Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Anya
The dim room reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol, with a faint tinge of body odor, the low hum of voices punctuated by the clink of coins and glasses.
I hated this place. I hated this place and the people who frequented it even more, but most of all, I hated that my brother was sitting at the center of it, a grin on his face as he threw down another handful of cash he didn’t have and had probably stolen.
I stayed near the doorway, my chest tight with dread. When I followed him here I had no idea this was where I’d end up. I just wanted to talk some sense into him.
But now, staring at the scene in front of me, I felt frozen in place. The place reeked of danger. And Eli wasn’t going to listen to me. He was too far gone, drunk on adrenaline and whatever delusion of invincibility he was chasing.
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor made me jump. My breath caught when I saw him. Semyon. He moved like a shadow, noticeable even from a distance since he was the only one wearing glasses.
He looked out of place, wearing an impeccable, pressed shirt and suit among the other sweat-stained shirts and leather jackets. He looked sharp and untouchable among a roomful of older men who nursed potbellies, heavy jowls, and receding hairlines.
Semyon was a king among men. I glanced away for a moment, not trusting my heartbeat.
I’d had a little crush on him for as long as I could remember. It didn’t help that the usual hum of conversation faltered as men noticed his presence. The way they deferred to him and spoke with respect and more than a little fear. He was just that powerful.
Others might say it was because he was Bratva that the palpable fear followed him like his shadow. But I knew better. I knew Semyon had a way of commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
Part of it was his Bratva-meets-Superman aura. But it wasn’t just the way he looked—it was the way he carried himself, that air of not giving a fuck that could make a woman weep. Because who wouldn’t want a man like that in her corner? Someone who would stop at nothing to protect her?
Even at twenty-one years old, he carried himself with a chilling authority that belied his age. I watched as he walked straight to my brother’s table, his blue eyes narrowing.
“Eli,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Come here.”
I practically ran to him myself; the need to obey his command felt primal. Otherworldly.
Eli glanced up, lazy, smirking. “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence. You here to join the fun?”
“I said get the fuck over here,” Semyon growled. “Now.”
My brother had the audacity to chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Relax. It’s just a friendly game. What the fuck is your problem?”
Semyon didn’t flinch. The only sign my brother’s words hit him was the faintest twitch of his fingers. He was stronger than Eli. More powerful. “That’s not your money you’re gambling with. And you know it.”
The other men at the table began to shift uncomfortably, glancing between Semyon and Eli. One by one, I watched as they mumbled excuses and disappeared into the smoky corners of the room, unwilling to be caught in the fallout of the Kopolov Bratva.
Of Semyon.
Semyon leaned on his forearms, menacing. I watched him, unable to breathe. “You’re going to take your money, and you’re going to fucking leave. Or you’ll deal with me. Not Rafail. Me.”
I couldn’t help it—I hitched a breath. I had never heard him sound like that before—so cold, so detached. Semyon was a man of his word, and I would hate to see what it meant to “deal with him.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” my brother spat.
Semyon tilted his head slightly, his icy gaze unwavering. “You should be.”
I gasped. My breathing grew faster, my hands clammy.
I watched as the two men stood face-to-face, the air between them charged.
Then, without a word, my brother grabbed his coat and stormed past Semyon.
Semyon didn’t watch him go. Instead, he turned his head slightly, his eyes sweeping the room until they landed on me.
I was frozen in place.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.
I didn’t want him to see me here. I didn’t need to be told he wouldn’t approve of me here. But the weight of his gaze pinned me in place, and for a moment, I thought something flickered in his expression—recognition?
Was that… fear?
Then unmistakable anger.
I turned and ran.
“Anya!” His voice rang out sharply behind me.
I ran harder.
The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is the faint morning light streaming through the curtains. I leap up in bed. I never sleep this late—not so late that the sun is actually up in the sky.
Stefan.
I throw the covers off and run to the door. I remember he locked it last night, but now, when I turn the handle, it opens.
Did I imagine that he locked it?
My pulse races as I look around the room.
I glance down at myself and realize I’m wearing nothing.
I need to get dressed. I swallow hard, scanning the space, remembering the massive, ridiculously large closet.
I look until I find a soft pink robe hanging from a corner near the bathroom.
