Page 26 of Unveiled

Finally,it was Viktor, the barber whose shop was adjacent to mine, who gave me a tip.

Viktor

I think I saw him in the shop earlier? Not long ago. I think he was hiding out but needed a place to get out of the rain.

So to the shop we went. I cast one last look into the sheets of rain behind us before I opened the door.

“If he’s here, I’m going to shake him til his teeth rattle as badly as mine do.” Ophelia shivers, tugging her soaked sweater tighter around her curvy frame. She wouldn’t harm a hair on Stefan’s head, but I didn’t blame her. “And willyou stop looking around like your Bratva batboy’s gonna come out like a vampire and suck your blood? God.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know what he’s like,” I mutter, my hands trembling as I slide the key into the lock. It’s crooked and freezing, so it takes a full minute before I’m able to unlock the door and head inside.

To anyone else, this place would look vacant. But I know the telltale signs of a sneaky little boy who has a penchant for trouble and a taste for sweets.

The front display case is open, and a row of cookies is missing. I never leave the display case open, and I always fill it before we close for the night.

I narrow my eyes and look around the shop.

“Stefan?” I ask, flicking my phone’s flashlight on. I don’t want to alert anyone outside that we’re in here. “Are you in here? The sooner you confess, the less trouble you’ll be in.”

No answer. But the fridge door is slightly ajar, and a wad of napkins still sits on the steel top of the kneading table.

“Stefan,” I say warningly.

“Hey!” Ophelia yells into the store. “We know you’re in here. Don’t tell me I risked my life kidnapping your sister and driving in a storm just so I could make myself fat on your sister’s cinnamon rolls and drown my grief in vanilla icing!”

I snort and shake my head.

“Drown your grief?” I mouth, still panting from running in here.

I turn my head sharply, straining to listen. Did I hear something? What was that? I scan the shop, but there’s no sign of movement. Still, my brother is young and clumsy, and I know he’s in here.

“Stefan,” I call, my voice low and warning—the tone I use when he’s in trouble and I need to sound motherly. I hate when he makes me do this. “If you don’t come out…” I trail off, unsure of what to threaten him with because I never like making threats.

Finally, the door to the large freezer creaks open.

“Stefan!” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. He knows he’s not allowed in there. It’s an old freezer, and if the door shuts from the inside, he could freeze to death. That’s been drilled into his head a hundred times. He’s never been allowed in there.

Barely able to catch my breath, I grab him by the shoulders and shake him hard enough to make him stumble.

“What were you thinking? You can’t run away like that and in thefreezer?” My voice cracks, fear cutting through my anger. “Don’t you know what could’ve happened if I didn’t find you?”

“I didn’t lock it,” he mutters, lifting his chin with false bravado. For a moment, he looks like our oldest brother—the arrogance is the same, that’s for sure.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if the wrong person caught you?” I press, my words coming out sharper than I intended.

His eyes widen, guilt shadowing his expression. “I just wanted to come find you,” he whispers. “I thought… I thought eventually you’d come back here. I only stepped into the freezer just now. I didn’t want anyone to see me—I thought it might be him. You know, your new husband.”

“You thought wrong,” I snap, pulling him into a fierce hug, holding him tightly for a moment before shaking him again. “You should’ve stayed hidden, and you should’ve never gone in that freezer. Don’t you ever go in there again, Stefan.”

The door to the shop jingles open. Moments later, heavy footsteps fall. My stomach drops, tightening into a knot.

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Semyon’s imposing shadow spills into the light of the doorway as he steps inside. His icy-blue eyes burn with fury, and his jaw is clenched tight. He looks as if he’s been carved from stone—his face rigid and controlled, every line etched with precision. But I can feel the storm beneath his surface. He’s barely hanging on to his self-control.

“You thought you could leave without telling me?” His voice is low, calm, far more dangerous than if he’d yelled. I understand now why people fear him when his voice lowers.

My instincts roar to life, and I shove my brother behind me. “I’m not leaving him here,” I snap.

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