Chapter 25
ANYA
"He's alright,” I say in a low voice, twirling my hair around my finger. It reminds me of when I was younger, hiding in my mom's closet, twirling the phone cord around my finger. Back when phones had cords.
"What happened?" Ophelia asks. "This is crazy. It's like all of a sudden, you're living in a romance novel."
"I don't know. It was like we were ambushed or something. I don’t really know what happens in these families," I tell her, shaking my head. "All this time, I thought Eli was mafia adjacent. I didn't think he was fully involved. But it seems like there’s a lot I still don't understand."
I glance at the sleeping form of my husband. He refused pain meds, of course, because he had to brave it out on his own. I think the real reason is because he has a hostage to talk to .
The man who once seemed so emotionally distant stirs in his sleep. When he wakes, he looks at me, reaches for my hand, and gives it a squeeze.
“What time is it?”
I glance at the time and cover the mouthpiece of my phone. “Six.”
Of course. Semyon is like clockwork. Gunshot wound? A… what do they call it… hostage somewhere waiting for his questions? Doesn’t matter. Dinner with his family is at six.
Ever since Semyon was injured, Rafail has insisted that we stay in their large family home. Stefan, of course, is overjoyed because Zoya is here. And we haven’t missed a single dinner since.
"Semyon?" I say quietly. "You want to go down for dinner? You don’t have to.”
He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. “Of course I do.”
"Rafail told you to stay here and rest."
"I'm fine. It’s a fucking paper cut, Anya.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he’d say that.
“We have a lot to discuss, and much of it directly affects your safety,” he says, insistent. “We’re heading downstairs.”
I go back to the phone. “I have to go.”
“Call me soon, babe. I love you and miss you so much. And when are you opening the bakery back up?”
“Soon,” I promise, but it’s beginning to sound like a broken record. “Love you. ”
I hang up the phone. Semyon frowns at me, and I’m not sure why.
“Alright, if you feel up for it…"
"I wouldn't go if I wasn’t," he says stoutly.
I brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead and adjust his glasses. His steady gaze warms me, his voice a low growl. “Just because I need a little recovery time doesn’t mean I’ve lost my stamina, woman.”
"You better not," I say softly, teasing. I straddle his lap and slide my hands over the breadth of his hard chest. It’s not this part of him that’s injured. I lean in and kiss him, but only briefly. He hates to be late. I hate to be told what to do.
I press my palm against his hard erection as his hands lace around the back of my neck, a warning. I trace the line of his cock, my pussy wet and needy. I slide back and bend, touching my mouth to the head of his cock. “You sure we don’t have time?” I ask in a mewl. “I want you, Semyon.”
I can’t help but giggle at his guttural curse as he fists my hair and yanks my head up.
“Keep doing that, and I’ll come in my fucking pants.” He shakes his head and adjusts his cock. “Hard to concentrate with blue balls. Jesus. ”
But instead of pushing me off his lap, he fingers my hardened nipple through the thin fabric of my top. I moan and lean in closer. With a tug, he pulls my top down and palms my breast, his thumb tracing a line over my nipple. My clit throbs .
“There,” he says with a satisfied smirk before his teeth graze my collarbone. “Now we’re even.” He slams his palm across my ass. Lucky me, it was his nondominant arm that was injured. “Now get your ass downstairs. If you make us any later, I’ll take it out on your ass after dinner.”
I cock my head to the side as if contemplating this.
“ Anya. ” But I’m standing, walking over to the door beside him.
“The sooner I can get to our hostage, the sooner I may have answers about Eli.”
I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry. “I know.”
At the dinner table, Stefan has much to say. He’s eager to tell us about the cookies he made with Zoya, how well he did in school, the new book he's reading, the new level he reached on his game, and the dog he and Zoya want to get.
Rafail growls at the mention of a dog, but Zoya just giggles.
At one point, Stefan is so excited that he reaches across the table and knocks over a glass of milk. Rafail’s stern gaze falls on him, and Stefan blanches, but Semyon calmly rights the glass.
"Pay attention, Stefan. It’s alright; accidents happen, but fewer do if you’re careful.”
Stefan doesn’t seem fazed. I’d have been mortified at his age. I think this kind of environment will be good for him. Zoya ushers him out to change his soaked shirt. “Let’s go get those cream puffs we made earlier.”
"I used to bake with my sister," Stefan says petulantly, glancing at me. "When are we going back to the bakery? "
"Soon," I tell him. "Semyon and I are making some renovations. We’ll be there soon."
