Chapter 20 #2
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.