Chapter 15
SEMYON
I stand in the middle of the grand living room of our family estate. This house, ironically nicknamed “The Cottage,” hums with activity as our family gathers. My eyes drift to Anya, chatting with Rodion’s wife, Ember. They’re sitting on a loveseat, just far enough apart to remain polite, but I notice every movement. Anya’s back is straight, her eyes flicking to me every so often, but her smile at Ember is genuine. It’s relieved. Ember isn’t like the rest of us. She wasn’t born into the mafia and barely understands this world. But she’s loyal to my brother, and that’s enough.
Last night, I tucked Anya into bed. Made her drink water with electrolytes and take pain relievers. She slept hard, and right when I went to talk to her, Stefan woke up for breakfast and Rafail called.
“We have information about Eli. ”
I’ve waited this long for my wife. But I won’t wait much longer.
Rafail paces by the window, his hands buried in his pockets, dressed as always in a bespoke suit. His wife, Polina, is seated nearby, scrolling through a tablet with Yana, my sister. When Anya and I arrived earlier, the greetings were quick—just little waves and smiles—but I noticed the way their warmth touched Anya. Zoya, my youngest sister, immediately took Stefan under her wing.
“I’m baking cookies in the kitchen,” Zoya said with a big smile, crouching to Stefan’s level. “Want to help?”
Stefan had looked to me for permission. I gave him a small nod.
Good. He’s learning.
After I checked on his room and how well he’d followed my instructions, I told him he did a good job. His little face lit up with pride.
Anya doesn’t belong here. She’s fire in a world of ice. So while I’m fine with Stefan following Zoya to the kitchen, I make Anya stay where I can see her.
Always within my line of sight. I won’t ever forget the way she looked at me when she told me I broke her heart.
I’ll make it up to her.
Rafail turns to me, his expression grim. “The Morozovs demand payment,” he says. “And there’s word that the Irish are pressing in on our territory.”
The Irish. My god. In recent years, the Irish have grown in strength and number, commanding all of the eastern coast of Ireland but strengthening their connections in Boston. Their tendrils reach deep into the underworld of Europe and North America, and every goddamn one of us knows it.
“What does that mean for us?” Polina asks.
“It means,” I say, stepping closer to Anya, “that everyone needs to be accounted for. It means our enemies will exploit any weakness.” For one brief, passing moment, I almost call Zoya back to us, so I can assure myself that she and Stefan didn’t walk to the kitchen and straight into a trap.
I turn back to Rafail. “And what about Elizar?”
I can feel Anya’s eyes burning into me. I wish she trusted me the way she did when we were younger.
We’ll get there.
Before he can respond, the front door bursts open. My uncle and aunt stride in; their presence is an immediate reminder of the rot that sometimes infects even the closest families. Eduard’s gaze narrows on Anya, and Irma walks in on a wave of blonde hair and perfume.
Their son Matvei enters behind them. He and his brother Gleb grew up alongside us. Strong, dependable, and unwavering in support of our family, it’s been a thorn in his side that his nuclear family lacks the same loyalty.
Broad-shouldered, with a quiet intensity, Matvei knows the ins and outs of Bratva life better than most.
Matvei nods to me. “Semyon, we have to talk,” he says quietly. “Later.”
My grandfather catches my eye from across the room. He’s seated in an armchair, and when he winks at me, I’m not sure what it means. Subtle body language has never been my strength.
“This is a delicate situation,” my grandfather says, his wise gaze settling on Anya. “We protect our own.”
“Always,” Rafail growls, standing to his full height, his fists clenched. “Matvei, show us what you found.” Grainy footage fills the flat-screen TV on the wall.
Eli . His face is bloodied, broken, his nose at an odd angle, red lacerations on exposed skin.
Something tightens in my chest.
Eli was my friend.
I married his sister.
We thought he betrayed us. I took her as payment. And now…
I cross to Anya and rest my hand on the back of her neck. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to accomplish, but I’ve seen Rafail do it, and it always seemed to help.
“Where did you get this?” I ask. “Was it a plant? Did someone send it to you?”
