Page 6 of Unveiled

I shove open the bar door. It swings on its hinges, the overhead bell jingling. Chatter dies down, but when the people inside see it’s just me, it quickly picks up again. I’m short and slight and hardly someone any of them would be concerned with. But I don’t care. My mother always said good things come in small packages, and Semyon Kopolov is about to meet his match.

I hate him.

I hate him for ruining my family. I hate him for dragging my brother into the depravity of his world, for ignoring my mother’s pleas to keep my brother out of it. I hate him for pulling the trigger that caused my mother’s death.

And I hate him now for putting my family in this position.

So I march straight to the bartender, who eyes me with mild curiosity. A man in his early fifties with short, salt-and-pepper hair, he holds a beer mug in his hand as he dries it. “May I help you?”

I lean in, bracing myself on the shiny lacquered bar top. “The Kopolov family is expecting me.”

His bright blue eyes widen as he processes my request. Leaning in closer to me, his voice lowers to a whisper, andhe gestures for me to come closer. “Are you sure about that? If you’re in trouble… if you need help…”

I lick my lips and swallow, completing the sentence. “There would be nothing you’d be able to do about it. Would there?”

His response is all I need. I blow out a breath and blink back tears. I wasn’t expecting kindness in a moment like this, and it almost undoes me. “Tell me where they are, please.”

Placing the glass down on the bar top, he nods and points to a hallway behind him. “Down that hall, third door on the left.” He blows out a breath. “Be careful.”

My heart pounds as I storm down the hallway. The door isn’t even shut, wide open for any fool to see. I take in a deep breath. I conjure up a picture of my mother and take a quick moment to brush my palm against the fabric of the coat she once wore, a fleeting anchor to steel my nerves. I lift my head high. I march straight into the lion’s den.

The sharp, synchronized clicks of guns being cocked pierce the air. It seems every weapon in the room is trained on me, the cold metal mirroring the ruthless eyes of the men who hold them.

The room itself feels like a loaded gun, the weight of every man’s stare pressing down on me. My heart pounds like a war drum as the silence stretches. And then I hear him, his voice sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“Guns down.” They instantly obey.

I don’t flinch under the weight of his stare. I take a step forward. I willnotbackdown.

Semyon sits at the head of the table, his ice-blue eyes locked with mine. Gone is the warmth I remember, and in its place, nothing but piercing and unrelenting cold.

For a moment, I forget the danger. I forget the guns, the men, the risks, and my errand. Because there he is—the boy I used to know, now the man I hate.

How can he still make my heart ache after all he’s done, after all that’s happened?

I forgot how mesmerizing he is, how his presence makes my heart seize in my chest. How my mind goes blank when he’s near, just as it did when I was a child. For one fleeting moment, I’m the little girl by the creek again, watching him bask in the golden heat of a summer day. I wished then that he would smile at me, but Semyon never smiles.

When I was a child, he was a superhero in my mind. He even looked like Clark Kent with his black hair and ice-blue eyes, as cold and unforgiving as a Siberian winter. I imagined when he took off his glasses he became Superman.

Even seated, he commands the room with an effortless dominance. His sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal inked forearms, the dark lines of tattoos twisted over taut, hard muscle. Every movement is controlled, precise. The tats on his hands are a quiet, lethal promise. He looks like a man who never raises his voice…because he never needs to.

He lifts one dark brow curiously.

“You,” I spit out, my voice shaking with fury. “You sit here on your throne of lies and power, manipulating everyone around you for your own gain. Howdareyou?”

The room falls silent, the tension crackling like electricity, finally broken by a low whistle. I look over to see Semyon’s younger brother Rodion, a few years older than I am, shaking his head. Rodion is the family wildcard, defined by his athletic build and charm, a perpetual smirk on his face.

He's Semyon’s opposite in every way.

“This her, brother?” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

What the hell is he talking about? Semyon shakes his head once at Rodion, who quickly clams up. I turn back to him.

“You’rethe reason my mother is dead. You’re the reason my brother is drowning in debt. You ruined us.” My voice shakes with fury. “And now you threaten to take away our only means of survival?” I’m shaking with fury as Semyon’s icy blue gaze settles on me. Before he responds, he takes a long, slow sip from his drink.

“It’s been a while, Anya. How nice to see you. It seems you’ve forgotten your manners.”

Rodion stifles a snort, and someone in the back morphs a laugh into a cough.

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