Chapter 15

RAFAIL

The heavy silence after the gunfire weighs on me like bricks on my chest.

"They're gone," Semyon says from my phone. “We got them.”

I need answers.

I need her safe.

I need names.

My ears ring with the silence as I glance down at my wife. Panic sweeps over me when I realize her eyes are closed.

“Anissa!” I lift her slender shoulders and shake her. At first, she doesn’t answer, but after another shake, she blinks up at me, her eyes clouded with confusion and fear. Her chest rises and falls too quickly. It's too much.

Can I break my brain ? She had asked.

Am I losing my mind?

Did she?

She's shaking, but she's okay, I reassure myself as I run my hands around her body. "Are you all right?" I ask, my heart pounding.

I feel helpless, afraid. It drags me back to years ago, back when I was barely old enough to understand what it meant to be in charge. I’d lost track of my brothers and sisters, and a cold dread settled in as the hours ticked by with no sign of them. They were supposed to be home, and with every minute they were missing, the fear clawed deeper. When I finally found them, swinging like idiots on a rope over the ravine, I was raw with fury. Zoya was soaked and shivering, the others laughing, oblivious to the hours that had passed.

I’d promised myself that when I found them, there’d be hell to pay. They’d know the consequences of making me think I’d lost them. But when I finally reached them, rage left me in a rush. All I could do was fall to my knees and pull the smallest ones close—Zoya in one arm, Rodion in the other—and make them swear to me, my voice hoarse with worry, they’d never do anything like that again.

I felt helpless then, and I feel helpless now. Hell, it’s half the reason I’m so fucking hard on all of them. She’s not wrong—the thought of losing everyone I love petrifies me.

Damn it. I’ve done this to myself. Every instinct in me screams to stay distant, to harden myself against anything even close to feelings. She’s not my lawful wife but someone I forced into a fake union to suit me and to punish her.

But then the other part of reason kicks in. She’s my wife now. My wife. The word feels heavier, more significant than any other in my life. It’s not like my siblings or my family. I love them with all of my heart, but wife …

Flesh of my flesh.

I’m not a religious man, but there’s something sacred to the ritual of marriage, to our bond.

I tell myself to keep my distance, but when she looks at me the way she’s looking now, like I’m her savior, and no one else in the world can protect her like I can. That look…

She lifts her small, blood-streaked, trembling hand to my face and brushes her thumb along my jaw. “You’re cut, Rafail,” she whispers, her voice soft with concern. “Are you alright? Let me doctor you up. Please.”

"I'm fine." I stand, holding her behind me. “It’s just a scratch.”

The car that barreled toward us is now a twisted wreck, its occupants either dead or captured. My team saw to that. Who were they? Does it matter at this point? Stupid fucking rivals.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. My eyes scan the phone three times before I actually read the message because I know. It's only a matter of time before enemies regroup. They strike again. They always do. But now, so much more is at stake.

So much more.

I can still hear the screech of tires and her scream when she was hit. I don't ever want to experience that again.

This was not supposed to happen. I'm supposed to keep her away from everyone. Keep her away from the world. Safe.

Safe from everyone… even me .

But now that she's here, she's in greater danger than ever.

"I should have kept you in the house," I say, my hands gripping her as tightly as I can without hurting her.

"I'm fine,” she insists. “You can't exactly keep me in a bubble, no matter how much you wish that you could."

“I can fucking try,” I insist, which makes her clam up.

I remember what the doctor said.

Her hands tremble slightly, and it annoys me. She needs to be safe. She needs to be protected. She's mine .

And for a moment, I allow myself this weakness and pull her close to me. I cup the back of her head with one hand and her slender body with the other.

"Are you sure that you're not hurt?" I ask, my voice harder than I intended as my gaze roves over her, probing, seeking any sign of distress or injury. She shakes her head, her eyes still wide and stunned.

"Rafail, I'm fine. Let's get you to safety too."

I almost laugh. Fine .

Nothing about this situation is fine, and I damn well know she's not fine. She's trying to piece together a life she doesn't remember, and as her memory returns, the threat of her realizing that she ran from me—not her husband, but from the man who was supposed to marry her—looms. What is she going to do when she remembers that? How long can I keep her with me? No. I need to find a better way.

"Let’s get you inside."

She stares at me as if searching my face for answers I don't have. Her voice is small and shaky.

"Who was it? And why were they shooting at us?"

"I have enemies.” I blow out a breath. “So do you. They don’t want us to be married. We’ll look into it and have swift retribution."

Pushing herself to standing on wobbly feet, she looks at the simmering remains of the car. “If there’s anyone left after that.” I don't offer more, and she doesn't press. Not this time, anyway.

She will. She fucking will.

As we walk toward the house—my guards surrounding us, wielding weapons as they come too late to protect us from any blowback—her silence is unnerving.

Wordlessly, I snake an arm around her shoulder when she trembles and draws closer to me. Leaning heavily on me, she lets me half carry her. How do I keep her from leaving me? Threats only go so far. How do I make sure that she stays?

She doesn't remember.

I can never let her remember.

Back at the house, I lead her to the living room, the closest to the entrance. Yana flits around, wringing her hands, and Zoya watches us silently, her face drawn and pale.

"Are you going to lock me up again?” With a pout, she turns away. “Somebody tried to hurt me, and I have to be locked up again?"

I frown. "Is it that obvious?" She sits down, cradling her injured leg, her face pale.

