Chapter 12 #3
I lean forward slightly, reluctantly intrigued. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“Of course,” he replies, his expression neutral. “It’s a business. Every detail matters.” He tilts his head. “What?" he asks when he catches me staring, and it's the first time he seems curious about what my thought process is.
I shake my head. "Nothing."
Thankfully, Stefan is oblivious to the tension between the two of us and eagerly makes his move on the board without batting an eyelash. Semyon shakes his head, lifts his checker, and easily jumps two of Stefan's checkers.
Stefan's face falls, and Semyon leans in. "No. This game is not over. And even if it were, you have to know that I'm not going to take it easy on you. Your sister can mock me all she wants, but I am never going to let you win a game. When you win, you will know that you've won fair and square."
For some reason, it feels like he's talking to me.
They continue to play as my younger brother’s tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration.
"Are you upset that I was poking around in your finances?” Semyon asks with genuine curiosity.
Stefan looks at him and then to me before he focuses back on the board.
"I guess I didn't consider the fact that you'd actually care about the bakery. I just thought you wanted the location."
"Yes, I'm interested in the location, but running a business that's thriving versus one that is barely scraping by is definitely going to be in both of our best interests. My cousin Matvei will help since this is his wheelhouse.”
I frown. I don’t know Matvei.
I purse my lips and glare at him because how dare he insult me like that?
"You look upset.” His brow furrows. "Are you upset? Why?"
He's as methodical with his human interactions as he is with his coffee making.
Jesus. Of course, I've known this about him forever.
"That's my business. My mother began that. And you're insulting me."
"What did I say that's insulting?" he asks, completely oblivious.
"You're mocking how the business is failing."
"I'm mocking nothing. I stated a fact, Anya. Save your pity party for when it actually matters. Right now, I'm going to come in and save your family's bakery. Do you want that or not?"
No, I don't fucking want it, not if it means that I'm beholden to him, but I don't say that.
"It's still my bakery."
Stefan glares at Semyon. "It’s still our bakery,” he echoes.
Uh-oh. My heart thumps.
Semyon turns his cold gaze to my brother, who doesn’t flinch but squirms a bit.
"Excellent.” He leans back in his chair, his cold blue eyes sharp.
“Then why don’t you tell me which item at the bakery is most profitable?
What’s the return on investment on your basic line of products?
The estimated overhead costs—labor, ingredients?
Are you profitable or running at a deficit? Have you seen linear growth?”
Stefan freezes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He looks as if Semyon is speaking a foreign language because, of course, he is.
“Running a business isn’t about guesswork.
It’s about control. Precision. Without that, you’re gambling with your livelihood.
” I cross my arms on my chest as Semyon rises to his feet.
He looks down at the board, lifts his checker, and, in one final move, sweeps the rest of Stefan's checkers into his palm.
"Next time, pay attention," he says as Stefan’s face falls. “Put the pieces away, please,” he says quietly. “After you take your dishes to the sink.”
I feel a slight rise in my eyebrows because I never make Stefan put dishes in the sink, clean up his toys, or do anything but his homework. I stare at Stefan.
Have I been babying my little brother?
Stefan stands, takes his plate over to the dishwasher, and half tosses his dish in.
Uh-oh.
I watch as Semyon folds his arms across his chest. A part of me wishes he would stay like this, half-human in his rumpled clothing, but I know as soon as he shaves and puts on his suit, he’ll be back to cold and calculating.
“Try that again,” he says in a low, stern voice. “Come here, I’ll show you how.”
Stefan stares and looks at me. I shrug and gesture toward the dishwasher.
Stefan tries again, and Semyon deems it acceptable, but as my brother tries to leave, Semyon catches him. “Not yet. Didn’t I ask you to put that game away?”
I watch as Stefan gets that look in his eyes that I am all too familiar with.
Is he going to push back?
I watch as he tosses the checkers into the box. Semyon’s lips twitch. “You can do better than that, but I’ll let it go for now because you need to go to your room and do what I said.”
I bury my face in my cup of coffee.
And then it happens. Stefan snaps. He stares at Semyon with a frown that clouds his vision. “You’re not the boss of me,” he says, but he says it in a low voice, as if he wants to defy Semyon but isn’t quite sure how far to push.
Oh no.
I lower the coffee mug and take a step toward Stefan on instinct.
“You’re living in my house,” Semyon says matter-of-factly. “I’m married to your sister, and by Bratva law, that means I’m in charge.” He lowers his voice. “Understood?”
Stefan looks around and opens his mouth to protest. I stare in horror. No.
“You don’t have housekeepers? People who clean or something?”
Semyon nods curtly. “I do. But children expect maids to clean up after them. Men take care of their belongings and home as a matter of habit. Do you want to be a man or a boy?”
I want to remind him he’s only eight years old, but I don’t intervene. Not yet.
Semyon continues. “I will be checking, and if you haven't made your bed and tidied up sufficiently, there will be consequences."
I stare at him, aghast. Is he threatening my brother?
“Go,” he says, pointing to the door. Stefan runs.
I stare at him, at a loss for words. There’s a glint of amusement in his piercing blue eyes as he steps closer to me. “He’ll be fine. Trust me, I would know.”
He was half-raised by his older brother, and I have a feeling disobedience and disrespect didn’t fly in that house either.
“I didn’t step in because I agreed with you this time,” I say with a warning frown.
Semyon shrugs and steps close, taking my wrist in his hand, his touch surprisingly soft.
His fingers trace up to my elbow, and goosebumps erupt over my arm as if waking from a long slumber.
When he reaches my shoulder, he gives it a gentle squeeze. I shiver.
“Come with me,” he says, his voice low and velvety soft. There’s an urgency in his words, and I remember for the millionth time—this is Semyon.
The same boy I swooned over, the one who made me melt. The one I can’t trust.
I stare, unmoving. Before I can respond, he crooks a finger at me. "You. Upstairs."
Shocking that he wants to leave the breakfast dishes on the table, but it seems urgent.
My breath catches in my throat. Being alone with him is dangerous.
My heart thunders in my chest when he follows up behind me and half shoves me in before he slams and locks the door.
Oh my god.
I stare at him when he closes the space between us, grabs my chin, and tilts my face upward.