Chapter 3
ANYA
When I was little, my mother used to call me her little firefly. Because I was so tiny, I practically flew about the house or yard, skipping rocks by the creek or climbing one of the huge maples that overlooked our backyard. But if I got angry—usually at my older brother or the injustice of a situation—my temper would flare.
“Be careful, my little firefly,” she’d say after another one of my tantrums, running her hand down the back of my head over my hair. “One day, that temper might get you in trouble. And I won’t always be here to save you.”
Her voice still echoes in my mind, each word a ghostly reproach as I tug her threadbare coat tighter around my shoulders and brave the biting wind.
She’s gone, and I failed her.
It’s so frigid I feel like my nostrils are sealed together when I breathe; any bit of exposed skin aches when the wind touches it. But we haven’t had a car in years, and I don’t have the money to hire a ride. The wind knifes through me, stealing the air from my lungs, but it can’t compete with the storm in my chest.
Every step toward the pub is a battle—against the cold, against the pain in my legs, against the fury that tears me apart.
Each frozen breath is a vow: I’ll make him listen.
Maybe the mile-long walk to the pub will cool my raging temper.
His response was immediate.
Iron Birch. Come now and come alone.
Oh, I’ll come alone alright. Who else will I bring, me and my battery of alliances and besties? Ever since I had to quit college and work in my family’s business, my time with friends has dwindled to nearly nothing. Ophelia’s the only one left. And while I know she’d pick up if I called her at any time of day, I also know she’ll do her best to talk me out of what I’m about to do.
Rage and desperation are powerful fuel.
I have to confront him.
“Hey, gorgeous. Need a ride?” I shiver and keep my head down, ignoring a man standing in a doorway. I’m so desperate for warmth that I almost entertain the thought but manage to keep some semblance of self-respect.
I look at the number on the building to my left. Only fifty more to go.
“Hey,” he calls after me but doesn’t follow. I pick up my pace.
By the time I get to the Iron Birch, I’m shaking, disheveled, and angrier than before I left. How dare he and his stupid family come after mine? After all he did to us?
How dare he ?
I shove open the bar door. It swings on its hinges, the overhead bell jingling. Chatter dies down, but when the people inside see it’s just me, it quickly picks up again. I’m short and slight and hardly someone any of them would be concerned with. But I don’t care. My mother always said good things come in small packages, and Semyon Kopolov is about to meet his match.
I hate him.
I hate him for ruining my family. I hate him for dragging my brother into the depravity of his world, for ignoring my mother’s pleas to keep my brother out of it. I hate him for pulling the trigger that caused my mother’s death.
And I hate him now for putting my family in this position.
So I march straight to the bartender, who eyes me with mild curiosity. A man in his early fifties with short, salt-and-pepper hair, he holds a beer mug in his hand as he dries it. “May I help you?”
I lean in, bracing myself on the shiny lacquered bar top. “The Kopolov family is expecting me.”
His bright blue eyes widen as he processes my request. Leaning in closer to me, his voice lowers to a whisper, and he gestures for me to come closer. “Are you sure about that? If you’re in trouble… if you need help…”
I lick my lips and swallow, completing the sentence. “There would be nothing you’d be able to do about it. Would there?”
His response is all I need. I blow out a breath and blink back tears. I wasn’t expecting kindness in a moment like this, and it almost undoes me. “Tell me where they are, please.”
Placing the glass down on the bar top, he nods and points to a hallway behind him. “Down that hall, third door on the left.” He blows out a breath. “Be careful.”
My heart pounds as I storm down the hallway. The door isn’t even shut, wide open for any fool to see. I take in a deep breath. I conjure up a picture of my mother and take a quick moment to brush my palm against the fabric of the coat she once wore, a fleeting anchor to steel my nerves. I lift my head high. I march straight into the lion’s den.
The sharp, synchronized clicks of guns being cocked pierce the air. It seems every weapon in the room is trained on me, the cold metal mirroring the ruthless eyes of the men who hold them.
