Chapter 20
ANYA
Nervous excitement flutters in my belly.
It feels like a step toward intimacy, sharing space with him. Even in my state of exhaustion, I’m aware of the details, how his room is an extension of his personality—structured. Minimalist. Meticulously organized. Every element of the room is deliberate and precise, from the ebony wood to the steel and glass accents. Even the high-quality linens in understated neutral shades.
There isn’t a single personal touch in the entire vast expanse. The whole room is austere, just like him, but the recessed lighting filters in warmth.
"Did you move my things in here?" I ask curiously when I note the white toothbrush, pink bathrobe, and slippers in here that he had in my room. I give him a curious look. “You knew I was coming. "
"I expected you would eventually," he says. "But no. Those aren't the same. I had duplicates bought and brought in here." He shrugs. “In case you wanted to go back and forth.”
I open my mouth to respond but forget what I'm going to say because he’s… undressing. My gaze lingers on his inked hands, captivated by the way they move—steady. Deliberate. There’s something about them that makes my heart turn in my chest. He didn’t have those tats when he was a boy. No, the tats and scars were the heralds of his moving into power, reminders of a journey he’s walked, shaped by pain and brutality. Those hands have lived a lifetime of battles, and he isn’t yet thirty.
“Get ready for bed, Anya. You need sleep. We've had a long day."
It feels like I've had a long month .
Year?
Lifetime?
But he's right. I do need to get some sleep.
He shrugs out of his shirt, then folds it before he places it in a hamper with dirty clothes. I've never seen anybody fold clothes before tossing them into a hamper, but it’s on point for him.
Alright. If he can get undressed in front of me, I can play that game.
When I shrug out of the dress top that was my mother's, it feels as if I'm shedding a part of who I am—my childhood, the memory of my mother. I chose a few of my favorite items from the clothing left in the closet before we left my former home. This top… I can still remember she wore it the day we opened the bakery. I pull it over my head, and just to appease him—and see if he notices—I fold it before I put it in the hamper.
His gaze grows molten.
“I’m keeping that.”
“Of course you are.”
I turn away, pretending I didn’t see the way his desire flares and his dick tents his pants. Ha.
Next, the zipper of my skirt. I drag it down, my back toward him. It's old-fashioned, I know, but it was also my mother's, so I love it.
I miss her. I miss her so damn much. I ball it up and toss it into the hamper.
He flinches.
Was it the sudden movement or the balled-up clothing? No wonder one of the first things he taught Stefan was to clean his room.
I stand in front of him, wearing my panties and a bra—pretty, well-fitted garments he’s obviously imagining taking off.
I swallow hard.
"We don't have time for this," he says in a low growl.
"Getting ready for bed?" I ask innocently. I am so tired. My eyes feel heavy, but adrenaline courses through me, reminding me of what happened earlier today. "Somewhere to go? "
He narrows his eyes on me and licks his lips.
"You know what I mean. I'm trying to be responsible, Anya, and not fuck you every minute of the day like I want to. But believe me when I tell you, I am far from having exorcised that demon."
A thrill courses through me. My nipples harden.
"I can help with that." My mouth waters when I look at the hard planes of muscle, the stunning ink. When I take a step closer, his Superman-like gaze pins me in place.
I shouldn't do this. But when I reach him, and he slides his hand to the small of my back before he cups my ass, I forget why.
His large, rough palms grip my ass, and I slide one leg up, anchoring myself over his hip. When he buries his mouth in the nape of my neck, my head falls back, and I gasp for breath. He laps at my skin with the flat of his tongue, and my clit throbs with the memory of where he placed his mouth earlier.
I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze, needing more pressure and less, more tongue and mouth—more, more…
He suckles my neck and bites my collarbone. I moan with pleasure. Palming my pussy, he presses with the heel of his hand. I grind against him, so close to climax. I feel like a teenager. What the actual hell is going on here?
"On the bed," he rasps. "Take those off and get on your hands and knees. Grab the headboard, Anya."
Oh god. That’ll make me vulnerable. Exposed .
Isn't this what I wanted?
I obediently take off my bra and panties, crawl onto the bed, and grab the headboard. I spread my legs, aware of him approaching me from behind.
"I know you're probably sore from earlier," he whispers.
I shrug, not wanting to admit that I am. Where has my sense of self-preservation gone?
