Chapter 23
ANYA
The bell over the entrance to the bakery jangles so hard I look up, startled. I know that sound. That anger. That man.
My father storms into the bakery reeking of vodka and sweat, his face mottled and angry, hands clenched like a man ready to strike. I stand behind the counter, fingers curling around the edge of the countertop. Every day I come in here Semyon shadows me, but right now he’s in the back, unloading the latest deliveries of baked goods. Turns out he’s not a huge fan of me lifting the enormous bags of flour and sugar.
Stefan sits at a table, eating a snack and working on schoolwork. He freezes, his hand suspended in the air holding a pencil.
“Stefan,” I say quietly. “Go to the back, please.” Thankfully, Stefan is much better at listening these days and quickly scoots behind the counter and to the back .
I turn to my father. “You’re not welcome here.”
He ignores me, of course. He always does. His bloodshot eyes land on me with disdain. “You think you’re too good for me now? Playing princess with your husband? You owe me.”
I stand my ground. “I owe you nothing. You need to leave.”
“The fuck I do.” He walks past me and pushes the swinging door to the back open. I know exactly where he’s going—the safe, that’s tucked away in the back. Have I changed that passcode yet?
I follow behind him. “I told you to leave.”
Semyon’s nowhere to be found, though the back door’s partially open. Stefan, however, stands facing us, his feet planted on the ground and his hands on his hips.
“She said leave,” he says bravely, even as his little voice wavers.
“Stefan—”
“Anya said to leave,” Stefan repeats. My father ignores him, pushes past him, and opens the cupboard where the safe is.
“Don’t you dare?—”
“No!” Stefan yells, reaching for my father’s arm.
Oh no.
My father shakes him off and grabs Stefan too hard. Stefan winces and cries out as my father growls, “You mouthy little shit, just like your sister. I owned this bakery.” He shakes Stefan, lifting him straight off his feet, as he raises his palm .
“No!” I scream.
The next moment’s a blur of movement and sound. The sharp crack of a body hitting the wall. Stefan falls to the floor, running to me, as Semyon fists my father’s collar and slams him against the wall, his fingers flexing as if he’s trying to decide how many bones he’s going to break. His face is carved from ice.
“Did he hurt you, Anya?”
I shake my head. My voice trembles. “No.”
“Stefan?”
Stefan shakes his head. “He grabbed my arm, but I’m okay.”
“Put your hands on either one of them again,” he says, his voice a low growl, “and I’ll break every fucking bone in your body. Slowly.”
My father’s eyes widen in fear. “You wouldn’t?—”
“I would. And I’d fucking enjoy it.” Still fisting my father’s shirt, he marches him to the back door with cool authority. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He kicks the door open and shoves my father into the bitter cold, slamming the door behind him, before he turns back to us.
Stefan goes to him first. I stare, stunned. “I told him to leave her alone,” Stefan tells Semyon. “Just like you told me to.”
Oh my god. Just like you told me to. He told my little brother to protect me?
“You did good,” Semyon says, ruffling Stefan’s hair. His eyes meet mine. “ Anya?”
“He didn’t touch me,” I whisper. I still feel tender and shaken, but then in the next breath, something happens that makes my heart melt. Semyon’s hand stretches out to Stefan, palm up. No words.
Stefan’s small fingers curl around Semyon’s larger ones. Holding his hand. I blink back tears.
Semyon’s voice is softer when he says, “Let’s go home. Someone has a field trip tomorrow.” How did I completely forget about it? I take Semyon’s other hand. And it feels… right. Good.
I kiss Semyon’s cheek. “Thank you.”
He kisses me back. “I’m sorry that happened.”
We close the bakery up, and when Stefan goes to get his bag, I turn to Semyon. Wordlessly, he reaches for me. I bury my head on his chest and let him hold me. “I wanted to hurt him,” I whisper. “But Stefan…”
“Me, too. And it was only because of Stefan I didn’t put him through that fucking wall. He’s out of warnings, though, baby.”
I nod. Good. We won’t be bullied by him any longer. “Tomorrow, Stefan is going to the museum.”
“And we’re heading to the Romanovs.”
It feels like waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I immerse myself in the feel of the mundane and predictable when we go home. Stefan showing me how Zoya taught him to chop carrots, Semyon boiling the water for pasta while I set the table. We don’t talk of my father .
Semyon stands at the sink with his sleeves rolled up, rinsing a coffee cup for the third time. He’s so methodical and always like this –quiet, controlled, fully at ease, and somehow…softer around the edges now.
Stefan heads up for a shower after dinner, and I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop. The bakery bills need to be paid. Semyon’s phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a name I don’t recognize. He looks and nods. “I’ll take this call in the office. I might be a while. You went to bed way too late last night, Anya. Fix that tonight, yeah?”