The room itself feels like a loaded gun, the weight of every man’s stare pressing down on me. My heart pounds like a war drum as the silence stretches. And then I hear him, his voice sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“ Guns down .” They instantly obey.
I don’t flinch under the weight of his stare. I take a step forward. I will not back down.
Semyon sits at the head of the table, his ice-blue eyes locked with mine. Gone is the warmth I remember, and in its place, nothing but piercing and unrelenting cold.
For a moment, I forget the danger. I forget the guns, the men, the risks, and my errand. Because there he is—the boy I used to know, now the man I hate.
How can he still make my heart ache after all he’s done, after all that’s happened?
I forgot how mesmerizing he is, how his presence makes my heart seize in my chest. How my mind goes blank when he’s near, just as it did when I was a child. For one fleeting moment, I’m the little girl by the creek again, watching him bask in the golden heat of a summer day. I wished then that he would smile at me, but Semyon never smiles.
When I was a child, he was a superhero in my mind. He even looked like Clark Kent with his black hair and ice-blue eyes, as cold and unforgiving as a Siberian winter. I imagined when he took off his glasses he became Superman.
Even seated, he commands the room with an effortless dominance. His sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal inked forearms, the dark lines of tattoos twisted over taut, hard muscle. Every movement is controlled, precise. The tats on his hands are a quiet, lethal promise. He looks like a man who never raises his voice…because he never needs to.
He lifts one dark brow curiously.
“You,” I spit out, my voice shaking with fury. “You sit here on your throne of lies and power, manipulating everyone around you for your own gain. How dare you? ”
The room falls silent, the tension crackling like electricity, finally broken by a low whistle. I look over to see Semyon’s younger brother Rodion, a few years older than I am, shaking his head. Rodion is the family wildcard, defined by his athletic build and charm, a perpetual smirk on his face.
He's Semyon’s opposite in every way.
“This her, brother?” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
What the hell is he talking about? Semyon shakes his head once at Rodion, who quickly clams up. I turn back to him.
“ You’re the reason my mother is dead. You’re the reason my brother is drowning in debt. You ruined us.” My voice shakes with fury. “And now you threaten to take away our only means of survival?” I’m shaking with fury as Semyon’s icy blue gaze settles on me. Before he responds, he takes a long, slow sip from his drink.
“It’s been a while, Anya. How nice to see you. It seems you’ve forgotten your manners.”
Rodion stifles a snort, and someone in the back morphs a laugh into a cough.
I stare at him and don’t respond. I expected anger, outrage, a scathing remark—anything but this cool, collected indifference.
“I’ll allow your disrespect to go unpunished this once,” he says coldly. Holding up a hand, he gestures for someone in the back, who immediately rushes forward to refill his drink. “If you tell me the truth, please. It wasn’t your brother who texted me, was it? ”
I shake my head.
“So you lied to me,” he states, his cold voice dropping a few degrees. I swallow hard and stifle a shiver.
“I didn’t lie to you. I texted you from my brother’s phone.”
“Pretending you were him, knowing full well, I wouldn’t have disclosed my location to you.”
My temper flares. The goddamn nerve of the insensitive prick. “Because I’m a woman? Because I don’t deserve to be in the presence of men like you?”
“No,” he says without a trace of dishonesty. That’s one thing about Semyon—he never lied. To a fault, even. Sometimes it hurt that he didn’t. “Because I would never have allowed you to come out alone into a dangerous place like this unaccompanied. You ought to know that.”
I can’t help but scoff at him. “As if my safety’s any of your concern.”
He lost that privilege a long time ago.
He rises slowly. I swallow. Semyon’s bigger than I remember, bigger than when he was a boy. Stronger. Taller. Even from here, I can see the corded muscle at his neck, the veined strength of his hands. The room falls silent as he draws himself to his full height. He wears a black button-down shirt. Even in my fear and anger, my eyes are drawn to the way his rolled-up sleeves reveal the dangerous mark of the Bratva, every deliberate movement like the clanging of a warning bell.
