Chapter 18
ANYA
Matvei meets us in the kitchen when we arrive back in The Cottage. He’s sitting at the table, dunking large cookies into a glass of milk across from Stefan, who imitates him. His eyes are wide as he watches the huge, obviously powerful man sitting across from him. I imagine Stefan feels he’s met a real-life superhero.
Ha. Little does he know.
But something about the wild look in Matvei’s eyes makes me put my hand on Stefan’s shoulder.
Matvei smirks. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
“You find what you needed?” Matvei asks Semyon.
“That and a little extra bonus,” Semyon says with a wry smile. I cringe, frozen in place at the idea of Stefan knowing what happened with my father back there .
I can still feel the tight grip on my heart when Semyon defended me and promised to hurt my father. I half wish for just a moment that he was around when my father hurt my mother.
No. That would’ve been terrible.
Gloriously vindictive but terrible.
Maybe then I wouldn’t have felt the need to blame him for my mother’s death. I close my eyes when a rush of emotions chokes me.
Sometimes it feels like a betrayal to my mother to forgive him so quickly. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misjudged.
Semyon looks at Stefan and then back to Matvei. “I’ll fill you in later.” He hands the computer and mobile over to Matvei, whose eyes instantly light up with excitement, grinning like a kid handed his dream toy. Matvei leaps from the table and hurries to a barstool by the kitchen counter, practically bouncing on his feet. He eagerly arranges his setup, not wanting to waste a minute.
“We’ve been busy,” Stefan says with a belabored sigh. I pinch my lips together and nod sagely. “She made me peel potatoes and carrots and wouldn’t give me any cookies until I’d eaten a bowl of soup.” He makes a face.
Zoya smiles at him from the stove, where she stirs a large pot. “Oh, I know, I’m so mean. You only asked for seconds to be polite, right?”
Her eyes twinkle at my brother, making my heart ache.
God, I’m so damn wound up .
“It’s good for you,” Semyon tells Stefan while looking over Matvei’s shoulder. “Manual labor puts hair on your chest.”
When Stefan takes a surreptitious look under his shirt, I stifle a snort.
Matvei stares at the screen, Semyon looking on. “Motherfu—” Semyon backhands Matvei, who quickly shuts up. Stefan stares wide-eyed.
“Sorry, yeah. Listen, I’m going to need way more time with this. These are heavily encrypted,” Matvei says, shaking his head. “But something tells me—no. No, I won’t say anything until I know.”
I stare, my belly sinking to my toes. “Days?” I lick my dry lips. “But if—if my brother’s in any danger, I?—”
“I’m fine,” Stefan says with a grin, taking another cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. Oh, thank god he’s young and self-focused enough he didn’t consider the fact that my brother meant anyone but him. I don’t want him to know anything about Eli. Not now.
But for some reason, my eyes are watery, and my throat feels tight.
“Anya,” Semyon says gently, his icy-blue eyes behind his glasses fixed on me. “I know you want all the information you can get immediately. But I promise, he can’t be in any immediate danger. If they’re using him as leverage, they’ll need him healthy. He may be uncomfortable for a little while, but he’ll live.”
I nod. It makes good sense .
Semyon glances at the clock on the wall. “Mandated family dinner in an hour.” Looking to Zoya, he begins to roll up his sleeves. “What can I help with?”
Zoya directs him to stack dishes and puts Stefan and me to work with salad prep. It smells delicious in here.
We lapse into a warm, comfortable silence while Zoya stirs and seasons a pot on the stove. Stefan helps Zoya, and Semyon and I stand side by side chopping.
A part of me feels like a traitor for enjoying anything the Kopolov family offers.
And a part of me aches because of how deeply I’ve longed for the familiar comfort of family and home… just like this.
Semyon walks over and leans close, his voice low and smooth, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t know culinary skills were part of your extensive resume. I thought your talent ended with baking. Should I be worried you’ve got other talents with a knife that I should be wary of?”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Only if you’re worried about being sliced to perfection like these veggies. I’m particularly skilled at using mandolins and choppers. Do you need a demonstration?”
“Is that a threat or an invitation?” he whispers in my ear, his voice laced with hope.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
My panties dampen. I clench my thighs together, a flood of arousal at the memory of what we did in the tiny bed in my childhood bedroom. His hands in my hair, his mouth between my legs, his tongue delving in and out with tantalizing perfection.
Oh god.
How can I let the memory of absolute ecstasy threaten my loyalty to my family?
Semyon chuckles under his breath, and a thrill races through me.
“Careful, little Anya,” he says softly, his voice dipping low. “You keep testing me, and I may have a few things to teach you myself.”
