Chapter 9
ANYA
“Are you sure no one followed us?” I ask Ophelia. I don’t trust that I got away that easily from Semyon.
I don’t trust anything to do with him.
“Babe, no one followed us. Did you see how fast and recklessly I drove? That was on purpose. ”
She actually looks offended when I huff out a laugh.
“ This time, alright? That way, if anyone was following us, we lost them.”
I look behind me and see nothing but inky darkness. At this point, I don’t care if he had me followed. All that matters is that Stefan is safe.
As soon as I got the news from Ophelia, I sounded the alert with the small group of tight-knit friends I’ve made in my neighborhood. We’re all just trying to make ends meet, each of us navigating our own struggles while watching each other’s backs.
Lena, the local grocery store owner with a houseful of kids and a huge heart, responded first.
Lena
I’ll look around. I’m so sorry I haven’t seen him. Is the story of what I heard about you true? Everyone knows someone, we’ll find him
Marco, the bartender who knew half the city’s occupants, poured drinks, and collected whispers like currency.
Marco
Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Little kid like him would stand out. Hang in there.
Finally, it was Viktor, the barber whose shop was adjacent to mine, who gave me a tip.
Viktor
I think I saw him in the shop earlier? Not long ago. I think he was hiding out but needed a place to get out of the rain.
So to the shop we went. I cast one last look into the sheets of rain behind us before I opened the door.
“If he’s here, I’m going to shake him til his teeth rattle as badly as mine do.” Ophelia shivers, tugging her soaked sweater tighter around her curvy frame. She wouldn’t harm a hair on Stefan’s head, but I didn’t blame her. “And will you stop looking around like your Bratva batboy’s gonna come out like a vampire and suck your blood? God.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know what he’s like,” I mutter, my hands trembling as I slide the key into the lock. It’s crooked and freezing, so it takes a full minute before I’m able to unlock the door and head inside.
To anyone else, this place would look vacant. But I know the telltale signs of a sneaky little boy who has a penchant for trouble and a taste for sweets.
The front display case is open, and a row of cookies is missing. I never leave the display case open, and I always fill it before we close for the night.
I narrow my eyes and look around the shop.
“Stefan?” I ask, flicking my phone’s flashlight on. I don’t want to alert anyone outside that we’re in here. “Are you in here? The sooner you confess, the less trouble you’ll be in.”
No answer. But the fridge door is slightly ajar, and a wad of napkins still sits on the steel top of the kneading table.
“Stefan,” I say warningly.
“Hey!” Ophelia yells into the store. “We know you’re in here. Don’t tell me I risked my life kidnapping your sister and driving in a storm just so I could make myself fat on your sister’s cinnamon rolls and drown my grief in vanilla icing!”
I snort and shake my head.
“Drown your grief?” I mouth, still panting from running in here .
I turn my head sharply, straining to listen. Did I hear something? What was that? I scan the shop, but there’s no sign of movement. Still, my brother is young and clumsy, and I know he’s in here.
“Stefan,” I call, my voice low and warning—the tone I use when he’s in trouble and I need to sound motherly. I hate when he makes me do this. “If you don’t come out…” I trail off, unsure of what to threaten him with because I never like making threats.
Finally, the door to the large freezer creaks open.
“Stefan!” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. He knows he’s not allowed in there. It’s an old freezer, and if the door shuts from the inside, he could freeze to death. That’s been drilled into his head a hundred times. He’s never been allowed in there.
Barely able to catch my breath, I grab him by the shoulders and shake him hard enough to make him stumble.
“What were you thinking? You can’t run away like that and in the freezer ?” My voice cracks, fear cutting through my anger. “Don’t you know what could’ve happened if I didn’t find you?”
“I didn’t lock it,” he mutters, lifting his chin with false bravado. For a moment, he looks like our oldest brother—the arrogance is the same, that’s for sure.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if the wrong person caught you?” I press, my words coming out sharper than I intended .
His eyes widen, guilt shadowing his expression. “I just wanted to come find you,” he whispers. “I thought… I thought eventually you’d come back here. I only stepped into the freezer just now. I didn’t want anyone to see me—I thought it might be him. You know, your new husband.”
“You thought wrong,” I snap, pulling him into a fierce hug, holding him tightly for a moment before shaking him again. “You should’ve stayed hidden, and you should’ve never gone in that freezer. Don’t you ever go in there again, Stefan.”
The door to the shop jingles open. Moments later, heavy footsteps fall. My stomach drops, tightening into a knot.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
Semyon’s imposing shadow spills into the light of the doorway as he steps inside. His icy-blue eyes burn with fury, and his jaw is clenched tight. He looks as if he’s been carved from stone—his face rigid and controlled, every line etched with precision. But I can feel the storm beneath his surface. He’s barely hanging on to his self-control.
“You thought you could leave without telling me?” His voice is low, calm, far more dangerous than if he’d yelled. I understand now why people fear him when his voice lowers.
