Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anissa
I wake from my dream with a start.
This time, I don’t remember what happened. I just know I was running; someone was chasing me, and it wasn’t Matvei this time.
Who was it?
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my mind.
Instinctively, I pat the bed next to me to feel his reassuring warmth and heat.
He’s not there.
I sit up, glancing at the corner of the room, where fairy lights glow softly against the walls.
My cage.
I wonder if it can be repurposed into a daybed.
Nah.
I keep looking, hoping—because I need to see him.
But he’s not here.
Instead, he’s left me a tray of snacks, and there’s a mini-fridge stocked full.
I quickly make myself a plate of cheese and crackers, grab a drink, pop the top off some seltzer, and settle into bed with the tablet.
But as I scroll mindlessly through a show, my mind keeps circling back to his words.
"I never messed around with your bank account."
A chill runs down my spine.
If he didn’t… then who did?
I stand and cross the room, moving to the large window that overlooks the grounds.
I think about the look in his eyes tonight when I told him about what happened to me.
About the assault.
I didn’t tell him the repercussions of that assault.
I can’t.
If he finds out the truth… will he still want me?
The thought of losing Matvei fills me with a strange kind of grief.
The kind that should only come with death.
For the first time in my life, I feel wanted.
Seen.
Understood.
I never could’ve imagined this chain of events.
I exhale and follow the sound of his voice, but… it isn’t just his voice now.
Is he talking on speakerphone?
When I walk down the stairs, I realize Matvei isn’t alone.
There’s a younger guy with him. A younger, very attractive guy with an athletic build, strong jawline, piercing gaze, and what looks like a perpetual smirk.
The ink that scrolls over his shoulders and up his neck marks him as Kopolov family Bratva.
Rodion?
"Hi," I say tentatively from the doorway.
The stranger flashes me a grin. "You’re up? Feeling okay?" His brows knit together slightly, studying me.
Just a moment ago, they were both talking about very violent, very mafia things.
But Matvei’s demeanor shifts the moment he sees me.
The tension in his jaw releases. His eyes, normally storm clouds and razor-sharp, soften in a way that makes my breath catch. He shouldn’t be looking at me that way. I might do whatever he tells me. I might follow him to the ends of the earth.
Without a word, he lifts his arm—an invitation, silent but sure. Like I belong there and he was waiting for me.
A lump rises in my throat. Maybe it’s because he’s the last person I expected to feel safe with.
I step closer. Slowly. Warily. I’m still unsure of my footing in this family. Maybe I’m afraid it’s only temporary.
He doesn’t rush me but waits, steady as stone, until I’m within reach.
“Rodion, this is Anissa,” he says with unmistakable pride. “Anissa, Rodion.”
Rodion eyes me with undisguised curiosity. “Ah, the little witch,” he says, lifting his glass in mock salute. I see the thick band of gold that glints in the overhead light on his ring finger.
“Ah, the partner in crime,” I reply, lips curling into a smirk. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard plenty of stories about you and Matvei.”
Rodion groans. “Whatever he told you, it’s slander. I’m innocent.”
“Back when we were younger…” Matvei begins.
“We got into way more trouble than we do now,” Rodion finishes with a wolfish grin. I half expect him to swallow me whole.
“I’d argue the stakes have gotten higher,” Matvei murmurs dryly, pulling me into his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His arm settles around me. His fingers brush mine, grounding me. My head finds his shoulder—when did that become the place I want to be?
“Did we wake you?” he asks softly, his voice quieter now, just for me.
There’s something about this dangerous man going soft for me that melts me into a puddle.
“You okay?” he asks softly, a murmur in my ear. Rodion’s brows lift, and he looks at his friend in mild surprise.
I shake my head. "Yeah. I was starving. I had a weird dream and… I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep."
Matvei’s gaze sharpens.
"Was it another nightmare?"
I shake my head again, but it’s a lie. I don’t want to divulge anything personal in front of Rodion. Matvei might trust him, but I don’t.
"I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I whisper. Rodion politely scrolls on his phone as if giving us some privacy.
"You need something to eat?"
"No, I'm fine. You left me with enough snacks to fatten me up like a pig being led to slaughter."
Rodion groans. "Of course he did. Asshole needs to feed his junk food addiction. Always gets the munchies with those goddamn joints. That's how Rafail caught on we were smoking in high school.” He shakes his head as if still pissed at Matvei. “He’d fucking eat pickled everything. Dill pickles, tomatoes, straight out of the jar like a psycho. Platters of dumplings. Sleeves of crackers. Piles of chocolate bars or anything battered and fried.”