Stefan leaves, and Zoya follows hot on his heels.
"We need to talk about what happened," Rafail says quietly. Polina’s eyes flick to mine. Semyon says she feels responsible for what happened because it was at her family estate. She’s not, of course.
“We have a decision to make,” Matvei says, his voice dark and his gaze pinning me in place. “Are we sure everyone here can handle the truth?”
I press my lips into a thin line. He means me. "I think all parties present understand exactly what they need to," I say with a soft smile.
Semyon nods in agreement.
"We scoured the footage," Matvei continues. "The person present in the video we got about Eli’s capture is the one Semyon spotted in the attack, but also the one who got away. It seems he doesn’t like to be anonymous. We’ll know more when we interrogate our hostage.”
“Why are you waiting?” All eyes snap to me.
“The weaker he is, starved and thirsty, the easier it will be to get answers,” Semyon answers quietly.
My stomach lurches.
"Who have we identified?” Rafail asks, his eyes sharp and focused on Matvei.
"They call him The Undertaker," Matvei says. "The son of Keenan McCarthy. "
"Son of a bitch," Rafail whispers. "He’s a deadly shot. Infamous.”
I get the distinct feeling there are a lot of things they’re not saying out loud—things that may or may not involve me.
My face feels hot, and something roils in my belly. I think of Eli.
The Undertaker?
"Why would he just show up and pull that shit?" Rodion mutters, shaking his head.
"The Irish want us to know they’re present but not prepared for full-on war," Matvei says. "Not yet, anyway."
"Of course they aren’t," Semyon replies. "We have more allies here than they do."
Rodion drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about. In America, I had drinks with one of the cleaners for the West Coast cartel. He mentioned meeting with the don from the Boston Italian mafia and a few others."
Rafail nods slowly. “Vadka was just telling me about this. The Brotherhood."
"The Brotherhood?" I ask.
"It’s a group of the six most powerful underworld leaders in America," Matvei says. "It’s unofficial, but when they join forces, they become unstoppable."
"Do you have something like that?" I ask.
"Not yet," Rafail replies, his voice thick with meaning. “But it’s time. ”
Interesting.
"How do you begin something like that?" I ask, curious. It’s mind-boggling to think of all of those powerful people in one group.
"First, we get your brother," Matvei says. "Then, we question him."
Semyon’s hand tightens on my knee. Question him.
What does that involve? Torture?
My head is spinning. I blink, trying to clear my brain, but it isn’t very effective. Semyon’s too intent on the conversation with his family to notice. His grip on my knee tightens.
"Are you okay?" he asks. I shake my head.
"I'm fine," I lie.
The thought of Eli being in the grip of somebody called The Undertaker? Excuse me if I need a minute.
"We're gonna take care of this, Anya. You have my word," Semyon says. But when I look at him, his face is unnaturally pale. He's still recovering from a gunshot wound, I tell myself, but…
What have I gotten myself into?
I reach for a glass of water and, to my horror, my hand shakes, and I knock it over, just like my little brother did.
"So sorry!" I stammer, flustered. I jump up from the table, and the chair clatters to the floor. I’m dizzy. The room spins.
What's the matter with me? I feel like I’m going to be sick .
As the conversation intensifies, my head throbs. It feels strange. The world tilts at the edges of my vision, but I push it aside. I can’t fall apart. Not now. There’s too much?—
"Anya."
Semyon’s on his feet, reaching for me. It’s so strange because it seems like the floor is rising to meet the ceiling. How is this… I’m spinning, falling… then everything goes black.
"No evidence of poison," someone says above me in a grim voice.
"She has a fever. If it goes on much longer, we're going to have to take her to the hospital."
"No, she won’t be safe there.” I recognize Semyon’s voice.
“You’ll have to do your best to keep her well-hydrated and rested. It looks like a virus, but it could get out of hand quickly."
I try to open my eyes, but they’re so heavy. Too heavy. I close them again.
I watch as my mother pounds her small fist on the kitchen table, pleading with Semyon, begging. My father’s lifeless eyes stare ahead, the stale stench of whiskey on his breath. Eli appears next—bound to a chair, bloody and broken. But when I look closer, it's not him anymore but Semyon. Blood gushes from the wound in his shoulder, splattering the floor. I try to scream, but no sound comes.