My instincts roar to life, and I shove my brother behind me. “I’m not leaving him here,” I snap.
Ophelia, standing behind me, makes a little squeaking sound and curses under her breath. I can feel Stefan trembling as he clutches my arm, but I don’t move .
“He needs me,” I say firmly.
Semyon’s gaze flicks to Stefan and then back to me, a glimpse of something—surprise?—crossing his face.
“Who?” he asks, his tone colder than ice.
“Stefan. My younger brother,” I reply, my voice steady despite the lump rising in my throat. “Who do you think?”
For a moment, Semyon’s expression is unreadable. Then he speaks, blunt as ever. “I thought you came here to find another man.”
“Another man? What are you talking about?”
His eyes dart away, and for an instant, I think I see something like shame in his expression. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold, calculated mask that always makes my skin crawl.
“You were forbidden from leaving,” he says, stepping closer, his words snapping like a whip. “And at the first opportunity, that’s what you did.”
“Ophelia couldn’t find my brother!” I protest.
Semyon steps even closer, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He crooks a finger, his command sharp and precise. “Come here,” he orders.
I instinctively take a step forward, but he shakes his head.
“No, Anya. Not you.”
Panic rises in my chest. Oh god. Stefan?
Before I can stop him, Stefan steps out from behind me, standing straight. There’s a flash of arrogance in his expression, the same kind our oldest brother used to wear like armor.
Semyon’s eyes widen, just slightly, before narrowing again. “And this is…”
“Stefan,” I reply quickly, stepping forward protectively.
“I knew you had a brother,” he says coolly, his voice like steel. “Because your other brother owes us four million, Anya.”
“You didn’t know I had a younger brother?”
"My records say your brother is in a boarding school, sent there by your uncle," Semyon says, his tone flat.
"Well, maybe it’s time you update your records," I snap. "My brother hasn’t been in that school for over two years—not since my father spent the tuition money."
Semyon’s expression softens, his voice dropping. "I’m sorry," he says quietly. "I had no idea you have a younger brother at home. You should have told me."
He shakes his head, the faintest trace of frustration flickering across his face.
"You should’ve come to me," he continues. "You should’ve told me why you were leaving. I would’ve brought you here safely instead of…" He gestures vaguely at me. "This wreck of a situation."
His eyes sharpen as his voice hardens. "Your life belongs to me now, Anya."
Stefan’s eyes flash with defiance as he steps forward, his small fists clenched. "You can’t own someone’s life," he says, his voice trembling but firm.
Semyon’s icy gaze snaps to him, narrowing. "Watch your tone, boy," he warns. Instinctively, I pull Stefan closer, wrapping my arms protectively around him.
"He’s right," I say, my voice steady despite the tightening in my chest. "You don’t own me. I won’t let Stefan think this is how things work—that this is normal. I owe him more than that."
Semyon’s lips twitch into a faint, almost amused smile, baring his teeth. "Don’t I?" he murmurs, his voice a low growl.
I don’t know what shocks me more—his words or the certainty with which he says them. It’s not even a question; he speaks it as if it’s a simple fact. And yet, beneath the icy detachment in his tone, there’s a hint of something… something I hadn’t expected. For one fleeting moment, I wonder if I’ve misjudged him.
But then, as he straightens, the mask snaps back into place. His next words are clipped, unyielding. "You’re going to pay for this," he says, shaking his head.
The fire in my chest roars back to life. His gaze locks on Stefan, cold and calculating, like a headmaster sizing up a defiant student. "But I won’t have any loose ends—or liabilities. You’ll come with us," Semyon says to Stefan. “You will not run. You will not disrespect my family. You will come, and your sister will take care of you in our home. Is that clear? "
I blink, stunned by his words, my breath catching in my throat. "Wait—Stefan’s coming with us?" I ask aloud, unable to hide my shock.
Ophelia gasps. Semyon and I both look over at her. We forgot she was there.
Semyon’s ice-blue eyes meet mine, unwavering. "This wasn’t part of my plan either," he admits. "But it was an oversight. I should have done a background check. And don’t even ask me about your father." His lip curls in disdain. "That man can drown in his own piss for all I care."
"Me too," I murmur. For a brief moment, our eyes meet in unexpected solidarity—a fleeting connection that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
"Just so we’re clear… he can live with us?" I ask, disbelief thick in my voice.
Semyon’s gaze doesn’t falter. "Do you think I would leave him here with that deadbeat father of yours?" He shakes his head. "I thought your brother was in school. I didn’t know you’d been taking care of him all this time. I don’t tolerate weakness, Anya, but I’m not a monster."
Conflicting emotions churn within me: anger at his arrogance, confusion at this unexpected act of kindness, and an unsettling sense of gratitude. Is this truly kindness? Or is it just another calculated move, another piece on the chessboard that will eventually lead to my downfall?
No…
Semyon doesn’t love. He doesn’t choke on kindness. This is just another move to keep me occupied .
