: Chapter 34

The funeral is brutal in its simplicity.

No cathedrals or soaring music. Just a stone courtyard behind the estate. Her body is wrapped in white. Mariah—the woman I barely knew and still mourn. They say she liked flowers, had a green thumb, and was the mother to her little boy everyone wished they’d had.

I like that.

Without thinking, my fingers brush along the rough surface of the obsidian stone in my pocket. Protection. Power. I imagine I draw strength from it. Maybe we all could.

Vadka stands tall and silent. Stoic. He hasn’t spoken, not one word to anyone since the shooting, as if he’s afraid when he opens his mouth, he will fall to pieces. His jaw ticks once, like a pulse, but he’s otherwise marble. And it breaks my heart.

He stands beside the grave and doesn’t move. His sister-in-law Ruthie holds the tiny hand of a little boy dressed in a black suit who seems blissfully ignorant of the horror before him. I wish he wasn’t here, but the Bratva will do what they feel is right. And shielding children from brutality is a luxury they don’t seem to afford.

Ruthie sniffs, then breaks into loud, choking sobs. She clutches a scarf to her chest and presses it to her eyes. Silently, Yana comes to her side, wraps an arm around her shoulder, and Ruthie’s head falls to Yana’s chest. She weeps as Zoya wordlessly kneels in front of the small boy, says something in a soft voice, then lifts him in her arms and takes a little walk.

Vadka doesn’t move.

A line of Kopolov men stand shoulder to shoulder, dressed in identical black suits, wearing identical hard expressions and black armbands to signify mourning. Even Rodion is still and solemn as Rafail steps forward and drops a small bouquet of flowers on the grave.

They each follow suit. One by one.

Each steps forward, dropping flowers on the grave and a little token—a picture, a scrap of something personal. Bratva tradition.

Matvei hooks an arm around my waist, grounding us. Silently, his fingers link with mine. Present. Warm. Unshakeable.

We stand in silence as Semyon builds a fire. It starts small, and then each man, in turn, tosses dry wood on top, one stick at a time. We stand in silence, watching the fire grow in strength and heat with each stick, until it’s a glowing furnace.

I watch and stare. Proud to be part of this family. Proud to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Yana approaches from behind. Ruthie stands nearby, holding her nephew, Zoya’s hand in hers. Yana, unlike the men, is dressed in light gray. A quiet rebellion, maybe.

“You two,” she whispers, “belong to each other. Today, we mourn what we lost. And you remind us that we keep living. Stronger together.”

I belong now, and that’s both beautiful and terrifying. Because this family protects what’s theirs and destroys anything that gets in its way.

I blink hard, tears falling. I’ve never wanted to be wanted like this.

I belong.

Yana smiles. “She would’ve wanted us to plan your wedding.”

Matvei tenses but doesn’t look at us.

Yana nods. “We lose, and we gain.” She eyes me thoughtfully. “I look forward to welcoming you to our family, Anissa.”

The fire burns, and the war is coming.

But today?

Today, we remember.

And today, we begin again.

Later, after the fire dies and the sky goes to pitch, we gather inside. I like that no one wants to go home. The long table is dressed in black with crystal accents. It’s an odd blend here today as we gather to eat together. Mourning for a life lost. Celebration for our engagement. Or just… family.

The Kopolovs have a way of rolling with grief, not being brought down by violence and fear. Matvei’s hand rests on my thigh, a quiet and immovable weight. I like it.

Across from us, Rafail nurses a drink. He’s different than I thought he would be. In my mind, I built him up as a monster to be feared, but I see how he is with his family and Polina. Loyal. Stern, yes, but human. He smiles at me and lifts his drink. I truly think he’s forgiven me for running. He lifts his glass with a nod that feels like a benediction and a warning wrapped together. And maybe it is.

“Turns out you were just what the bastard needed, Anissa.” He tips his chin toward Matvei.

Polina smirks beside him, tapping her nail lightly on the crystal rim of her glass. “Indeed.”

A car pulls up outside the window. Polina’s eyes widen. “Oh, I didn’t know she meant she was coming now.”