“My inbox,” Rafail answers.
The footage continues. A pair of hands wraps duct tape around Eli’s mouth and shoves him into the trunk of a car.
“I don’t understand,” Anya says, her voice breaking. “What does this mean? Someone tell me.” Her eyes meet mine as she utters one whisper. “ Semyon. ”
My heart tumbles in my chest. All she has to say is my name in that tone, edged with desperation, and I’ll do anything, fucking anything, for her.
“It means we’ve been operating under the assumption that your brother ran,” I say quietly. “But he didn’t. He was taken. This is a message.”
“Or a plant,” Matvei says, his massive arms crossed over his chest. He’s loyal to our family to a fault, constantly questioning motives and truth.
“Why?” she demands, shaking her head. “Why him? He got into so much trouble with so many people. I can’t even tell you how many threats came to our door…”
She flattens her palm against her chest. My fingers on her neck tighten.
If only I’d known. If only I’d paid attention.
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, my voice steady.
“Neither did I. I knew he was gambling, but I thought he ran. That’s why I… I thought he’d left his phone behind to avoid being traced.”
Yana taps her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe he was planning to run. But someone got to him first.”
“Wait,” Anya says, her eyes narrowing on the screen. “Go back. The first few seconds, there’s something I thought was just a blur, but—I want a closer look. Please.”
Yana rewinds it.
“Look closer,” Anya says as Yana zooms in on the footage. “Can you zoom in further? ”
A flash of a hand crosses the screen—a fleeting image almost too quick to notice. But when Yana pauses the frame and zooms, we see it clearly: a shamrock tattoo with a drop of blood beneath it.
“The Irish,” Rafail says, shaking his head. “I knew it.”
“You were the one who brought this filth into our family,” Eduard says, his eyes narrowing on me. “They aren’t Bratva. They aren’t family. And now, because of this bullshit, our family’s at risk.” He points an irate finger at Anya. “She?—"
“ Enough .”
I don’t raise my voice with Eduard or anyone, but I let my eyes sweep around the room, making sure every gaze is locked on me.
No one will ever make my wife feel like less than again.
No one.
“I don’t care who Anya was affiliated with before we took our vows. I don’t care who you care about, where your allegiances lie, who you question, or what you think is going on here. But I want to make something very, very clear.” I narrow my eyes, my voice cold and sharp as steel.
“Anya is my wife. My wife . And you will treat her with the same respect you owe anyone in this family—no, even more so because she has given up more to be my wife than any of you have for your roles. She wasn’t born into this world, and you know it.”
Anya watches me, her eyes wide and soft. Something in me aches .
Irma’s eyes flare with indignation, her lips pressing together in a tight, bloodless line, but she’s smart enough not to push me. Not now.
Eduard fumes but doesn’t speak. I continue.
“I’ll take her back to her home and comb through everything her brother left behind.”
Rafail nods, his gaze sweeping across the room. “One week. During that time, we go about life as if everything is normal. But no one—fucking no one —goes anywhere without a guard. No unnecessary risks. Everyone will be under observation in case we need to track anyone, and all of us will report back here every night for dinner.”
I blink at him in surprise. The last thing I want to do is to haul Stefan and Anya back here for dinner every single night. But before I can voice my protest, Rafail holds up a hand.
“Stress like this will tear our family apart, Semyon.” Rafail fixes his sharp gaze on Rodion next. “You know this as well as I do. And our family has been through too much to risk breaking apart now.”
Rodion smirks. “You gonna check our homework too? So you’re making us report to family dinner like a dad?”
“Watch it, Rodion, or that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Rafail snaps.
Rodion, despite being one of the most ruthless men in our group, falls silent, though there’s a glint of humor in his eyes .
“And make sure Vadka is included,” Rafail adds. Vadka, Rafail’s best friend, is loyal to the Kopolov Bratva to the bone but has more pressing needs when it comes to family. Not related by blood, Vadka’s married with a child and no longer spends as much time with us as he did before. He’s always the first to go home.