"I had help," Matvei says, his eyes twinkling.
“I bet.”
“I can still see Rafail staring at the empty packages in the kitchen and shaking us down for our stash.” Rodion shakes his head. “Hey, so I came here to tell Matvei the good news,” Rodion says with a smile. He pulls out a pink stick. I blink. "Ember’s pregnant.”
I don't expect it. The stab hits my chest. The second I look at him—when I look at Matvei's face—the pain is there, hidden behind a fake smile.
"Congratulations," I say, but my congrats sound watery even to my own ears.
Matvei's thumb brushes over the top of my hand—soothing, gentle. A shared moment of grief I wasn’t prepared for, for entirely different reasons.
His wife peed on a stick, and he jumped in his car and drove here to tell Matvei in person.
That's so adorable. And it makes me so fucking sad.
Rodion stands. "It's late. I'm sorry to keep you guys up. Just wanted to tell you the good news. Tomorrow, we ride, brother," he says with a smile.
Brother. I bet that hits him harder than Rodion thinks. He has two other brothers at home. Matvei buried his.
And what are they doing tomorrow?
Matvei gets up to see Rodion out. I barely notice. I'm so caught up in my thoughts, trying to decide what to do, what to say.
Matvei comes back to me. He has that look that I've come to crave.
Possessive. Haunted.
"Come here," he says, crooking a finger at me.
He sits in the overstuffed chair and spreads his knees wide. Jesus, he's so fucking sexy. There's a glint in his eyes. It smells like trouble, and it makes my heart sing.
This room is all dark wood, gleaming hardwood, laced with the smell of old books. They're stacked on tables and shelves. The furniture is minimalist, leather. It's like an old-fashioned study, and it surprises me that this is Matvei’s.
Matvei sprawls on the leather chair, his knees apart, resting on his forearms. He has on a T-shirt that he wears to bed, the fabric stretched thin across the large expanse of his chest.
He snaps his fingers and points to the floor. His eyes go dark when I don’t come to him right away. “So that’s how we’re playing this?”
My heart thumps in my chest when his voice drops to a low register.
"Crawl to me."
I’m instantly wet.
"Take off your shirt," I counter. I want to see his tattoos, his scars. Everything.
"This isn't a negotiation," he says, but his eyes twinkle with something like mischief.
His voice drops to a lower register, and I want this. I want this so fucking bad.
When he hurts me, when he stares at me, when he touches me, when he makes me come—he makes me feel wanted in the best possible ways, and everything else fades to vapor.
"Are you testing me? You do not want to test me.”
Oh, but I do. I so fucking do.
"I'm not gonna warn you again."
Excitement bubbles in my chest. I throw him a look of challenge.
"Yeah? Fucking make me."
With slow deliberation, his hands go to his waist, his eyes meeting mine.
At the sound of his belt unbuckling, my stomach clenches. My mouth is dry, and a quick panic sets in.
Did I push too far?
He's a dangerous man.
He's my dangerous man.
"I warned you," he says.
At the same time, he stands and pulls the leather belt out in one swift move, folding it so the buckle rests in his palm, forming a loop.
I look around the room because now seems like a really good time to run.
But it’s small in here. Kind of cramped. And even if I did…
I turn.
Too late.
I scream out loud when his hand grabs the back of my head, yanking my hair so hard it hurts. My pulse spikes. My clit throbs.
He pulls me forward and bends me over his desk.
Books fall. Pencils clatter. Trinkets click to the floor.
My hands scramble to find purchase on the gleaming top of the desk, and it reminds me of that first night at the bar.
Only this time, he has a belt.
No pool stick.
Lucky me.
He shoves my face down on the desk, and with the same hand holding the belt, he strips me, the leather teasing my naked skin.
He has an easy job of it with my loose leggings.
"Don’t—"
The leather cracks across my ass—hard—taking my breath away, but not so hard that I don’t know he’s modulating himself.
A man like him could do serious damage taking his belt to me, and the fact that he knows this and is so damn careful with me makes my pulse race with excitement.
I try to push against him. I writhe. But he holds me down so easily.
I love the feeling of being overpowered.
The way he presses his hand to the back of my neck. The way his other hand lifts the belt back.
"What do you need, little witch?" he says in a low drawl before snapping the belt across my ass again.
And again.
The next time, the leather hits the crease of my thighs, and it feels like fucking fire.
I howl. Squirm. Writhe. But it doesn’t matter.
He just holds me down and strikes me again.
"I asked you a question," he growls.
My eyes fly open and land on a quote pinned to his wall.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there—”