He slowly takes off his glasses and folds them. Oh god, I’ve already come to learn that means he’s about to get busy. “Doesn't mean I can't put my fingers in you and finger-fuck you while I lick your pussy again, does it?"
My pulse skyrockets. I shake my head, my mouth dry. "Suppose not," I say, stifling a giggle.
"But first, your punishment, Anya."
"Wait a minute, I?—"
He holds my lower back under his palm while he lifts the other one and slams it across the fullest part of my ass. I clench, but the pain quickly morphs into pleasure, and I already feel wet heat growing between my legs.
“You like it when I punish you.”
Heat floods my core. I let out a soft, desperate mewl.
“I want to fuck this pussy so bad. Not now. You need time to heal. I won’t hurt you, Anya.” He slaps my ass again, hard. “Except to do this.”
"I'm fine—" I whine, which earns me another hard spank.
"No. I'll make you come, baby, but with my fingers." I stifle a scream when he bends, bites the place he spanked, then licks it.
"Eventually, I'll take you here," Semyon says, pressing his thumb to my asshole. Oh my god. I am definitely not ready for that. "I need to ease you into that. I will," he promises.
"Open for me, baby. I want to taste you again. I want to bury my nose in your pussy and lick you until you scream."
I want that too.
I do what he says, and he arranges himself beneath me. My grip on the iron bar of his bed makes my knuckles white. I gasp for breath when he licks my clit and shoves his fingers into the slick heat of my pussy.
There's a hint of pain at first before he makes it better, rocking his fingers in and out of me. I know he finds just the right spot when a wave of pleasure makes my clit ache. He uses the slightest touch of his teeth on my sensitive flesh, teasing, licking and sucking before he pulls his mouth away, cups my ass in his hands, and says in a low rasp, "If you move away from me, I'll punish you by bringing you to the edge and leaving you there. Is that what you want, little Anya?"
I shake my head, my mouth dry. I want him . I want everything .
He licks my clit and plunges his fingers inside me. My hips jerk, my body riding the tension, but I don’t move my hands.
"Good girl," he growls. "That's my good girl. "
He pumps his thick fingers in and out, his thumb teasing my asshole before he flicks my clit with his tongue. "My fucking god, you taste divine." He groans, then plunges his tongue into my core, fucking me with it. It feels so good. I don't want it to stop, but I can already feel myself hurtling toward release—quickly, uncontrollably.
"Beg me. Beg me to eat your pussy until you come on my face," he growls between my legs. " Beg me , Anya.”
"Please." My voice is a hoarse whisper. "Please?—"
He’s still beneath me, still holding my ass in his palm.
"You can do better than that," he says in a low, teasing growl. "I know you can. Can't you, baby?"
“S-Semyon… make me come," I plead, trying harder. "I want you so badly. Please."
"Better. You're getting there."
He pumps into me again, fingers deep inside. I climax, clenching hard around him. My clit throbs, and I'm coming so hard I can't breathe. I jerk my hips on his mouth, relishing the feel of teeth and stubble and tongue—harsh, soft, perfect. He licks and suckles me until I’m spent, absolutely wrung out with pleasure. I collapse onto the bed, exhausted, as he lies beside me, still hard.
"I want you in me again," I whisper.
"Not now," he says. Rejection settles heavily across my chest, but I nod. I need to be good. I can do this.
But it doesn’t feel right. I like him inside me. I like knowing he wants me, that he needs me. I ache to be filled by him again.
I’ve always remembered his voice as cold, his eyes distant. But when he turns away from me now, his face is tortured. My vision blurs from exhaustion.
“Sleep, Anya. It’s time to go to sleep.”
My eyes are closed, but I’m still awake as I feel him moving around the room. Undressing me. Brushing my hair. A warm cloth between my legs. I fade into sleep.
The room is dark but familiar.
“Semyon, please.”
The words claw at my chest. My face pales as I suddenly see her. My mother. She's standing, gasping. I go to her, but I can’t reach her. No. No, this isn't how she died. Why is she here now? Why is this happening?
I reach for her, but the more I try to get to her, the farther away she moves. Semyon stands in the doorway, shaking his head.
"Help her!" I scream. "Help her!"
She clutches her chest and falls to the table, crying out to me.
"Anya… take care of everyone. Watch out for your brothers.”
