Chapter 10 #2
I watch as her gaze falls on the cage just waiting for her in the corner, the pink lights twinkling, the bed on the floor made and ready for her. She has the audacity to smirk.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” she says in a low purr.
I open my mouth to retort when the sound of someone else’s voice stops me.
“Hello?” a voice calls from downstairs.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Her eyes fly to mine.
“I thought you just told me you lived alone.”
“I do,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
“Then who’s that? Are we even in your house?”
She doesn’t look vulnerable like some women would, standing in a stranger’s home, still flushed from getting fucked hard, wearing nothing but a towel, hair still wet and dripping down her face. No, she just looks pissed off.
“Those must be my parents. They’re the only people who have access to my house. Except Rafail. He has access to everything.”
For the first time, a glimmer of fear flickers in her eyes. She doesn’t want to see Rafail.
Tough shit.
“You let your parents just walk in like that?” she asks, tipping her head to the side, curious.
“Yeah, they have keys.” Because I feel guilty that their youngest son is dead, and I’m the one responsible. Because they’re the black sheep of the Bratva, and I owe them something for giving me life. Parental guilt’s a brutal bitch, and I’m not immune to it.
“Interesting,” she says. “So do you want me to go out there in a towel and scare them away?”
My vision blurs red. If my fucking father saw her in a towel, I’d have more than my brother’s blood on my hands.
“No. You need to wear something.”
I open my drawer. I should’ve thought of this, but I wasn’t planning on bringing her back so soon. I’ll have to call my cousins.
“We need to get you clothes,” I mutter.
“Funny thing about kidnapping someone and bringing them against their will to your house, isn’t it?” she says.
Jesus. This woman.
I open the bedroom door and stick my head out. “Give me five. I just got out of the shower, and I’m getting dressed. Don’t come upstairs.”
I slam the door with a click and turn to find her holding up a pair of boxers and a small, ivy-green T-shirt I don’t remember leaving there.
“What’s that?” I ask, already grumpy as fuck.
“It was the smallest thing in your drawer,” she says, rolling her eyes, but when she shakes it out, something twists in my chest.
No.
That’s Gleb’s. A shirt I stole from my mother before she got rid of all his clothes. Rafail would kill me if he knew I still had it.
She can’t wear that.
I take it from her hand and shove it back in the drawer. “Not that one.”
Great. Just fucking great.
She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.
I yank out a plain white T-shirt and toss it to her. “Tie it or do whatever the fuck you need to do.”
“What I need to do is wave my magic wand and shrink it, but since I’m the only witch without a wand, I guess I’ll wear it like a dress.”
She pulls it on, and it hits the tops of her knees. She looks adorable. Beautiful. Too fucking good in my clothes.
“Put the boxers on too.”
“Why? Afraid of a little thigh action?”
I cross my arms. “Afraid I might have to break the kneecaps of any asshole who steps near you, yeah.”
She whistles. “Oooh. Possessive. You sure you’re Bratva and not some overgrown dragon hoarding shiny things?”
I smirk. “You think you’re shiny.”
“Oh, honey,” she says. My heart turns over in my chest. “I’m radiant.”
“Put them on, little witch.” I narrow my eyes at her.
With a shrug, she slides my boxers on, then holds out the waistband to show me a full foot of material between her waist and the boxers.
I grunt. “Fine. You win. Take them off.”
“I could just pretend I’m asleep or something if you wanna see them alone.”
Good idea unless she decides she’s going to run again.
“Yeah. They’re not staying long.”
“You sure about that?”
“Fucking yes. Go. Lie down. I’ll be back.” I hold her gaze. “Do not come out of here.”
Shit. I don’t trust that glint in her eyes. What do you do with a girl who loves to be punished?
I throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, my stomach growling.
“Note to self—Matvei gets hangry.”
I ignore her, grumbling as I open the door and shut it behind me.
From the top of the stairs, I can see my dad already helping himself to my liquor cabinet and my mom rifling through the snack drawer.
Make yourself at fucking home.
“There you are,” my mother sings in that high-pitched voice that grates on my nerves.
She’s wearing one of her signature sweaters, hanging off one shoulder, skinny leggings painted onto her legs, and a gold belt cinching her waist. She’s standing in three-inch platform heels, her blonde hair pinned at the top of her head.