My mouth is dry, and my pulse races excitedly.
I shouldn’t want this so badly. My brother’s right there. I’m his sister.
It’s Semyon.
My husband.
Our hands work in tandem, but the electric tension between us buzzes.
“Ahhh.” Matvei shakes his head, his fingers over the keyboard flying. “Come to papa, motherfucker.”
Semyon throws a carrot at him and hits him square in the back of the head. Matvei groans and mumbles an apology.
“Hey!” I snicker and wince at the same time. That did not feel good. “You have good aim.”
His eyes meet mine, and he shrugs. “I never miss.”
Rodion comes in and asks Stefan if he wants to play catch while the others set the table. I can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice to Stefan or trying to get out of work.
As the others bring food out and set the table, Semyon’s breath is hot in my ear. “Tell me, little Anya. We’re going to have dinner with my family. Do you still feel me inside you? Can you feel my cum leaking out of your pussy?” My eyes flutter closed, shutting the world out as I’m lost to sensation. “Tell me, Anya. Because I can still taste you.”
I nod, my cheeks flushing hot.
Can I still feel him? Hell, yes, I can.
Everyone seems to come out of the woodwork. Tall, elegant Yana—her husband conspicuously missing. I've been told she made her brother promise not to involve him in their work. Zoya, flitting from table to kitchen until Semyon finally puts his hand on her shoulder.
"There are enough people here to help set that table. Stop doing it all on your own."
She gives me a bashful smile.
"He's right," I say gently to her. She looks like she'd run herself ragged for them, and she's the youngest one. I still remember when she was a child. How old is she now? I know she's gone to university.
We set the food on the table while Matvei has a quiet word with Semyon, and I go to the front lawn to bring Stefan in.
"Dinner is ready," I call out.
A part of me doesn't like that we have to come here every night while Rafail sorts his shit and does whatever he has to, but another part of me is happy to see Stefan have a family. Family dinner. When was the last time we did that?
Stefan shakes his head. "I don't want to come in. I'm not hungry," he says defiantly.
Ugh. I do not want to have a confrontation with Stefan right now. “Stefan." My voice is a warning, just as Semyon steps up behind me.
“She wasn’t asking. Do what your sister says,” he says simply before he turns and walks away, fully confident my brother will listen. Stefan comes in like a scolded schoolboy at the end of recess.
It’s almost infuriating how effortlessly Semyon gets people to fall in line. I guess that kind of authority comes naturally when your reputation does most of the work.
I'm tired during dinner, barely holding on through some of the conversation. Semyon sits next to me. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, "You look exhausted, Mrs. Kopolov. I wonder why?"
My cheeks flush, and I bury my face in a large glass of wine, which definitely doesn’t help my exhaustion.
Stefan digs into the food with gusto despite his earlier refusal to admit that he was actually hungry. When his plate is empty, Semyon wordlessly gives him another.
I open my mouth to protest. He never eats this much, and I feel as if I'm a burden to them. Semyon places a hand on my arm.
"There's plenty of food to go around, Anya," he says quietly in my ear. "That's not something you need to worry about here." He nods at Stefan. "Stefan, take your elbows off the table, please."
Stefan sits up taller, his eyes wide. I take another sip of wine. Flustered. Grateful.
Confused.
Semyon snakes an arm across the back of my chair. His nearness makes me tingly, especially when he leans over to whisper, "I will never forget today. And I look forward to putting you to bed tonight. You're so tired."
And then he kisses my temple. "I'll help you sleep."
"I bet you will," I murmur, my cheeks flushing. The way his voice brushes against my skin is like a ghost of a promise. The warmth of his words sparks an unfamiliar flutter deep inside me.
Slowly, the ice begins to melt.
"Stefan," Semyon says with quiet correction when my brother leans across the table on his elbows again. He demonstrates sitting up straight. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. But Semyon, calm with his ever-cool composure, steps in like he's already claimed authority over my brother.
It both grates on my nerves and fills me with warmth. I can't explain it.
"I could've handled that," I whisper under my breath. "You don't have to take over every time with him."
Semyon's lips twitch, and his eyes burn into mine. "I know. Of course you can," he whispers back, his breath warm on my ear. "But I enjoy watching you get all worked up. Keeps things… interesting, doesn't it?"
I find I can't quite suppress a small smile. He knows how to push my buttons. All of them.