She falls from the chair to the floor. I scream for Semyon again, but he doesn’t help. He turns and walks away without looking back.
I wake in a cold sweat, my heart racing. I scan the room in a panic. It takes me a minute to remember where I am.
Cold. Austere. Black and steel.
Semyon’s room.
My husband.
I'm alone.
I close my eyes as tears well up and spill over.
"I'm sorry, Mama. I tried."
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but I’m wide awake now. I wonder where Semyon has gone. The memory of our earlier lovemaking is shadowed by all that’s passed.
My mind races, sliding pieces and memories together.
I’ve told myself for years that Semyon could’ve prevented Eli’s fall into ruin. My mother begged him to help. If Eli hadn’t fallen, my mother never would’ve died. She never would’ve…
I shake my head. I can’t think about that now. I can’t.
Semyon says it wasn’t his fault. I held onto my hatred for years, let it poison me. It festered and boiled until I had a true villain to blame for my misery.
But Semyon isn’t to blame .
I have to trust him. Trust that what Semyon said about Eli is true—that we can find him, that we can bring him back. But even if we do…
What happens next? Eli has made terrible decisions. He’s dangerous. But he’s my brother.
I throw off the covers when my stomach growls. Dinner was a long time ago.
I’m not much of a nighttime eater, but right now, I’m ravenous.
I slide into a fluffy pair of slippers and walk out of the bedroom, headed to the kitchen. I know he has to have something to eat here, even though I've barely moved in. I remember what Rafail said earlier about tracking his macros and protein. Makes sense.
I stop at Stefan's room, and when I peek in, he is still dead asleep. But no Semyon.
Has he left? Was I so dead to the world I didn’t hear a thing? Apparently so.
I make it down to the kitchen and do a quick perusal of the cabinets. While I do find cases of protein shakes—ready-made—and large jugs of protein powder, I also find a few things I didn’t expect to see: packages of cookies, unopened. Cheesy crackers, unopened. Several cases of soda pop, all unopened. Foil-wrapped chocolates.
I smile to myself and look around the small pantry. Did he buy this for my brother and me?
Maybe one of his sisters did .
I open the fridge next and find it well stocked with plenty of food. I make myself a quick sandwich, put it on a little plate, and sit in the tiny kitchen nook. This is a large room, and beautiful, but it doesn’t look like it gets much use.
When my appetite is sated, I want to find my husband.
My husband . I’m not used to calling him that yet or even thinking of him as that, but I can’t help it. A part of me kind of likes it. Younger me would've clicked her heels for joy.
I load my dish into the dishwasher, brushing stray crumbs into the trash bin and wiping down the counter. I make sure not to leave a mess—I know Semyon appreciates order. I like that about him, though I’m sure there will be a day when his perfectionism drives me up the wall. For now, it gives me a strange sense of calm. The clean, uncluttered counters, the bright glow of the meticulously organized fridge, the subtle scent of fresh linen in the air… it all carries an understated luxury that makes me feel at ease. Makes me feel safe.
I don’t find him in the living room or in the study or library—whatever that room is. I half expect that behind a closed door, I’m going to find a dark secret, a hidden passageway, someone in chains, or a map of underground networks—not because this place necessarily has an air of mystique, but because of its largeness, in a way that seems to encapsulate something more than what appears to be.
"Can't sleep?"
I nearly scream and jump as I turn around to find Semyon sitting at a table in the corner of one of the large rooms.
"You scared me."
"You scared me . "
Of course he looks completely unperturbed, which means that scaring him maybe—maybe—bumped his heartbeat up a notch.
"I was hungry."
“Did you find something to eat?" he asks.
I nod. We don’t speak again. He looks down at the chessboard in front of him and makes a move on one side. After a moment of contemplation, he makes a move on the other side as well.
Is he playing chess against himself? Why does that somehow feel symbolic?
I wonder if my presence is welcome, but I’m too shy to ask. So instead, I turn as if I’m about to walk away, just to see what he’ll do.
"Leaving so soon?" I smile.
There’s something in the tone of his voice that reminds me of our childhood—reminds me who he was. The lonely boy who was forced into adulthood way too soon.
"I didn’t want to bother you."
"You’re not bothering me."
I pad toward him with my slippered feet and slide into a chair directly across from him.