“You’ll see very soon that it’s of my utmost concern.”
What ?
I don’t understand what he’s saying—it’s incomprehensible, infuriating. The anger that simmered like molten lava inside me as I stormed up here erupts, scorching through reason, and the final thread of self-control snaps, as fragile as fishing line pulled taut under heavy weight.
I somehow find myself standing inches away from him, unaware of how I got here, fueled by desperation and fury. I’m blinded to the danger around me, only dimly aware of six strong men who rise to their feet and Semyon’s flip of a palm that holds them all back.
“ You ,” I seethe, a flash of memory causing tears to well in my eyes. My mother, thin and frail, pleading with Semyon at the worn table in my kitchen. “You pretend as if you care anything about me… as if you didn’t turn your back on my family. As if my mother’s death isn’t your fault!”
I jab my finger at his chest.
He lets me.
“You act as if you’re the one in control—as if you need the fucking money my brother owes you—when you own this entire city and half of Moscow. You act all calm and collected when I know the truth.” I blink, hot, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I swipe them angrily away. “You’ve already destroyed the only good things I had left in this world and plan on taking the last of it? You’re a monster , Semyon Kopolov, and the men in this room might lick your goddamn feet to get a crumb from your table, but I remember.” I jab another finger at his chest, irrationally angry that he isn’t stopping me. “I remember when you were still human. ”
Something I can’t quite read flickers behind his glasses in his cold blue eyes. Regret? Guilt? I can’t tell, and it doesn’t matter because all that stands before me now is the heartless monster who abandoned my family who loved him for the coldhearted Bratva.
“Just sayin’, I am not licking anyone’s feet,” Rodion mutters, which earns him a few snickers and a sharp backhand to the head from a thick guy sitting next to him I don’t recognize.
I can’t stop seething, can’t stop fuming at him. “I came here to tell you,” I hiss, my voice breaking, “that no matter how much power you have, no matter how untouchable you think you are, I know better.” My lower lip wobbles, and my voice drops. “And I hate you. You want my family’s bakery? You want to come in and destroy what’s left of my family? Kill me first, Semyon.”
He wraps his hand around my finger and presses my hand down as he speaks in an unnervingly calm voice. “Finished yet, sweetheart?”
Tacking on a term of endearment? The absolutely condescending asshole.
How dare he?
I ignore the warm feel of his hand on mine.
“Nope,” I seethe because I’m just warming up. “I came here to tell you that no matter how untouchable you are, you’ll never be anything more than a coward who preys on the innocent. You can take everything from me, and you’ll still have to live with that.”
Rodion mutters something under his breath, but the guy sitting next to him—I can see it’s his cousin now—smacks him again.
Semyon’s frigid stare rests on me with mild curiosity. “Are you done?”
I stare at him. “So you don’t deny it, then? None of it?”
The cold look in his eyes is unwavering. “You’ll be quiet now. I gave you your turn to speak, which was more than you deserved. Now it’s my turn.”
Strong fingers encircle my wrists, his grip unyielding yet controlled as he effortlessly restrains both of my hands in a single one of his.
Damn.
My chest heaves, and no matter how hard I fight it, heat ripples across my skin. He may be a monster, but he’s a beautiful one.
Up close, he’s overwhelming, every inch of him exuding raw alpha male and unfettered masculinity. The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw only sharpens the angles of his face. I can see that though his eyes are distant, there’s a smoldering fire in their depths behind his fortress of control.
In seconds, I take it all in—the black fabric of his shirt clinging to the broad expanse of his chest, his strong arms and torso, the way heat and power radiate off him like a predator ready to strike.
I open my mouth to tell him off again when he taps my lips with his free hand. “I said it’s my turn, little Anya. You’ll be quiet and listen to me now and not speak again unless I give you permission. If you do, I’ll gag you and give my men a show. Understood?”