I’ll probably have to thank one of his sisters for that later.
I wrap it around me, cinch it at the waist, and quickly run out to check on Stefan. I feel like I’ve abandoned my baby brother to the wolves. My stomach twists. Where is he? What has Semyon done? What would he do?
He brought me here last night to keep Stefan safe. He wouldn’t hurt him… would he? But Semyon has implacable rules, and Stefan is a wild, reckless little boy.
I sprint down the hall, my bare feet hitting the hardwood as I fling open Stefan’s door.
The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled and tossed aside as if he left in a hurry.
His clothes from last night lay in a pile on the floor, haphazard and careless, just like he always leaves them. He’s just a little boy.
What have I gotten my brother into?
My chest tightens when I hear voices downstairs. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I have to stay calm. Why am I panicking?
Maybe because my entire life was put at risk? I was forced to marry a man I hate, and now my little brother is caught in the mix. Yeah, no big deal.
I roll my eyes heavenward. I wish Ophelia were here.
I walk downstairs. From here, I can see the huge expanse of his house—sleek, modern, and impossibly large, like something out of a magazine. But the sight that greets me freezes me in place.
Stefan sits on the other side of the open doorway, swinging his legs at the table, sipping something from a cup. Semyon sits across from him.
My heart aches because Stefan looks… happy. Safe.
My god. I didn’t know how badly I’d been clinging to some kind of hope, and here it is. At great personal expense, but here it is, nonetheless.
They both look up as I approach, Stefan waving at me with one hand while holding his tea with the other. And Semyon—my cold, terrifying husband.
Except… he doesn’t look so terrifying now.
Instead of his perfect suit, he wears a plain white T-shirt and gray pajama pants. Stubble shadows his jaw. His dark hair is ever so slightly mussed, and his glasses perch on the edge of his nose, giving him an almost softer edge.
Superman at rest.
No. No way. He can’t do this. He can’t sit here, playing checkers with Stefan, eating breakfast like he’s some kind of domesticated man who actually cares. Who actually has a heart.
“Good morning,” I say, but my voice is sharper and colder than I intended.
Semyon’s piercing blue eyes lock onto mine. For one moment, the intensity in that gaze robs me of my breath, and I remember last night’s details—every single one of them. His hands. His voice. His promise that we would consummate our marriage. The pain and heat he painted across my ass.
No, it’s wrong to think about this with my brother sitting right there. God.
Now here he is, looking like an entirely different man, as if I somehow imagined the coldhearted monster in my dreams.
Is he gaslighting me?
“It’s late,” I tell him. “I’m supposed to be at the bakery.”
With a nod, he explains, his voice firm. “I made a decision. A lot has happened in a very short time. The bakery is closed for the day and will stay closed for the weekend while we figure out what we’re doing next with it.”
I open my mouth to protest. We don’t close the bakery.
But he continues. “I have reasons for that, Anya. Don’t question them,” he says quietly, his tone a calm command.
I hesitate, wanting to hear everything before I respond. “And Stefan has to get to school—”
“Stefan will stay home from school today. On Monday, it’ll be business as usual. We have a lot to go over.”
“What?” I ask, my confusion spilling over. “No school? But he—”
“You heard what I said,” he snaps, turning back to the checkerboard.
Stefan smirks at me. “If he says I’m staying home from school, I’m staying home from school,” he says, his tone full of mischief. “Maybe I’ll stay home every Friday, and you can’t make me go.”
Before I can respond, Semyon’s voice cracks like a whip.” Stefan.”
My brother freezes, his smirk vanishing as he looks at Semyon with wide eyes.
“That’s your sister,” Semyon says, his tone low and dangerous. “And my wife. You don’t speak to her like that again. Am I clear?”
Stefan swallows hard and nods. “Yes, sir.”
Yes, sir? What? What has happened to my brother, and who is in his place?
I blink, stunned into silence. I’ve never seen anyone check Stefan’s attitude—not even me. And the fact that it comes from Semyon makes it feel even more surreal.
But Semyon isn’t finished. “Apologize.”
Stefan swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I nod as my eyes drift to the checkerboard. Stefan’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he stares at the pieces, seemingly forgetting what just happened. Semyon sits back, almost relaxed, though his focus is razor-sharp.
It’s all… bizarre.