Page 81 of Unleashed

Yeah, so I’m not going to win this one.

I sigh.

Cupping my jaw, his troubled eyes grow gentle. “I promise I’ll find something more suitable,” he says.

I know I’m not the only one deeply conflicted, but I can almost see it in his eyes—the moment he pulls away.

We haven’t resolvedanything.

I draw my knees to my chest and nod at him, not even entirely sure what I’m agreeing with. I have no choice but to retreat, as he has. When all else fails, self-preservation seems my only option.

When he leaves the room, I can see the shadows of others outside. I want to be with them. I want to check on Zoya and see if Yana’s okay. I want to make sure Rodion hasn’t done something reckless and crazy, and Semyon hasn’t buckled under a torrent of whatever Rafail throws at him.

I want to make sure Irma isn’t bullying the girls, and Eduard isn’t taking advantage of the boys. I want to get to know the cousins and see what makes them tick. Matvei seems fine enough, but I don’t trust Gleb. The fact that these two are Irma and Eduard’s sons is not a point in their favor.

And I want… I want my husband. I don’t like the distance between us… emotional or otherwise. But the space between us isn’t just physical—there’s a chasm that grows with every secret, and I don’t know how to cross it.

It’s hard to table my need for answers, but there’s no use screaming at the universe to tell me anything when we have more pressing needs to tend to and no answers are coming just yet.

So I wait.

I scroll through my phone and look up Polina Romanova, but it’s just what I suspect—if she has any social media, they’re well hidden. None of the Kopolovs have social media accounts either. Rafail would have a conniption because privacy is their greatest ally when it comes to cyber protection.

But then, as I scroll through seemingly irrelevant links and pictures, something catches my attention. An old photo, grainy and poorly lit, surfaces on an obscure blog site. It’s a group picture but obviously from a while ago, at a—charity gala?

I know that blonde hair, pale skin, and striking blue eyes. They’re definitely… mine. That’s me.

I close my eyes when I’m assaulted by memories.

My mother and me, planning our yearly gala, the one time of year my brothers played nice for everyone because it was in their best interest to gain alliances and the good graces of their community. Art auctions… We did an art auction every year. I can even remember when I bought the dress I wore in that photo because I wanted the one that showed my cleavage, and my father forbade it.

That was a few years before he died.

I blink back tears. Would I remember them if I saw them?

Are they looking for me?

Out there, somewhere, is there a family desperate to find me? Or is my home here with the Kopolovs for now? Will I ever know?

Will the truth be enough?

I stare back at the photo, my memories coming back now the way fire licks at wood. Slowly at first, but as it builds…all-consuming.

There’s Viktor, my enormous brute of a brother, beside Aleks, the thinner, muscled one with piercing blue eyes people used to say mirrored my own. We were all adopted—I remember that now, a collection of family members pieced together over the years.

I see Lev, my younger brother, the fierce look in his eyes so familiar to me, and Ollie, loyal to the core but dangerous as hell. Mikhail, the eldest, in some ways not unlike my husband—protective and stern and utterly devoted to the safety of his family.

And my mother. My beautiful, elegant mother, with her mane of silver hair and dancing eyes.

But who’s the other person standing beside us? He isn’tinthe pictures, but the blogger managed to capture him in the same shot. I blink, staring, because he’s familiar.

My breath catches in my throat, but what makes a chill snake down my spine is when I recognize him… because today I ate lunch with someone with that exact sharp jawline and cold, calculating eyes.

Gleb.

Why is Rafail’s cousin in my family photo?

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart pounds. How did I get here? Did Gleb orchestrate all of this? The walls feel like they’re closing in as I try to make sense of it all. Was it all a lie from the beginning?

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