"I didn’t know your house was the home to ghosts."
"There are lots of things you don’t know about this house. Or ghosts," he says with a hint of a smirk.
I smile to myself and watch him .
"So, who’s winning? You or the ghost?"
His eyes dim, and the hint of a smirk leaves his face.
"The ghost," he says in a little whisper. "Always the ghost."
Semyon leans forward, his fingertips pressed together as he studies the chessboard. “The key is to think several moves ahead. Control the center, predict your opponent’s responses,” he says, his voice calm but focused.
Is he talking about chess?
I bite my lip, watching the pieces shift in his mind as he contemplates his next move. “Sounds like you’re always playing a game,” I say softly, tracing a finger along the edge of the board. “Even when it’s not chess.”
He gives me a faint smile. “Maybe life isn’t so different.”
I pretend to notice a speck of dust near the corner of the board and flick it away, casually nudging a piece. “Maybe you’re overthinking it,” I tease. “Sometimes the next move is simpler than you expect.”
His eyes dart to where my finger lingers near the knight, realization sparking in them. He shifts his position, his gaze snapping back to mine, bright with excitement. “Brilliant. You’re full of surprises,” he murmurs.
“Sometimes.” My cheeks warm under his steady gaze.
"Do you still play, Anya?"
"Not often. But yeah, I’ve been playing ever since you gifted me with a chessboard. I just never had the time or enough people interested in playing with me. "
His eyes meet mine across the board. Wordlessly, he makes a move.
"Checkmate," I say softly.
I’m leaning closer to him. His eyes are on me. I want him to touch me. To kiss me. But this moment feels sacred, and I don’t know if I want to shatter it with the combustive energy that happens when we touch.
"I want to play with you," he says in a voice tinged with so much heat that I don’t know if he means my body or the chessboard.
"Is strip chess a thing?"
He laughs out loud. I jump, startled because I don’t know when the last time I heard him laugh out loud was. His whole face lights up—an absolute transformation—as his eyes dance, his mouth curves up, and he grins at me.
"Strip chess? It’s a thing now ."
And that’s it.
The last trace of ice around my heart melts.
I made him laugh.
Maybe he isn’t cold—the Ice King everyone speaks of. Maybe he’s just broken.
Like me.
"You look troubled, Anya."
He looks down at the board as if trying to process my emotions.
“I’ve had…conflicting emotions.”
He blows out a breath, maintaining eye contact with me, and finally nods. "I know."
My heart aches. Semyon hasn’t.
I open my mouth to speak when suddenly the lights go out. We're cast into complete, utter darkness. I don't have my phone with me or a flashlight.
Semyon’s voice carries across the darkness. “Seems there's a power outage."
My chest constricts. I don't scare easily, but utter darkness triggers me.
"What do you mean?" My voice is shaky, trembling.
"Are you scared, Anya?" He sounds surprised.
"I don't like being in the dark,” I say in a whisper, not trusting my full voice. I might cry. "Stefan?—"
"—is sleeping," he finishes for me, utterly calm. "He's fine. We'll go upstairs and check on him if it’ll make you feel better. But first, we're going to get a flashlight or candle,” he says in a quiet voice. I'm reminded of the older brother who shielded his sisters from so many things. "Before we check on your brother, we're going to secure all of our exits to make sure that this is not something intentional.”
If someone came here and cut the power?—
"And then," he says calmly, rising. I can hear the way his clothes ruffle and feel warm fingers on my hand. “We're going to take a walk, check a few things, and go to bed—after I'm confident that we're not being sabotaged."
If I were home and the lights went out, I would light candles and put on a brave face for my brother. But I wouldn't ever have to worry about somebody coming into my house or being attacked.
But I’m Bratva now.
"I have candles in every room in this house and a power generator, but I'm not going to trigger the generator yet because it'll make it too easy for anyone who attacked us to disappear. So let's take a look."
He speaks so calmly, without question, as if it's just a matter of course. I don't know how he navigates the room in the dark, but it probably helps that it's unencumbered by clutter, and his memory is flawless.
I follow him, holding his hand. I hear the strike of a match, and candlelight flickers in front of him.
"You look like a ghost," I whisper to him.
"Maybe I am," he whispers back.
The corner of my lips quirks up. He takes the candle and rests it on a flat surface to cast light in the room before he takes out flashlights and hands me one.