My mouth drops open in outrage, but he continues. “You came in here uninvited. Disrespected me in front of my men. You think you know all about my world and who I am, do you?”
Leaning in so close. I stare at his perfect white teeth that he bares at me like a wolf with barely restrained energy. My eyes dip down. His hands are clenched.
He's holding himself back. My heart thumps.
“Let me tell you something, Anya,” he says, low and calm. “First, behavior like this will never go unpunished. You crossed a line, and there will be consequences.”
Fear claws at my chest when the grip on my wrists tightens to painful. I can see the scar that runs across his hand from the night his parents were killed, and he tried to save them.
“And second. You really don’t understand anything about my world. But you’re about to learn.”
I shake my head as if I can deny it and somehow make him hear reason and fall to his knees, repentant.
What did I actually expect from him? I didn’t think that far ahead.
“Call Rafail,” he snaps at someone to his left, who leaps to his feet, his phone already at his ear. “I want him to know what I’m doing next.”
Oh god. Rafail is the family pakhan , his oldest brother, the beast that rules his family and Moscow with an iron fist.
“There’s only one way to ensure your family’s safety and settle this debt, Anya.”
I stare at him. So he’ll consider it, then? I may have lost my temper and come barging in here, but maybe he’s actually listened to me? Maybe he has a shred of humanity in him after all?
“You mean there’s a chance?” I ask, unable to keep the hope out of my voice.
“A chance to keep what’s left of your family intact?” His words are sharp, laced with condescension that cuts deep. I hear the insult loud and clear but force myself to ignore it. I have to. I won’t get a second chance.
He nods, his gaze unreadable. “Yes. But a chance your outburst and disrespect will go unpunished? No.”
Fear skates down my spine. I hold his gaze, but his expression remains stonelike, a mask of calm authority that makes my stomach twist.
His voice drops, each word deliberate and heavy. “You’ll marry me.”
For a moment, my world tilts. I blink once, twice, my mind scrambling to catch up. Surely I misheard him.
I’m… stunned. Marry my mortal enemy?
“Marry you?” The words tumble from my lips. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Why? Why would he say this? Why would he even want this?
He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches. The weight of his gaze and his words keep me rooted in place .
Leave my baby brother to the mercies of my alcoholic father and whoever decides to take advantage of him?
“I…” My voice falters, and I make myself swallow the lump rising in my throat. “You can’t be serious.”
But deep down, I already know the truth. Semyon Kopolov never says anything he doesn’t mean.
“Marry you? Give myself to the man who single-handedly destroyed my family? You can’t force me into this. And I can’t imagine you’d actually want to be wed to someone who hates you.” I shake my head. It isn’t computing.
He lazily drags his gaze down the length of my body, lingering on my neck, lower to where my mother’s jacket has slipped down, revealing the threadbare top that barely covers my shoulders. Without a word, he bends as if he’s going to kiss me. My heart races, and I’m so confused by my intuitive reaction that I freeze. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he closes his eyes and inhales as if he’s in the presence of the world’s most precious flower. I stare in disbelief.
He opens his eyes. “Are you able to pay the debt or not?” he asks, the cruelty in his voice telling me he already knows I can’t.
“Of course I can’t.” Even if I gave him every penny of the bakery’s earnings for years, I could never repay him.
“You have no choice, then. Your family has nothing else to offer.” He leans in, his tone chilling. “This isn’t about what you want, Anya. This is about survival.”
A voice booms from the doorway. “A good solution, brother. Let her earn her family’s safety the hard way.” I turn to see Rafail Kopolov, Moscow’s most wanted and Semyon’s eldest brother, leaning casually against the doorframe, his steely gaze fixed on me.
Semyon clears his throat. I turn back to him.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide. But know this. If you refuse, your brother’s blood and the fate of your family are in your hands.” He turns to Rodion and jerks his chin at him. “Take her home.”