"Our enemies…" I begin. "Now they've seen me with you…"

Rodion stands at the desk near the bookshelf, his narrowed gaze a promise of retribution as he lovingly caresses his switchblade. "One more call, and I'll have names. I’ve got this.” He nods to Anissa. “Go, take care of your wife."

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t see him as my kid brother who needs to be taught how to behave. He’s my ally. My right-hand man.

I settle beside her, resisting the urge to prowl the room like a caged lion. I pull out my phone, forcing my focus into sharp resolve as I arrange for more security. Every call is a demand, every message a promise backed by power and wealth. I leverage every favor owed, tossing money and influence around like weapons. I have to fortify the walls between us and the dangers closing in.

I push to my feet and pace.

My gaze roves over her—she’s troubled.

"Rafail," she says softly, her tone steady but insistent. "Come back here." She pats the chair beside her, eyes fixed on me. She’s seated in the large living room, usually so watchful, taking in every detail—but right now, her attention is all on me.

I don't want to sit right now.

"Rafail," she says, more insistently.

"What?" The steel in my voice somewhat hides the edge of panic I'm barely holding onto. I can't let her slip through my fingers. Not again.

"I want to talk to you," she pleads. "Please. Just sit down."

When I sit down beside her, our knees brush. Her hand comes to mine as she holds my gaze.

We sit in the silence, alone. Me and my beautiful, stolen wife. The reasons why I took her elude me when I look at her winsome face, her trusting eyes.

She’s not here of her own accord, and when she remembers, she’ll want to leave.

I need her to want to stay.

"You look so desperate," she says softly. "Why?"

Her eyes are blurry, and when she blinks, the unthinkable happens. A fat tear rolls down her cheek.

I take a deep breath and decide to tell her the truth. “You ran from me once. And there’s a part of me that’s scared that when your memory comes back, you’ll want to do it again.”

The wide look in her eyes tells me it wasn’t the answer she was expecting. She doesn’t say anything at first but looks away thoughtfully as if choosing her words. When she turns back to me, she squeezes my hand, her fingers curling around my larger one. “I understand,” she says, her voice calm and steady. “That’s a reasonable fear.”

It's not what I expected her to say. Hell, I had no idea what she’d say.

For the first time in a long while, I feel a small smile tug at my lips.

“I wish I could tell you more about why I ran,” she adds, her eyes searching mine for answers I can’t give.

I shake my head. “I don’t have all the answers,” I say, aiming at honesty again. And damn, it feels good to finally tell her the truth. "I really don’t know," I tell her honestly. "I had no intention of hurting you. Well, not at first. ” I run a hand through my hair and still, she continues to stare. “I’m not a good man and never pretended to be, but I had every intention of taking good care of you." It’s the truth. I did.

"I can see that. I see how you take care of your brothers and sisters. I know that now.” She blows out a breath. “So why don’t we let this lie? Forget about the past. Let’s move forward.”

Fuck, but I wish we could.

"Maybe I was afraid of change," she says softly. A small, hardened crevice of my heart melts a little.

Maybe she was.

I reach for her and drag her onto my lap. Her fingers graze the stubble on my chin. I lean in, and she kisses me as if she really wants to forget the past and move forward. I kiss her back like it’s a promise, as if it will hold her here, right here, in this moment. Her tongue slides into my mouth when someone clears his throat behind me.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you for interrupting me and my wife,” I growl, not bothering to confirm it’s Semyon. I’d know his throat clearing anywhere. “What is it?” I touch my forehead to hers, relishing the weight of her hand on my arm.

“Rafail,” she whispers, a plea. “No more violence today.”

Somehow, her touch has the strange ability to silence murderous thoughts.

Semyon shifts nervously. “Sorry. I have to tell you…”

“What?”

“We let the news spread. They all know you have a wife, and some aren’t taking too kindly to it. The Popovs are willing to meet.”

Tension coils thickly between me and Anissa, a silent pull that neither of us dares to sever. She doesn’t say anything, but the fear in her eyes speaks volumes, flashing in those brief, stolen glances. Her back is rigid, her body betraying the doubts she doesn’t voice. I refuse to look at her too long—if I do, I’ll see that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the same doubt that gnaws at me like a curse. I can’t let her leave. I won’t. But the harder I cling, the more I can feel her slipping through my fingers, like smoke dissipating in the night air.

“Maybe the Popovs have valuable intel, Rafail. We should meet with them. Though, you might have to pry yourself away from your bride for a minute or two,” he says, smirking.

I don’t bother hiding my irritation. “Or we can have the meeting right here,” I reply, my voice a low growl.

Anissa grins, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes, softening her stance. “Or you could just tuck me into your pocket and take me along,” she teases as if she’s found a way to anchor me in place. I grunt. “Piggyback ride?” she suggests helpfully.

“Anissa…”

“You could fashion one of those children’s wagons?—”

“Woman!”

Her laughter is light and teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—a spark of mischief, of freedom and hope—that unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.

She’s joking now, but the thought lingers. What if she wants to run again?

“You’re not going anywhere,” I grunt, forcing a smile to hide the sudden tightness in my chest.

She arches a brow at me. “Who says I want to?”

But the truth is, I don’t know. The flicker of doubt gnaws at me. Because right now, we’re two strangers starting over. When her memories return… what if her reaction is something I can’t predict? Something brute force and violence won’t solve?

Something even I can’t stop?