Page 1 of Unleashed

Chapter 1

RAFAIL

I stare at the cold,empty altar in front of me. I demanded simplicity, fitting for nuptials in a godless church and a loveless union.

A vase of fading white roses, their petals curling at the edges, sits on the marble altar, the cloying scent nearly nauseating. Shadows cling to the high, vaulted ceilings, cast by candles that flicker in iron sconces. Above, darkened stained glass depicts saints and martyrs in muted colors, their hollow eyes staring down through fractured light.

A faint trace of incense lingers from Sunday mass, mixing with the damp smell of old stone and earth. Here, walls seem to absorb sound, muting every breath, every heartbeat.

Every secret.

The priest my uncle summoned stands before me, his face pale in the half-light, almost skeletal in the shadows. His fingers tremble around the ancient leather-bound book he holds to hischest; its gilded edges tarnished with age. His eyes dart between me and the altar as though he expects some divine wrath to strike at any moment.

He looks as if he's about to faint. Coward. They should have appointed someone more powerful to be in charge of a place named The Cathedral of the Eternal Martyrs, nestled in the heart of my family’s hometown of Zalivka, a stone’s throw from Moscow. I can almost feel the reproachful looks from their images in stained glass windows of forest green and blood red.

"Relax, Father," I say, my voice resonating in the cavernous church. I look away. "It's not your fault she pulled this stunt. I won’t blame you." He blows out a breath as if I granted him a boon. Hell, maybe I did.

I can't help that my reputation precedes me. Sometimes I wish it didn’t. It would make shit easier.

Eh, maybe not.

I can see the whites of his eyes and don’t miss the way he's cleared his throat seventeen times in the past five minutes while I waited for my bride. She isn't coming. Not now, not ever.

The small crew of loyal friends and family who showed up to witness the ceremony sit still. No one dares to move. It looks like they’re hardly breathing. Makes sense. They don’t know if I’ll burn this church to the fucking ground or call a mob to go after her.

Even I don’t know how to react to being stood up by my future bride.

Mocked. Humiliated.

Disobeyed.

My hands clench into fists. When I find her… when I track down my bride and drag her back to me, I won’t unleash my rage on her. No. I’ll demandpenancefrom her. Absolute surrender, body and soul, until she’s broken and bound to me.

Out of nowhere, the raucous sound of someone pressing down on an organ breaks the silence. I turn abruptly, my gaze fixed on the choir loft, where a red-faced, flustered organist shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kopolov. I stumbled. I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

I shift away from her, dismissing her with a flick of my wrist. My fingers trace the edge of my cufflinks, an old family heirloom that once belonged to my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. I barely notice Semyon until he’s already there, a quiet shadow moving into my peripheral vision.

Semyon stands just a few feet away, his lean frame blending into the dim lighting near the altar. I see the faint gleam of his glasses as he watches the room, his gaze sharp and calculating, missing nothing. He waits, a small shift of his gaze the only sign that he’s asking permission to approach. Always the strategist, his mind whirs with the next step, cold and watchful. I jerk my chin in his direction, a signal. He ascends the three steps soundlessly, his calmness a stark contrast to the silent storm brewing inside me.

His footsteps echo on the marble floors as he walks up the three steps to where I stand by the altar. Younger than I am by a few years, he resembles me but with a leaner build.

"She isn’t coming,” I confirm in a low whisper. His eyes, ever unreadable, flicker toward me, then back to the entrance. I gave explicit instructions for her father to send her alone. Ididn’t want a ceremony, a big to-do. This was a transactional agreement, no more, no less.

Anissa fucking jilted me.

“Predictable,” he murmurs, a faint edge of disinterest in his tone. He’s always had a gift for neutrality I envied, a calmness that can unsettle even the most seasoned. His icy glare a promise of retribution. The Kopolov family will always stand as one.

I look away from him and stifle a curse. The air in the church is cold, musty, reminiscent of the catacombs I visited when I was a child. It was my favorite place to go, away from the hustle and bustle of family life. Away from my father’s cruel, relentless oppression and my mother's quiet dignity.

The church seemed bigger then. Hell, everything did, even my father.

I wonder what it would feel like standing before him now if he were still here.

I look at Semyon and hold his frigid glare. My jaw locks, every muscle in my body conditioned to control, but underneath the calm, rage claws at me like a beast ready to break free.No onefucks with the Kopolov family, and the fact that Anissa made a mockery of us will not go unpunished.

My jaw tightens, my gaze calculating, but underneath it all, turmoil churns. I stare at the empty pews in the back of the church and watch as my brothers give each other quick, anxious glances, uncertain of what to do next.

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