But even bottled blonde and trendy clothes don’t hide the bags under her eyes.
The sag of her skin. The way her lips pinch down in a perpetual scowl.
The son she loved most of all, the one she coddled and spoiled to his own demise, was taken from her, and she’ll never forgive any of us for it.
“It’s about time. We’ve been calling and texting, and you haven’t responded at all.”
I walk down the stairs, shaking my head. “I’ve been busy.” I eye the top of the stairs as if the little ghost followed me, but the bedroom door’s still shut tight. For now. I don’t trust her.
I get to the landing and go to get myself a drink.
My father raises an eyebrow. “Rodion said something about that. Did your busyness involve a certain traitor?”
“Hey. The name’s Anissa.”
Jesus. She didn’t wait long. I give her a heated glare, but she only smiles at me with a shit-eating grin and a finger waggle.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” my mother mutters. “You couldn’t get her in decent clothes? Ugh.”
Anissa stiffens.
My father stares at her. Unblinking. Cold.
“Name’s Anissa, and yours is—?” She looks expectantly at my mother. “You must be his grandmother, right?” She blinks so innocently, she almost looks sincere. I stifle a groan, and my father coughs into his drink.
My mother gives her a scathing look through narrowed slits. “Why don’t you just tell me you two fucked without telling me? And it’s mother, princess.”
“Because I think it’s weird you want to know your son just fucked his prisoner,” Anissa answers with another smile. “Ew.”
I should’ve locked her in her cage.
“As far as clothes go, surprise, surprise—your mammoth of a son doesn’t have clothes that fit me.
” She shrugs. “I could’ve put on the clothes I wore on the way here when he kidnapped me, but they’re covered in blood and dirt and—” She covers her mouth, eyes wide.
“Oopsie. You probably don’t want to know the rest.”
My father’s drink clatters to the table. He stares at me wide-eyed.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” I ask, my voice tight.
“We heard you were back in town,” my mother says, eying Anissa up and down. I know that look. She’s planning something. “She does look a lot like her sister,” my mother says, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“My sister?” Anissa blanches as she turns to me, eyes wide. “I have a sister? What is she talking about?”
My mother looks at her, all fake innocence, just like Anissa herself. “She didn’t know? You really don’t know the reason Rafail hasn’t come after you?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. But now that the cat’s out of the bag, there’s no point hiding it.
“I heard he got remarried,” Anissa says, coming to the bottom of the stairs. She walks to an overstuffed chair and sits, tucking her feet up under my shirt like some kind of teenage brat. She’s fucking adorable.
I blow out a breath. “My brother betrayed our family. Did you know that?” My mother flinches.
Something like sadness flickers across her face, but it’s gone just as fast, replaced with that ice mask she wears so well. “I didn’t.”
“His betrayal involved a woman named Polina Romanova. Does that name sound familiar?”
She shakes her head, staring at me.
“My brother convinced Rafail he found you, after you ran. So Rafail took her—or who he thought was you. Turns out, it wasn’t you but someone who looked exactly like you. Because she’s your sister.”
For the first time since I started stalking her, Anissa actually looks shocked. Guilty, even. I don’t blame her. It’s a hard fucking pill to swallow. She stares and doesn’t respond. I think it might be the first time I’ve seen her dumbfounded.
There’s a lot more to that story, but I’ll tell her when we get there. Not now. Instead, I turn the force of my gaze to my mother. “That’s enough for now.”
“Why do I feel like everything you’ve told me might’ve been a lie, except this?” Anissa asks, her voice quiet.
“Because it’s not.”
She swallows. Vulnerable.
I hate my mother.
“And when do I get to meet my sister?”
“Tonight. When you meet Rafail.”
She blanches. I don’t blame her.
My father clears his throat. “So you’re all coming to the Kopolov house tonight? Zoya cooking?” he asks, always trying to score a free meal.
My mom’s jaw locked the second I mentioned Gleb’s name, and it hasn’t relaxed since. She’ll never forgive me for what I did.
Neither will I.
I take another sip of my drink and shake my head, watching Anissa’s reaction. “No. Rafail and Polina are coming here.”
Anissa stares at me but doesn’t say a word.
I turn to my parents. “I still don’t know why you’re here.”
“We can’t just come see our son?” my mom asks, voice sticky sweet.
“You could.” I shrug. “You don’t.”