Then I see Stefan playing outside. He’s building a castle with the blocks Yana bought him. Behind him, a large, tattooed figure raises a gun. I try to run to him, but my legs are too slow. I can’t reach him.
I gasp. Waking. Semyon is sitting in a chair, and his head has lolled to the side. I take in a quick breath.
He’s asleep.
"Semyon?"
My lips feel swollen and my mouth dry as if stuffed with cotton. He stirs immediately, suddenly alert, his glasses slightly askew.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
I’m surprised to find myself in bed.
"I'm fine," I say. I think? “What happened to me?"
Semyon’s on his feet, rushing to me. Immediately, his hand grips mine. It grounds me, calms me, even as my fears are rising.
“We don’t know. We thought you might have been poisoned, but the doctor says there’s no evidence of that. You have a fever, but the doctor said it’s most likely a virus.”
A fever… right away, they thought poison. I stare at him.
"You were out cold.”
I shake my head. “Your clothes are a rumpled mess. ”
He snorts. “Yes?”
“It’s just… unusual for you.”
Semyon’s voice is rough as he leans in closer to me. “I’ve been preoccupied.” He sighs. I can still see his bandaged shoulder. It was only a surface wound after all, but it bled like crazy and can’t feel good.
“He definitely has.”
I look up to see Zoya standing in the doorway.
"He’s been by your side nonstop. You’ve been in and out.”
“ Zoya. ” Semyon shoots her a look, but she just shakes her head.
"He’s been absolutely glued to you, Anya. We’ve all been worried.”
"I think I’m okay," I say, shaking my head, though I’m not entirely sure. I still feel disoriented. My stomach growls.
"Are you hungry?" Zoya asks, tilting her head.
I nod. “Definitely. Any new developments I need to know about?" I ask.
"None that pertain to Eli," Semyon says, though his eyes shift away as if processing something else.
It all comes rushing at me at once. The gala. Gunfire. Semyon was shot, and he had a man he was going to interrogate. We had dinner, and I fainted. I stare. “Did you get answers?”
He doesn’t respond right away but steeples his fingers and gets that distant look he has when he’s planning his next move on the chessboard. His eyes darken, and his voice drops. Sometimes, I love how intense he is. Sometimes, it terrifies me.
“Some, yes. Either Eli is involved with them and went underground to make us question things," Semyon says, "or they're planning something else."
Semyon stares into the distance, as calculating as always, but I can’t shake the weight pressing on my chest. What if Eli isn’t just a pawn in their game? What if he’s a player too? What does that mean for us? I promised my mother I’d hold my family together, but right now, I’m the one unraveling…
"What would they be planning?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
"The best way to get to us,” he replies. "First, the cameras at the bakery?—"
My stomach twists, and I look away. I know exactly what those cameras caught on film. The thought of anyone else seeing it?—
"Then the gunshots at the gala. The video of Eli. The Irish are on the move—we know that much. We also know the girl who betrayed us years ago is in league with them. But we don’t know how Eli fits into this puzzle."
I sit back, thinking, as Zoya leaves to get some food, and I process all of this.
I need to be independent, to take care of Stefan, but that need clashes with the growing attraction I feel for Semyon. And even as I fight it, I’m terrified of depending on anyone .
From where I’m lying in the bedroom, the estate seems eerily quiet. The walls seem to hold their breath in anticipation. Outside the door, guards stand like statues. It’s like living inside a war plan.
I want answers. I want to know where we stand. I want to know Eli is okay—and that my family is safe.
"There’s one thing that troubles me in all this," Semyon admits, leaning forward until his forearms rest on his knees. “Remember, when we find your brother, he’s going to know that I married you."
“Yeah, so that’s not going to go over very well.” I grimace. “He’ll never forgive you.”
I can still see him going straight for Semyon years ago in the small shed. So much has happened between then and now, but will that change how he feels? And where will that leave us?
“I know.”
Eli was his only friend. I steel myself for the next question. I look Semyon straight in the eyes. "Did my father have anything to do with this?" I ask.
Semyon purses his lips and shakes his head. “He didn’t when he agreed for you to marry me."
I blink, wondering if I heard him correctly. "What was that?"
"He didn’t seem involved when he agreed for you to marry me," Semyon repeats, meeting my gaze. “If he were, I would’ve thought we’d know then.”
I stare. My father… agreed to let him marry me ?
What?
All this time, I thought it was my choice, that I’d made the decision to sacrifice myself for my family, and now he tells me… it was preordained?