I open my mouth to ask for details when out steps a regal

woman, older but not frail—silver hair swept into a neat bun, a pale pink sweater softening her sharp profile, slim-fitting jeans.

I know her.

It hits me like a blow to the chest.

She’s Polina’s mother. The woman that adopted her. I freeze, when a warm hand moves to the nape of my neck and gives a gentle squeeze. “Relax,” Matvei says in my ear. “You’ll like her. I promise.”

Polina goes to open the door, then gestures. “Mama, there’s someone special I want you to meet. Anissa, this is Ekaterina Romanova. My mother.”

Ekaterina smiles and extends a hand.

“Anissa. I owe you an apology.”

There’s a sigh in her chest, as if she’s been carrying this moment for too long. Her eyes grow soft—sorrowful—but there’s steel beneath the sadness.

“I believe I owe you all an explanation.”

The words hang heavy in the air, thick as storm clouds.

The room swells with tension as Zoya, always the gentle soul, attempts to soften the sharp edges. “May I bring some tea and refreshments?” she offers, her voice light but tremulous.

Rafail gives a small nod of permission, and I watch her scurry off like a dove trying to calm a battlefield.

I wish she could.

Zoya lays a tray of tea between us, Ekaterina finally speaks.

Her fingers tremble on the delicate cup as she places it back on its saucer.

Her eyes find mine.

“I’ve explained to the Kopolovs, but you’re owed an explanation as well, love. I fear some of this…” her voice catches, but she pushes through, steadying herself, ‘…is my fault.’

My throat tightens.

She swallows and lifts her chin, choosing bravery over shame. “I wanted a daughter,’ she confesses. “More than anything. My husband resisted for years. Daughters…’ She swallows, her voice brittle with old wounds. ‘They’re not born to rule in our world. Sons secure power. Daughters secure alliances.’

Mmm. Indeed. Tell me about it.

Her hands knot together in her lap.

‘And then one day, he brought me Polina.’

Her gaze softens as it settles on me, a sad smile pulling at her mouth. ‘A miracle,’ she whispers. ‘She was my miracle.’

My chest aches.

She presses on. ‘I didn’t know—I swear to you, I didn’t know—until years later, that she had a sister. That you were separated. No one told me until it was too late.’

She blinks back tears, but one escapes, sliding down her cheek.

‘The adoption was closed. Sealed. They wanted no contact.’ Her voice hardens, not with cruelty, but with the pain of helplessness.

Her breath shudders as she releases it.

‘I was afraid,’ she admits, her voice almost too soft to hear. ‘Afraid of what I would find. Afraid that if I pried too hard, I would lose you both.’

For the first time, I see the full measure of her fear.

‘I let fear guide my choices,’ she says, not looking away from me. ‘And for that, Anissa, I ask your forgiveness.’

Ekaterina’s voice trembles but does not falter. ‘I was wrong.’

Silence stretches. Every eye in the room is on me.

‘You were afraid,’ I say quietly. ‘And I wish things hadn’t happened the way they did, but I don’t believe any of you are the ones to blame, and the ones that are to blame aren’t here anymore.”

I reach for her hand. She clasps mine, her grip tight with unspoken apologies, and something inside me finally, blessedly, begins to ease.

Her voice steadies. ‘You two are joined now. Sisters. A bond that can’t be broken.” She stares at me and shakes her head. “The similarities are uncanny.’

And in this moment, as I sit between my family and my future, I realize something deeper than bloodlines or vengeance.

We are all just trying to survive.

Matvei isn’t smiling right this second, but god, we’ve been through a lot at this point. His parents, exiled. His brother, gone. Almost losing me. His vow to Rafail…

He looks at peace.

The pressure of his hand on my thigh increases slightly. I feel it and lean in closer to him.

Old instincts whisper, run.

But I stay.

I stay and choose what I thought I never could.

I meet his gaze, and he surprises me with a soft, shy smile.

My heart tumbles in my chest and my eyes grow misty. Something about his vulnerability in that smile makes everything slide into place like pieces of a puzzle.

The wine suddenly tastes sweeter, his touch heavier, the room warmer. I feel like my heart expands to twice its size, sitting beside my new family…and the man I love.