He leaves before I can answer as warmth floods my chest.
It’s the way it is now. Comfortable. Familiar. I don’t ask questions about what he does, unless they directly pertain to me, and thankfully most of the time they don’t.
I let myself exhale the tension of the day. I haven’t had time to really process what happened, but I can still feel my shoulders up around my ears. I open my accounting software and prepare to find the flashing red notices for the bills that are usually overdue.
Except—they’re paid. Every single one. Not just paid for the month, but in full.
Semyon.
My hands shake as I go through my emails, scrolling quickly to see what I need, when I note an email from the school. Shit. The field trip permission slip was due today, and I?—
Transportation secured. Permission forms received. Please remember to send fees in an envelope with your student .
I shake my head. I know I didn’t do this. I stare at the kitchen door, bewildered.
Did Semyon…?
I swallow hard and close my laptop.
I take care of what’s mine.
I’m his. Semyon Kopolov’s. I walk in a sort of daze to where Stefan’s backpack hangs off the hook by the front door. I smile to myself when I remember the times he’d fling it off and let it land with a thud and my husband would calmly remind him that wasn’t where his bag belonged before he made him try again. He’s learning.
I unzip the bag, expecting to find the usual chaos of crumpled papers and empty snack wrappers, but instead—everything’s in place. Tidied. And right there in the front pocket is a plain white envelope, labeled in Semyon’s bold, signature slant.
Fees – Stefan Borozov
My heart stumbles as I tuck it back in and zip the bag up. What’s that coat hanging next to the backpack? I do a quick check. It’s a high-end, bright-blue winter coat in Stefan’s size.
I close my eyes, a lump in my throat. I’m so used to doing everything alone. Always the one to keep tabs on details, to plan and juggle, to scrape enough together to make my brother’s childhood normal. Who knew that of all the things this man could do to unravel me, it would be this? Not just his dangerous touch or stolen kisses, the way he owns my body and claims me as his wife. No… Helping me bear the mental load .
Of course he would. Semyon’s a big brother, Rafail’s right-hand man. He practically raised Rodion, Yana, and Zoya right alongside him. Taking care of things is what he does.
I shut off the kitchen light, determined to find him. He may have reminded me to get some sleep tonight, but I need to thank him. In person. Thoroughly.
The door to his office is halfway open, his voice low and husky as he takes the phone call. I barely even hear a word he says. He looks up at me, his expression unreadable but tinged with surprise as I shut and lock the door behind me and casually, slowly, begin to undress.
He shakes his head and bites his lip, the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen him do. My jeans fall to the floor in a puddle around my feet. My top next, followed by my panties and bra. I even pull my hair out of its messy bun and toss the little hair tie to the floor with my clothes. He doesn’t speak. His jaw tightens, his throat works, and I can practically feel the heat rolling off him as my shirt hits the floor.
“Anya,” he says softly. Warning.
I press my finger to my lips. “Shhh.”
I sidle over to him, stark naked. He pushes his chair back and hits mute, as someone drones on with locations and numbers and times, something about Dublin and Cork. I slide onto his lap and kiss his cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper in his ear.
“I’m not sure for what,” he groans. “But you’re welcome.”
I kiss my way down to his jaw, down the length of his neck, to where his shirt’s unbuttoned at the top. I lick his collarbone. My fingers knot in his hair, nails dragging over his scalp.
With no preamble and a stifled groan, he slips two fingers inside me, curling them just right. A delicious shudder rolls through me.
He stands without warning and stabs at his phone. “I have to go.” The phone clatters to the floor as he unbuckles his belt in one smooth motion, and in the next breath, I feel him pressing against me—thick, hard, already leaking into me.
“Do you want my cock, Anya?” he asks. “Is that why you came in here?”
“I always want your cock,” I say on a half-whine, aching for him, arching my back to tell him wordlessly to take me. “ Always. ”
He drives into me in one brutal, vivid stroke, knocking the breath from me. He fucks me with relentless thrusts, his grip bruising my thighs, his teeth at my throat. “You’re so fucking perfect. You’re everything.”
His rhythm stutters as he slams into me. My pleasure rolls through me as I ride him. He glides a thumb over my clit, my hips rise. I’m gasping, coming.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls as he comes inside me. We collapse together, messy and breathless, sweat-slicked and tangled. His forehead rests against mine.
“Tell me you’re mine, Anya. I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours, Semyon.” And it finally feels right.
“Don’t think you can get away with interrupting my phone calls,” he says with a halfhearted slap to my naked ass.
I snort and wink at him. “Whatever you say.”