"You said I had the option of marrying you," I say, shaking my head. Why is he acting so casual when I feel like he’s just delivered a bombshell? “And now you're telling me my father was playing this game all along?"
"Yes, Anya. I wanted you to know the truth.” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. It’s unsettling, his hair standing on edge, paired with his rumpled clothes. “I’m sorry for any way I manipulated you."
He says it as plainly as he might apologize for bumping into me in a crowded supermarket.
This was all a ploy to get me to marry him. A plan to gain access to my family’s bakery, fortify it, and strengthen his own family.
His family always comes first, doesn’t it?
An emotion I can’t describe rises in my chest, but I push it down. I have to deal with the present. Now.
It was all a lie. A carefully orchestrated plan. I was convenient but nothing more.
I fell for it.
Zoya knocks gently at the door. Semyon’s back on his phone with a scowl while my world is caving in on me.
The walls feel too close, as if they're closing in. I tell myself that I'm not in my right mind—that there's more to the story than meets the eye. I tell myself that I need to stop reacting and that I need to think this through before I make a decision.
I tell myself that I matter.
But the words feel hollow.
Something is off. Too much has happened too fast, and the answers only seem to raise more questions. But one thing is clear—Semyon all but admitted it. My father was involved to a degree, enough that he gave me away before I even knew there was a choice to make.
And now everything I thought was mine feels like an illusion.
Who else has been lying to me? What else am I going to find out next?
Zoya hands me a tray with my favorite soup: creamy chicken and rice, a recipe she learned from Polina. Next to the bowl is crusty bread and a simple salad, along with a large glass of water. A few minutes ago, I was starving. Now I can't think of eating anything, but if I don't, I'll draw alarm from them. So I thank her and take a sip of water and a tentative bite of bread.
"I was worried for you," Semyon says with a little smile, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I squeeze his hand back even as a lump forms in my throat. I won't look at him now, my handsome, heartless Superman.
“Hey. Anya, are you alright?”
From the doorway, Rafail stands, his hands in his pockets. He looks tired, wearing nothing but his dress slacks and a white T-shirt, his ever-present suit jacket discarded.
No, I'm not all right. But I only nod quietly. "I wish I knew why that happened, but yeah, I think I'm okay.”
“I know. Rest and tell us if you need anything.” My nose tingles. It’s nice to have someone taking care of me for once.
Rafail looks to Semyon. “We’re ready for you.”
The person he has to interrogate is waiting downstairs—the person who has answers, presumably. But he hesitates, his eyes on me.
"Go," I say, and to my relief, my voice doesn't waver this time. It feels like I'm telling him to go in more ways than one.
Go… leave me.
Everything's been manipulated, shaped to fit into the grand design of their empire. And for what? Control. My family's safety was used as a bargaining chip in their game.
The walls feel too close, the blankets too hot. I try to steady my breathing, but all I can do is focus on Semyon’s rumpled clothes and mussed hair. The man who has become my tether is now the one unraveling me.
He thought he could control me, another piece on his chessboard.
He rises to his feet. “Anya, rest. I’ll be back.”
My eyes stay fixed on the bandage wrapped around his arm—a reminder of everything he’s endured. A reminder that he’s human. I know he’s been through hell too .
Fear gnaws at me. What else has he kept from me?
I can’t afford to break now.
"Anya?" Zoya's voice cuts through the haze. I blink, realizing she's standing in front of me, concerned.
"I'm fine." I shake my head, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "I need some air."
“Of course.” She opens a window. Yeah, I need more than that.
"Let me know if you need anything else," she says brightly. "Stefan's done his homework, and he's gone to bed for the night."
"Thank you."
I wait until she’s gone, stand, and begin pacing. My mind feels like a tangle of memories, promises, and betrayal. My instincts tell me to follow Semyon, to ask for answers, but I stay rooted to the spot. And if I go to him, what will I find? Do I really need to see him brutally beat someone so he can interrogate them and get answers? Do I really need to see another bloody scene?
I can't just leave. Stefan is here. But I have to find a way out.
My phone buzzes with a text. Ophelia .
Ophelia
We need to talk, Anya. It’s urgent.
I respond to her, my heart racing.
What’s the matter?
Ophelia
It's about Eli. I have information I have to tell you, but it has to be secret. Can you come outside? I'll meet you outside.
I look out the window to where armed guards stand at every exit.
Yes, of course.