Though his situation has changed, his loyalty to us has not.
But Eduard and Irma, who remain quiet, are another story. Their younger son Gleb betrayed us and paid the ultimate price, and while Matvei stands firm with us, I don’t trust his parents for a second.
“Excellent,” Grandfather says with a dry chuckle, his eyes gleaming as they move to Anya. He’s learned the art of not allowing the intensity and stress of the ups and downs of Bratva life to steal the light from his eyes.
“I look forward to coming back together like this.” He turns to my wife. “Anya, love, if we’re to have dinner together every night, like in the old days, will you bring some of those delicious rolls your mother used to make? Do you still make them?”
His eyes gleam with an almost childlike excitement.
Anya can’t hide the weight of everything we’ve discussed pressing on her, but she smiles benevolently at my grandfather. “I make everything my mother taught me,” she says warmly. “I’ll bring whatever you want.”
Rafail’s stoic mask cracks slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He runs a hand along the beard on his jaw. “ Anything ? ”
“Anything,” Anya confirms with a nod. “Do you have a favorite, Rafail?”
"He has a special place in his heart for medovik ,” Polina says.
“Ooh, yes, my mother’s honey cake is famous. We brought a sampling home yesterday but can bring more soon. Semyon seemed to enjoy them.” I smile.
Rafail’s brows dart up. “You mean to tell me Semyon ate… pastry ?”
Rodion whistles. I drag my finger across my throat to tell them to shut the fuck up, but they predictably ignore me.
Anya looks at me with a blank expression on her face. “No?”
"A pastry. For breakfast." Rafail shakes his head as if she just announced we bought a pet unicorn with a purple mane.
Anya looks bewildered. “What’s the big deal?”
To her, it’s only pastry. To my brothers, it’s something entirely different.
“Nothing’s the matter, really,” Rafail explains to her. “It’s just that Semyon’s a creature of habit. I haven’t seen him eat anything but a breakfast with perfect macronutrients, including fifty-five grams of protein, since he was eighteen years old. Cheat days? Semyon doesn’t have them.”
Why are they going on about this? "I had no idea this was such a revelatory thing. I can change my mind.”
Rodion snorts. “Apparently, for the right pus?— ”
“Finish that sentence,” I warn him darkly. I will kick his ass right here, right now, and make him apologize to my wife in front of everyone. He clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head, turning to Anya.
“Sorry, it’s not you. It’s just—” He pauses. “No, it is definitely you, but I mean nothing by it.”
Anya stares at me. I shrug.
My grandfather rises to his feet while unsteady on his legs. "If you’ll excuse me, I need a nap," he says, walking out. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my dear, and I'm very much looking forward to spending more time together."
They all begin to scatter.
Polina clasps her hands under her chin. “Do you have any American-style pastries?” Polina lived in New York, where the Romanov family resides.
Anya nods. "We have New York-style cheesecake, which is particularly popular.”
“Oh.” Polina breathes. Anya smiles at me shyly.
I take Anya’s hand. “We have work to do. Let’s go check in on Stefan.” I turn to the others. "Six o'clock."
It's just Anya and me. Something just happened in such a short time, and I'm unsure of how I feel. Those emotions don’t typically come to my mind.
"So we have to go to my house," she says, biting her lip.
I don’t want to go back to her house. I want to take her home to our place, lay her down, and show her in vivid detail how much she means to me. But duty calls .
My hands tighten. There are a few things I have to control within the world, in my power, to make my wife happy. I hate the idea of bringing her back to that shithole riddled with negative memories.
“We’ll go together and make it a short visit. But yes.”
“We have to find Eli,” she says in a rush of words. “I want this done as quickly as possible. If he isn’t to blame, Semyon… god…”
I nod in agreement. “The sooner we go, the better.” Her family home is likely under watch. I’m well aware this could be a setup.
“Is Stefan okay here for a little while? My father won’t be home if we leave now.”
“Of course he is. I trust my siblings with my life.”
She nods, takes in a deep breath, and releases it slowly. “Let’s do this.”