We flick them on, and he methodically walks to the different exits. I half expect him to continue going room by room, but of course, he has a much simpler plan. He leads me over to a table, taps on a screen, and within ten seconds, twenty-five different views of access points to his estate pop up. He presses a button, and blue, yellow, and red zones appear.
"What's that?" I whisper to him .
"Thermal scans. It shows me if there's any presence of another body here. See this?"
He points to the bottom right screen. I squint my eyes and peer closer.
"Stefan," he says. "Yes," he answers himself. "It's red, which indicates body temperature. So either," he continues methodically, "a cold-blooded creature has made its way onto my estate, someone has the wherewithal to block their body temp, or it's just a power outage. Let's go up to bed."
He extinguishes the candle and hands me another flashlight. "I'll put this next to Stefan. If this keeps up for much longer, the generator will start up.”
My exhaustion kicks in again. I want to sleep, but I feel strange—the adrenaline still coursing through me even as my eyes sag with discomfort and fatigue. I wonder what he thinks in moments like this. It seems so natural for him to slide into the role of protector, to be ready to defend me and my brother. Just like he defended his sisters before him.
"Zoya was always afraid of the dark," he says, and I can't tell in the darkness if he's smiling.
"Was she?"
"She was afraid of a lot of things," he says, resting his hand on the small of my back as we go up the flight of stairs. I don’t tell him that I think she still is.
In the bedroom, we head to the right, check on Stefan, and he slides the flashlight onto the bedside table. Stefan is still blissfully asleep, unaware of the power outage.
Good for him .
As we make our way to his bedroom—our bedroom?—the lights flicker back on. It's late at night, so we don't have many around here, but there are a few.
"Well, that didn't take long," I tell him. "Is that the generator?"
He shakes his head. "No, must've been the weather."
I'm glad the power is on because I would've missed an opportunity to ogle him and his tattoos and the hardened muscles of his body. I climb into bed and lift the thick comforter up to my chin. I watch him undress and get ready for bed himself. Then he climbs in beside me.
"Come here," he says in a soft whisper, and he lifts his arm.
I hesitantly move closer, slipping beneath it and resting my head against his chest. He wraps me in a secure embrace, his hold protective and comforting. I drape my hand across his abdomen, letting it settle on his chest, and I close my eyes. Little girl me is squealing.
"This feels nice," I whisper. I can't forget what he said earlier and what's happened, but I can enjoy this soft comfort while it lasts—knowing we're safe. Even knowing that if someone attempted to ambush, he would have it under control. I snuggle in, and he holds me tighter.
"I'm not going to be able to sleep like this," he says in a growl.
"Are you sensitive to other people's bodies? Movement? What?"
"No," he says, his voice low and rough. “But if you lie next to me, I’ll get hard as hell and want to pin you to this bed and make you mine all over again. And trust me, I will. Make no doubt about it. But right now, I need you to get some sleep.” His gaze darkens. “I told you I want to take care of that pretty pussy… let it rest before I wreck you again.”
I clear my throat. “If you were trying to turn me on, it worked."
"Woman," he says in a little growl, gently turning me over and spooning me from behind. The thick feel of his erection against my ass makes me smile. But when I close my eyes, sleep feels all too close. I tuck myself under the blanket, the pillow under my head. I've never slept in a bed so big, so comfortable, with sheets so luxurious. I take a peek at his hand, splayed across my belly, and notice a thick scar right alongside the tattoos.
"Where did you get that from?" I ask with a yawn, my eyes already fluttering closed.
"A fight."
When he doesn't offer more, I kind of playfully elbow him in the ribs. "Obviously. Which one?"
"Do you remember that time by the creek? When you were crying?"
My eyes open. I didn't expect him to admit that the scar had anything to do with me .
"Yes, I remember it vividly. Why?"
"They came after you again, but you didn't know because you were at school. I did though. I followed them. I watched. One day, one of them made a threat against you."
I swallow hard .
“I made sure that didn’t happen again.”
My heart beats faster. What does that mean? "Did you kill them?"
"Not that time."
He did that. He's admitting that he killed somebody. Oh my god.
"Get some sleep, Anya. You asked, I answered. Now the discussion is over. I want you to rest."
I stare into the darkness. My brother is safe. My family is, for now. I trust Semyon…
Don't I?