Chapter 8 By some miracle or maybe divine intervention-the Kopolovs don't show up. "Destroy them all." Orders straight from my boss. But I don't destroy the Kopolovs. The Kopolovs never come. It's my chance. My chance to enact what I've been plotting now since I first heard the rumors. I know why my men followed me to Russia. To undermine me. I see every step they've taken to usurp the throne. My throne. But I'm the son of Keenan fucking McCarthy, and I'm not giving up a damn thing. By the time I empty the Wolf and Moon of all its occupants with a fire alarm trigger, I know my time has come. Her brothers aren't here and aren't on the way, but my boss will think they are. When I arrive, it's just me and the traitors. Excellent. But when I get there... she's there. Zoya, my willful little lass, toe to toe with fucking Finnegan. The big fucker has the goddamn nerve to touch her. "Get your fucking hands off her." My voice cuts through the chaos. They freeze. She doesn't move, just turns, her eyes wild and a bit guilty, her lips parted like she can't believe what she's seeing. I draw my gun and start with the fucking redhead who has the goddamn nerve to touch her. No warning. No speech. One shot to the skull. He drops. Zoya stifles a scream she doesn't release. The rest panic when they see him go down. Some reach for guns, others run, but it doesn't matter. "Stay back," I growl to Zoya, making damn sure she's out of the line of fire while I send every last one of the motherfuckers to hell where they belong. "For betraying me." Bang. "For your lies and theft." Bang. "For laying fucking hands on her." I put a bullet through Finnegan's skull to finish him off. That one I take slow. I make it hurt. When the last one drops, the silence rings louder than the gunfire. She's shaking, pressed to the wall like her legs won't hold her. The blood on her face isn't hers. Her breath stutters. My phone rings. Boss. I lift a finger toward her. Wait. Don't speak. She nods, just once. Swallows. "Yeah." His voice is thunder on the line. "What the fuck happened?" "Bad intel," I say, calm as the grave. "Handful of Russians. I tried to hold them off. Couldn't." I let a thread of grief weave through my tone. "They're dead. All our men." His voice splinters. I hear it, the shock, the loss. It's real. "Any survivors?" I know what he means. Did anyone see what you did? I look at her. She looks back. Doesn't blink. Doesn't beg. I crouch in front of her, thumb brushing a streak of blood from her cheek. Soft. Reverent. I lift the phone to my mouth. "No," I say, my voice broken. "None." Then I hang up. Every man who came to take down the Kopolovs died by my hand. No, this was about loyalty. About betrayal. Those men crossed me. They tried to usurp me, to take what was mine. And the McCarthy clan, my clan, belongs to me. I made sure they would never forget that, even if they had to die to learn it. I turn back to look at Zoya. The fury I feel-nothing compared to the times I wanted to scold her for putting herself in danger. This is deeper. She dared to come back here when I told her to stay away. She defied me. But here she is. Wide blue eyes. Heart-shaped lips. I'm shaking with the effort of holding myself back. I don't trust myself not to hurt her this time. "Go home, Zoya." Thursday night. I made it. By the skin of my fucking teeth. And here she is. Walking in like she owns the place, like she's got every right to. She slides into the seat across from me and says, "I want you to tell me everything." "Excuse me?" I say, my voice like ice. She's trying to be all tough, but she has no fucking idea who she's talking to. "I want to know why you were here that night. Why you told me to stay away and then sent me home." She won't look at me, though, but looks away. "I saw the message on your phone," she whispers. "I'm not saying anything else here. Not in public. I want to go to your place. I want to talk there." She breaks a little. Cracks open. "Please," she says. I'm already on fire. But that does it. That fucking does it. I want her back at my apartment too-flat, bed, table, I don't care. I want her over my knee because I'm going to punish her. She doesn't get to risk herself like that and think there are no consequences. "You don't disobey me when it's for your own goddamn safety. Do you understand me?" I growl, low and furious. I want to grab her by those narrow shoulders and shake her until the truth rattles out of her mouth. She just nods. Sniffs. Then nods again. "Let's go," I say. I stand. I take her hand, and I don't let go. There's a car waiting outside. I've planned for this. Tonight is the night I tell her everything. Every ugly truth, every dirty secret. I tell her who I am, what I've done, and exactly why. Tonight, I'll tell her I love her. That I'm choosing her over everything. Over the Irish. Over the Russians. Over bloodlines and revenge and orders. Tonight, I end the war. Tonight, I stop the hunt on the Kopolovs. Tonight, I take her back. And before it's over, I'll make her feel every ounce of the fury, the need, the protectiveness that drives me. I'll make her understand. Because tonight, Zoya Kopolova learns exactly who she belongs to. And I look forward to teaching her how to be a good girl. My good girl. But when we reach the car, my hand just brushing the door handle, something shifts. It's subtle. A glint in the corner of my eye. A shadow where there shouldn't be one. I freeze. Feckin' hell. "Get in," I say to her, my voice low, controlled. Fuck it, I can't have her roped into this. She frowns. "What⁠-?" "Now." I have to keep her safe no matter what. She obeys, slipping inside. I shut the door behind her just as the street lights flare too bright. Just as the silence breaks. Not with a shout. Not yet. Just a presence. Too many of them. Wrong posture, not the sound of casual footsteps. I straighten, my hands loose and calm, like I've got nothing to hide. I shoot off a text to my driver. Bring her home. The car pulls away with her inside. That's all I needed. By the time I turn around, they're already here. I blow out a breath. "Seamus McCarthy," a voice calls out behind me, loud and deliberate, no room for misinterpretation. Handcuffs slide over my wrists. "You are detained." 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...