"We’ll skip dessert. I’ve had enough of the family dinner thing. I want to take you home,” Semyon whispers. "I bought your brother a tablet loaded with every streaming service I could find. He can watch anything he wants. He's had a full day, hasn't he? Food. Exercise. Hard work. I think he needs a little downtime." His long, thick fingers brush over my hand. I'm fixated on the tattoos on them. Why is that so hot? "Don't you think?" he asks quietly.
I want to push him, test him, play along. "I think I’d like dessert."
His gaze darkens on me. "I'll get you anything you want."
"But I want the double chocolate pie Yana made."
"Right," Semyon says, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, that barely-leashed energy that makes my thighs clench, that makes me want to push him until he snaps. Yum. “Here’s the deal, baby,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You can sit your ass here and eat that dessert. And when I get you home, I’ll strip you, lay you over my knee, and paint your pretty ass red so you’ll feel me every time you sit for the next fucking week. How does that sound, little Anya?"
My pulse pounds so loudly I barely hear my own voice when I whisper, “You said I had options. What’s behind door number two? ”
His lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. Filthy promises shimmer in them, the kind of things polite girls pretend they don’t want. I like when his eyes heat like this instead of that piercing coldness I can't control. Who am I kidding? I like all of them.
"Door number two," he says in a low whisper, his voice husky, "we skip dessert. Bring it with us. You say goodnight. I take you home, feed you dessert and then spread your thighs and let me eat mine. ”
My pulse kicks into overdrive, heat pooling in my belly. It's so wrong that he's talking about this stuff right here in front of his family, in front of my brother. Not that any of them can hear him, but it's still not right that he’s painted a vivid picture of him between my thighs.
His hand moves from the back of my chair, sliding just under the table, his fingertips grazing across my thigh. Oh my god. I breathe heavier, and when Rafail goes to refill wine glasses, I lift mine to him naturally, hoping he doesn't notice how flustered I am. I shift in my seat as Semyon's hand moves up to an obscene place on my thigh. Heat pools, and my pussy throbs. I'm torn between embarrassment and need.
"You're so pretty when you’re aroused," Semyon whispers in my ear. "That pretty pink flush to your cheeks…"
I glance around. Everyone is still caught up in their own conversations, apparently unaware of the tension between the two of us.
"All right, but I like dessert," I whisper. "Can we still have some back at the house? "
His eyes gleam. "Anything you want."
My mouth opens to retort, but I'm interrupted by Stefan. "I want pie," he says. "Can I have pie?"
I smile at him and slowly push Semyon's hand away from me. “I would love a slice of pie.”
Semyon’s lips thin. "You've made your decision," he says, his voice just soft enough to stay between the two of us. "Enjoy that pie while you can still sit.”
I smile at him, my heart racing. I think back to when I was eighteen—young and naive. Semyon was older, powerful. I could never explain it, but the way he’d get stern with me always sent inexplicable heat through my body. Now the thought of him like that again—commanding, unrelenting, in charge—makes anticipation and nerves coil inside me. My cheeks flush as I focus on serving Stefan a slice of pie, though I’m acutely aware of Semyon’s eyes on me. His gaze feels like the ghost of a touch.
Tonight will be… memorable.
"How long do you need with the computer?" Semyon asks Matvei.
He shakes his head. "At least a week. There are major firewalls to break through. I've made some progress, but it's like the first crack of an egg. Nothing’s really happened yet. The more I can crack through the surface, the further we get.
"I’ve found some interesting information so far," he adds. "But I'll leave that for you to see later. I don’t want to say anything until I have more. "
"Anya," Yana says curiously, pulling my attention away from Semyon. "We have a pretty big event coming up in a week.”
I remember when I was younger how it seemed Semyon was always going from one event to the next. He lived larger than life, and I was so jealous. His world seemed so much bigger than mine.
“Everyone’s expected to be dressed up for it. Zoya and I are going shopping for dresses. Maybe you can join us?"
As if she knows exactly how things work here, her eyes meet her brother's. Semyon sits back, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.
"That's fine," he says. "But each of you will have two guards on you."
Yana opens her mouth to protest, but Zoya just stares him down.
"Six guards?" Yana says incredulously. "Are you serious right now?"
"Serious."
"Semyon's right," Rafail adds, his voice firm. "We're on the verge of a war. We don’t know where alliances stand. We’ll take no chances."
Then, shaking his head, he mutters, "You're lucky he’s even letting you go out at all."
A war… we're on the verge of a war, and my family is at the epicenter of it. I look at Stefan, gleefully eating his pie with gusto. He has no clue what's at stake, that Eli could be in danger .
But we have to keep things safe. For him. For all the children here. For all the future generations.
Semyon’s hand flexes on my thigh.
I don’t have to do this alone.