My brother, Stefan, in that cold mansion? Yes, I can make sure he’s well-fed, that his clothes aren’t threadbare, and his socks don’t have holes in them. We’ll have adequate light to do homework, and I won’t have to worry about the heat being shut off.
But Stefan is headstrong, and I fear what will happen to him under Semyon’s cold fury.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say? “No, I don’t want my brother subjected to your severity—I’d rather he starve to death or wonder if our drunken father will backhand him?” Yeah, no.
Ophelia stares at Semyon, then at Stefan, and back to me. “I don’t know about you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “but I think this might work out pretty well for both of you.”
“It definitely won’t,” Semyon says, his voice cold and precise.
Ophelia’s eyes widen. She looks at him, unable to hide her fear, then backtracks awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t mean you two. I meant… them.” She gestures between Stefan and me. “Those two.”
Her voice falters, and she tilts her head to the side with a forced smile. “Semyon, have you tried these delicious baked goods?” she asks, gesturing wildly at the half-open pastry case.
I want to bury my head in my hands. Semyon’s eyes narrow into slits, and he actually lets out a low growl—a real growl, like an animal .
“You two,” he snaps, pointing at Stefan and me, “get in the fucking car outside.” Then he turns to Ophelia. “And you—go home. Do not contact my wife without my permission again.”
Ophelia’s face flushes with justified outrage, but I silently will her to stop provoking him before he snaps.
“Just do what he says for now, okay?” I mutter.
“Not for now,” Semyon cuts in, his voice sharp. “Do what I say. Period.”
I step closer to Ophelia and whisper, “I’ll call you later. Thank you.”
She hesitates but nods before retreating, muttering under her breath as she marches to the door.
“I’m not going with him,” Stefan says stubbornly, his small shoulders squaring as he glares up at Semyon. “Someone has to be home when… when Eli comes back.” He trails off, his voice faltering.
“Eli isn’t coming back,” Semyon says coldly. “And I’m out of patience. It’s the middle of the night, Stefan.” Semyon’s voice softens. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
Stefan flinches but says nothing.
“Your sister and I will set rules for your time in my house. We’ll discuss them after everyone’s had some sleep. For now, gather your belongings and go with Anya to the car.”
When neither of us moves, Semyon’s nostrils flare. His voice cracks like a whip. “Now. ”
Then he turns back to Ophelia, his tone icy. “Leave. I don’t want to see you again.”
“For God’s sake!” I snap, unable to stop myself.
Semyon levels his gaze at me, his voice dropping dangerously. “If I were you, I’d be quiet right now. You’re in heaps of trouble. You left without my permission, snuck away, and got into a car with a reckless driver who could’ve killed you.”
I ignore Ophelia’s indignant huff as she slams the door behind her.
“You disobeyed me,” Semyon continues, his tone cutting, “and you’re already on thin ice.”
Semyon steps closer to me, dragging his fingers along my wrist. His thick thumb presses against my pulse, and his eyes glint coldly. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs, cataloging my every reaction with unnerving precision.
It’s hard to believe men like him exist. I’ve known men like my brother—selfish, reckless, charming as hell. And men like my father—selfish, addicted, too broken to take care of the people they should love.
But Semyon is different. Responsible. In charge. Yet as cold as an ice king. And he’s my husband.
I made a decision long ago that I would never fall in love. I’ve seen how it wrecks people—how it destroyed my mother. Women lose their self-respect in the futile hope of earning love in return. That will never be me.
Maybe, in a way, I’m almost thankful. Being married to an ice king makes it easier to keep that promise .
“You’re soaking wet,” Semyon says suddenly, shaking his head. “Were you so afraid for your brother’s safety that you had no regard for your own?”
I glance down, only now realizing I’m still wearing my old, faded dress, soaked through and clinging to me. The wet fabric reveals more than I’d like—the dusky outline of my nipples, the curve of my breasts.
Before I can move, Semyon shrugs off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Zip that up,” he orders curtly. “No one looks at you but me. No one, Anya.”
He jerks his head toward Stefan. “Have you eaten?”
“I had some cookies,” Stefan mumbles.
“Grab a paper bag and pack some things for breakfast,” Semyon says, his tone softening just slightly. “You’ll eat at home and in the morning before school.” He shakes his head.
Stefan hesitates at the pastry case, then asks nervously, “Do you… want anything?”
The surrealism of the moment nearly knocks me off balance—my little brother, my dangerous husband, and me standing together in this strange, fragile truce.
Semyon glances at the case, then points. “Two of those,” he says, pointing to a pair of pirozhki. It’s not indulgence he’s after, but practicality. A quick, filling meal, chosen with the same cold efficiency he applies to everything else.
It’s a small gesture, but it feels almost human .
“Lock the shop behind you,” Semyon says brusquely.
I hold up the bent key.
“Are you serious?” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Forget it. We’ll handle this tomorrow. For now, everyone needs sleep.”
He leans down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And you and I will discuss every detail of your disobedience… when we get home.”