Page 67 of Unveiled

“That and a little extra bonus,” Semyon says with a wry smile. I cringe, frozen in place at the idea of Stefan knowing what happened with my father back there.

I can still feel the tight grip on my heart when Semyon defended me and promised to hurt my father. I half wish for just a moment that he was around when my father hurt my mother.

No. That would’ve been terrible.

Gloriously vindictive but terrible.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have felt the need to blame him for my mother’s death. I close my eyes when a rush of emotions chokes me.

Sometimes it feels like a betrayal to my mother to forgive him so quickly. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misjudged.

Semyon looks at Stefan and then back to Matvei. “I’ll fill you in later.” He hands the computer and mobile over to Matvei, whose eyes instantly light up with excitement, grinning like a kid handed his dream toy. Matvei leaps from the table and hurries to a barstool by the kitchen counter, practically bouncing on his feet. He eagerly arranges his setup, not wanting to waste a minute.

“We’ve been busy,” Stefan says with a belabored sigh. I pinch my lips together and nod sagely. “She made me peel potatoes and carrots and wouldn’t give me any cookies until I’d eaten a bowl of soup.” He makes a face.

Zoya smiles at him from the stove, where she stirs a large pot. “Oh, I know, I’m so mean. You only asked for seconds to be polite, right?”

Her eyes twinkle at my brother, making my heart ache.

God, I’m so damn wound up.

“It’s good for you,” Semyon tells Stefan while looking over Matvei’s shoulder. “Manual labor puts hair on your chest.”

When Stefan takes a surreptitious look under his shirt, I stifle a snort.

Matvei stares at the screen, Semyon looking on. “Motherfu—” Semyon backhands Matvei, who quickly shuts up. Stefan stares wide-eyed.

“Sorry, yeah. Listen, I’m going to need way more time with this. These are heavily encrypted,” Matvei says, shaking his head. “But something tells me—no. No, I won’t say anything until I know.”

I stare, my belly sinking to my toes. “Days?” I lick my dry lips. “But if—if my brother’s in any danger, I?—”

“I’m fine,” Stefan says with a grin, taking another cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. Oh, thank god he’s young and self-focused enough he didn’t consider the fact thatmy brothermeant anyone but him. I don’t want him to know anything about Eli. Not now.

But for some reason, my eyes are watery, and my throat feels tight.

“Anya,” Semyon says gently, his icy-blue eyes behind his glasses fixed on me. “I know you want all the information you can get immediately. But I promise, he can’t be in any immediate danger. If they’re using him as leverage, they’ll need him healthy. He may be uncomfortable for a little while, but he’ll live.”

I nod. It makes good sense.

Semyon glances at the clock on the wall. “Mandated family dinner in an hour.” Looking to Zoya, he begins to roll up his sleeves. “What can I help with?”

Zoya directs him to stack dishes and puts Stefan and me to work with salad prep. It smells delicious in here.

We lapse into a warm, comfortable silence while Zoya stirs and seasons a pot on the stove. Stefan helps Zoya, and Semyon and I stand side by side chopping.

A part of me feels like a traitor for enjoying anything the Kopolov family offers.

And a part of me aches because of how deeply I’ve longed for the familiar comfort of family and home… just like this.

Semyon walks over and leans close, his voice low and smooth, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t know culinary skills were part of your extensive resume. I thought your talent ended with baking. Should I be worried you’ve got other talents with a knife that I should be wary of?”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Only if you’re worried about being sliced to perfection like these veggies. I’m particularly skilled at using mandolins and choppers. Do you need a demonstration?”

“Is that a threat or an invitation?” he whispers in my ear, his voice laced with hope.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

My panties dampen. I clench my thighs together, a flood of arousal at the memory of what we did in the tiny bed in my childhood bedroom. His hands in my hair, his mouthbetween my legs, his tongue delving in and out with tantalizing perfection.

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