Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Anya
I sat on the stoop of our crumbling home, my chin resting on my knees, trying not to cry.
Eighteen wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
Eighteen was supposed to be special, meaningful.
There should have been cake and candles, my favorite treats from the local store, and maybe a book I’d been saving for.
I’d been planning my birthday for weeks, even saving up a little money from errands around the neighborhood. But it was gone now. My brother Eli found it hidden under my pillow—a really stupid place to hide money. He took it, just like he always did when he needed a quick fix for his gambling.
I felt stupid for hoping this year might be different.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. My mom tried—she really did—but she forgot dates so often I doubted she even remembered it was my birthday. And she was working today, anyway.
I told myself I didn’t care, but the tightness in my chest said otherwise. It’s just a day, I told myself. Just a day like any other. And now I’m eighteen.
Ophelia tried to make it special, but she got in trouble at school, and her mom grounded her. She passed me a note in class that said, “Happy Birthday! Your boobs look so much bigger today.”
It made me laugh and smile at her, but later, I found myself secretly staring at my chest in the mirror, wondering if they actually did look bigger.
I told myself I didn’t care that no one else paid attention to me today. No gifts, no celebration, nothing. My stomach growled, and I wrapped my arms tight around my legs, pretending it was just another normal day.
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right in front of me.
“Anya.”
I blinked, startled, and looked up to see Semyon standing there. He held a simple white bakery box in one hand and a package wrapped in shiny paper in the other.
He looked so out of place against the peeling paint and cracked pavement of my world.
Even dressed casually—a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lean, muscular frame and dark jeans—he radiated a presence that made me feel small and unsteady.
He wasn’t like the boys in my class, the ones who stumbled over their words, made fun of me, or teased me about my boobs. No.
Semyon was a man.
Twenty-two to my eighteen. But it wasn’t just his age. He’d been a man for a long time now.
There were rumors about him—how he killed for the Bratva when he was only sixteen, how he was feared on the streets of the city. So feared.
But not by me. I didn’t fear him. I still saw the little boy who taught me how to skip rocks by the creek. The cold Bratva enforcer was just a role he played, not who he really was.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“Semyon,” I said softly, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. I hoped he couldn’t tell I’d been crying.
“Hey.” He set the bakery box and wrapped package down on the stoop beside me. My heart began to beat faster.
He couldn’t be here for… Did he know?
“Zoya said it was your birthday,” he said simply, lowering himself to sit beside me.
He leaned back with his legs stretched out. His tattoos were visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt—dark ink, intricate patterns swirling across his forearms. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
Too young.
“I didn’t think anyone knew,” I said.
“She pays attention to those things,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Um, what’s in the box?” I asked, quickly deflecting the conversation.
“A cake,” he said as if it were obvious. “Chocolate.”
My heart squeezed. “Did Zoya tell you I liked chocolate too?” I teased, biting my lip as heat flushed my cheeks.
His lips twitched. “No. Everybody knows you love chocolate.”
Not everybody. My dad wouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure Eli would. My mother might’ve known, but only on a good day.
But Semyon? Semyon knew.
He flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a plain chocolate cake with messy icing swirls. There were no candles or decorations—just the word Anya scrawled across the top in crooked white letters.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he said with a shrug.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed out, my throat tightening. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He turned to me then, his piercing blue eyes softening. “Of course I did. You’re my friend.”
Friend. The word hit me like a sledgehammer.
I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be something more. But I was just the little sister of his best friend.
He set the wrapped package beside me. “Open it.”
I slid a finger under the paper, carefully peeling it away. Inside was a chessboard—not a cheap one from the corner store, but a beautiful, polished set with intricately carved pieces.
“It’s gorgeous,” I whispered, swiping at my eyes quickly so he wouldn’t see.
“You play?” he asked, his voice casual, though I could tell he already knew the answer.
“A little,” I admitted.
“Good,” he said, setting up the pieces right there on the stoop. “Because I’m not going easy on you.”
“Maybe I’m better than you think,” I shot back, teasing.
He glanced at me, his gaze soft. “Maybe you are, Anya.”
