Page 50 of Unleashed

“ANISSA”

Snow falls like starlight,dusting the narrow, cobblestone streets of Zalivka. The buildings rise close around us. It feels familiar yet different, like visiting a city in a foreign country that resembles home, but the locals speak another language.

This is a place that has seen centuries pass and keeps its secrets hidden within stone walls and narrow alleys. I feel both curious and cautious as I walk beside Rafail, his presence a shield. I wonder how much the Kopolovs have played the part of gatekeeper.

I note as people stare in his direction with wary respect, and a few nod to him, casting glances toward me as if to assess my role beside him. I can see it in their eyes—they know him as something of a myth here, feared yet respected, the kind of man who could command a whole town’s obedience with a mere look. Naturally. His reputation precedes him, and with each step, I feel it pressing down on me like a weight. In this world… inthese streets, filled with old-world charm and traditional values he both embraces and challenges… where does he fit in?

Where do I?

Rafail keeps his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward with a firm, possessive touch. I wish I could skip these crutches and be less conspicuous, but I’ll have to deal for now.

I try to push my doubts aside and lose myself in the sights around us, but they resurface when a frail, elderly woman catches my eye. She stares at me and then looks at Rafail, her brow furrowed in concentration. Someone talks to her, but she ignores them while she hobbles toward me. Bundled in layers, her small, frail hands tuck the scarf around her neck.

I open my mouth to speak to her, but I don’t even know what I’ll say.

Do I know you?

Do you know me?

But a large crowd of university students push past us, nearly jostling me.

“Watch it,” Rafail growls, parting them so I can walk safely. And when they’re past us, the old lady is gone.

Once again, I feel like I’m trying to reach for something I can’t quite grasp. Rafail notices my distraction and steps in close, his voice a low murmur as he nudges my chin up with a gloved hand. "Distracted, little swan?"

I smile, managing a nod, but he watches me with a hint of calculation in his gaze as if he’s measuring my reaction to everything we pass. He presses a soft kiss to my foreheadand takes my hand, leading me into a nearby café, the wordsZimnyaya Rozaemblazoned out front.

“Anything you need?”

“Hot coffee and something buttery and sweet,” I say in a rush of words. I feel anxious and weighted down. I want some reassurance.

“This city is charming,” I tell him as he opens the door, the warm, powerful scent of strong coffee enveloping us. Orthodox churches stand beside sleek, minimalist buildings. The cityscape is dotted with old-fashioned iron street lamps and faded stone archways leading into courtyards, a slower-paced life compared to Moscow, not far from here.

“I love Zalivka,” Rafail says with feeling, eliciting a fist bump from another patron who overhears. “Here, we’ve managed to keep small businesses operating that have been owned for generations.”

“Mr. Kopolov.” A burly man with a ruddy face and red nose, wearing a flour-covered apron, wipes his hands on it and comes to see us. “Welcome. You pay nothing when you’re here, sir, you know that.” He turns his attention to me. “And is this your wife?”

Rafail’s arm comes around me with pride. “Meet my wife, Anissa. Anissa, Cecil is an old friend.”

I smile shyly as others glance our way, and I pretend to look over the menu. I can’t help but wonder how much the Kopolov family had to do with any of that. Keeping large businesses out of town is in their best interest.

They talk to each other like buddies, and it’s good to see Rafail’s stern gaze soften a little. “We have a stall inOld Squareat the festival,” Cecil says. “We hope to see you there.”

Rafail nods. “I’ll do my best.”

Cecil claps him on the back. “It would do well for our biggest benefactor to come so we can thank you.”

“Precisely why I’m not sure I’ll show,” Rafail says wryly.

Cecil goes to the back, and I turn to Rafail. I’m seeing him in a whole new light.

Benefactor.

First, Yana’s biggest support, and now this.

“Tell me about the festival?” I ask him as he steps up to the counter to order. “I’ll have a hot mocha latte and one of the chocolate-covered biscuits, please.”

Cecil has a sharp word to the cashier, who promptly declines any payment.

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