Page 41 of Unleashed

Yana crosses her arms, smirking. “I’d start with the one who nearly knocked over the bread.”

Both brothers freeze, eyes darting to the delicate bowl of dough. They gulp in unison, and Rafail gives them one last shake before finally letting go.

“I brought my wife down to breakfast,” he warns, “behave yourselves.”

They’re hardly children, but the brothers quickly back away from each other, Semyon’s cold gaze still fixed on Rodion, Rodion’s jaw clenched. Rafail just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he straightens his shirt.

Yikes. He had his work cut out for him with this crew.

“Sit down,” he barks before he turns to Zoya. “Did you forget to hand in your assignment?”

Zoya flits around the kitchen, straightening things out, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “About that,” she says as she places a crock of butter on the table and a loaf of bread. “I’ve been meaning to ask you to help me with it. There’s all these questions about… well, family history and stuff.”

Rafail stands taller and crosses his arms on his chest. “What do they want to know?”

As they talk over past history, someone clears their throat. Yana stands in front of me. A young woman a few years older than Zoya but younger than Rafail, she smiles softly. Her presence has a calm, almost regal quality, with a confidence that’s both subtle and undeniable. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, framing her face. I notice the faintest trace of makeup—a flick of mascara, magnifying her electric-blue eyes, and a hint of pink lip gloss—matching her understated elegance.

Her eyes meet mine with an openness that catches me off guard. There’s a quiet strength in her gaze like she’s weathered storms that only she fully understands. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a glint of gold on her finger catches my attention.

Is that a wedding ring?

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says, her voice gentle yet unwavering. I’m struck by the warmth and steadiness in her tone, and there’s something about her that feels both grounded and fiercely resilient. “My brothers have told me all about you, but Rafail’s been possessive, hasn’t he?”

My brothers.For some reason, it makes my heart ache. He says I don’t have siblings, but I know that to be… a lie.

I did. I do. And I’ll find them.

“I don’t remember who you’ve met or who you remember,” Rafail says.

I shake my head. I had too many meds and was confused and disoriented.

“A proper introduction would probably be a good idea,” I tell him with a shrug.

“Right. This is Semyon,” Rafail says, gesturing toward the man I encountered upstairs. He stands just a step back, arms crossed, his gaze dissecting me with unnerving precision.

Semyon has the sharp, chiseled features of Rafail but wears them with a colder detachment. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his expression clinical as if he’s calculating exactly who I am and what I might mean to his brother. His eyes are ice-blue, unblinking and methodical, and he gives off an aura that’s almost surgical—analyzing, cataloging, already figuring out the quickest way to manipulate or dismantle me if it ever came to that.

“Hello again,” he says, his voice low, each word deliberate. There’s no warmth there, only a distant courtesy. “Welcome.”

I manage a nod. “Hello.”

For a moment, his gaze flickers past me, locking briefly with Rafail’s in what seems to be a silent exchange. I can’t quite read it, but the corner of Semyon’s mouth quirks, almost as if in approval, before he turns his attention back to me with that same unnervingly calculated stare.

He’s less angry than Rafail. Hell, they all are. Maybe they haven’t had to face what he has. Anger radiates off Rafail in waves—it's in the tone of his voice, the cut of his eyes, the familiar downturn of his lips. Even without my memories, I’m sure I’ve never known anyone as angry as him. And, yeah, there’s a part of me that can’t help but want to fix him. Not my job, I know, but… it’s only instinct, really.

Rafail pulls out a chair for me, his grip steady and commanding as he helps me sit. His voice is calm but carries an edge as he continues the introductions. “This is Rodion,” he says, gesturing to the man standing just behind him.

Rodion’s stance is deceptively relaxed, but there’s a tautness in his movements like he’s ready to strike at the slightest provocation. His scant beard shadows a face that holds a mix of mischief and menace, his sharp eyes flashing with a dangerous gleam. For an instant, a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a look that seems both appraising and faintly amused as if he’s already one step ahead of everyone in the room.

He gives me a single nod. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and casual, but there’s a note beneath it that’s almost predatory, and I don’t trust the way his gaze shifts away from me as though he’s afraid I’ll see who he really is—or Rafail will.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended, the intensity in his gaze unsettling.

I glance back at Rafail, catching a flicker of something sharp in Rodion’s eyes when he looks at his brother. Respect, perhaps, but tinged with something darker—a wary kind of fear or maybe an unspoken rivalry.

“You met Yana?” She nods and gives me a small smile. There’s a reserved pain behind her eyes, the kind that only comes from experience. I get the distinct feeling she keeps her life close to the vest and only trusts a select few. I want to be one who she trusts.

“And you know Zoya,” Rafail adds. The sweet girl, wearing jeans and a modest tee, her hair in a ponytail, smiles softly at me. You wouldn’t know who she was—or, more accurately, who her brothers were.

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