We played for hours, taking bites of the cake straight out of the box as we moved pieces back and forth across the board. I lost every game, but I didn’t care. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t have to. Just having him there, spending time with me, paying attention… It was enough.
When the air grew cold, he finally stood, folding the wrapping paper into meticulous little squares. “I have to get home,” he said. “Rafail expected me an hour ago.”
“Hope you’re not in trouble,” I said with a small smile.
He huffed a laugh. “I’m definitely in trouble. But it was worth it.”
For a moment, he stood there, his gaze unreadable. My heart pounded, my breath caught in my throat. Was he going to…kiss me?
I told myself no, of course not. I was just a girl to him.
But then his fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my chin up ever so slightly. My breath caught. His ice-blue eyes searched mine, hesitation flickering in their depths. And then, before I could second-guess it—before my mind could get ahead of my body—he kissed me.
It was brief, more than a question than an answer. His lips barely pressed against mine, lingering for just a heartbeat before he pulled away. His voice was rough when he spoke.
“Happy birthday, Anya.”
And then he was gone.
Before he came, I wanted a book, a gift, attention… now I wanted so much more.
After he left, I sat there for a long time, staring at the chessboard and the remaining cake. I swiped my finger through the icing, licking it clean.
It was delicious.
My heart felt full, and my eyes burned with tears.
It was the best birthday I’d ever had.
"What did he say?" Yana asks, her eyes twinkling. I roll my eyes. She knows her brother.
Zoya gets a teasing look and holds up her palm. "Listen, I actually don't want details, okay? If he's getting all sexy or flirty or whatever—" She makes a face. "My god. I can’t believe I’m saying that about Semyon. What have you done to my brother?"
The better question is, what has her brother done to me?
"Well…" I say, trying to think of how to phrase it without telling her too much. "He definitely has decided opinions about some dresses."
Yana grins. "Of course he does. So, the red one with the underboob, it is?"
“Yeah, I don't think so." I can’t help but smile. What I don’t tell them is that I have a feeling that if I wore that one out in public, my ass would match the shade of that dress.
Is that a bad thing?
"I'm so glad he married you," Yana says quietly. “You’re such a perfect fit for our family, Anya.” She smiles. “Not many people knew what my family went through. You do. And you've been nothing but supportive. Thank you." She leans forward and gives me a kiss on my cheek.
My chest tightens. “Of course, yeah."
I miss Eli.
I miss my mom.
I don't miss my dad because he destroyed everything that was good between us, but I miss who he was before.
But even when my family was intact, I didn’t have sisters.
And now I do.
"I think we should get these for Stefan," Zoya says with a grin, pointing to a box of remote-controlled cars. I’m grateful for the change of subject before I bawl like a baby. I might be a little high-strung. “Please, this would be so perfect. I can just see them racing around Semyon’s perfect house.”
“Or these,” Yana says, picking up a box of blocks with shapes that look like castles and dragons. “He loves building things. Imagine the look on his face building his own fortress.”
My throat gets a little scratchy, and I look away, nodding because changing the subject didn’t help. I’m afraid if I talk right now, I'm going to blubber all over both of them.
I’m not the only one who cares about my baby brother anymore.
Yana flips through clothes on hangers, not meeting my eyes. “You know that Semyon isn’t… He has some challenges, Anya. You know that, don't you?"
I nod slowly.
"It doesn't mean he isn't as feeling as the rest of us," Yana says. "He just doesn't always know how to express that."
"I know. He tries so hard, doesn't he?" I’ve watched him. I know he catalogs everything like a scientist, that it takes him time to process reactions of emotions. But I love that he tries so damn hard.
"Of course. And I love that you know that about him.” Yana grins. “Do you know the day he married you, I told him off?"
"Did you?"
"Yes. I told him not to treat you like a chess piece in his game. And I meant every word I said." Yana sweeps all of our purchases into her arms and heads to the front register. "Rafail will pay for this," she says with a wink.
I nod, thankful. “What did he say?"
She laughs out loud. "Well, at the time? He said it wasn’t personal.” She snorts. “Don't get me wrong, he can be a jerk."
"Who can?”