show her, no, I'll prove it. Right then and there, I make her a promise. "I'll make a vow to you, lass. I will earn your love for me," I tell her. "What we had back in Russia, that wasn't the full story. That was heat, tension, chemistry, but it was filtered. We weren't truly ourselves, were we? Everything I knew about you was through one lens," I say. "And everything you learned about me... well, it came from another." "Yes," she whispers, barely audible. "Then give me a chance," I say again. "Let me show you how deep my love for you goes. If I wanted to marry just any old woman, I would've. Could've, easily." I don't need to tell her I could've had any woman I wanted. Wealth and power make for easy hunting. But that was never the point. "I wanted you," I say simply. "But you didn't give me the whole truth just now, did you? You're afraid. Afraid of me, of what I've done. But, lass, you were raised around some of the most dangerous Russians alive." And I know she knows how to love even the darkest of men. "I never thought about my brothers as wicked," she says softly. Maybe one day she won't think of me that way either. "There are men," I continue, "who chase power for the sake of breaking others. They want money, status, worship. That's not what this is. Everything I've done, every bloody thing, was for the same reason your brothers did what they've done. Loyalty. Protection. Family." She goes quiet for a moment, then says it, so gently, like she's afraid even her own voice will shatter something fragile between us. "That's the other reason I'm afraid, Seamus." "Yes?" "I'm afraid you'll make me choose. Between you and them." She draws in a breath, lets it out in a whisper. "Please don't make me do that. I took my vows to you, but I meant every word. I don't go back on what I say." I cup her face, my heart tight. "My fierce little lass," I whisper. "I know." And I won't lie to her. "I can't promise that choice will never come. I won't do that to you. But I swear to you, I'll do everything in my power to make sure it never comes from me." She looks up at me. "How much power do you have?" "That," I say with a small smile, "remains to be seen." "Yes," she says again, barely audible. "Is that all, Zoya? Is that all you're afraid of?" Her gaze flickers back to the bedroom. Her cheeks flush a deep, burning red. "You know..." she whispers. "I'm a virgin. That one time with you... well, it was the only time." She pauses. Swallows. Then does the most adorable thing I've ever seen, buries her face against my chest like she can't stand to look me in the eye. I wrap my arms around her gently. I don't force her to meet my gaze. "And you're afraid," I say softly, "of what happens between a husband and wife?" I run a hand down her small, fragile, perfect little back. She's so damn tiny, it undoes me. "Yes," she whispers. "I don't know how to do anything. What if I disappoint you? What if I... What if it hurts?" My chest swells at her honesty. Christ, I've never wanted to protect someone so fiercely. "Those are all fair fears, love," I tell her. "But I'll teach you. I will. One step at a time. There's no rush." I shake my head and sigh, but inside, I feel a rare, quiet peace. 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...