Page 96 of Unveiled

We move through the crowd. Anya's posture is stiff, her fingers brushing the hem of her shawl like a shield. I’m getting better at reading her and knowing what she needs. I don’t blame her for being nervous in a crowded place, especially when she’s a fish out of water. She shouldn’t be nervous though. She’s with me.

“You’re frowning.” Her eyes meet mine, curious.

“I can tell you think you have something to fear here. But you don’t. Not with me.” I thread my fingers across the back of her neck and give her a gentle squeeze.

She wordlessly pulls closer to me, draws in a breath and nods, giving me the smallest of smiles. It’s all I need.

We need a breath of fresh air. I navigate toward the outdoor bar.

“I don’t really feel like I belong here,” she whispers in my ear.

“I can relate to that. I never feel like I belong anywhere.” I thought I was getting better at reading her, but I don’t fully understand the softness in her eyes when she looks at me and squeezes my hand.

I lean in closer. “I’m going to protect you, Anya. I always will. But you’re stronger than you think.” I tuck a finger under her chin and bring her gaze to mine. “Don’t forget who you are. If I had my way, they’d be bowing to you when you enter.”

One day, they will. They fucking will.

“Kopolov.”

My focus sharpens when I see him—Oleg Makarov. Unpredictable. One of the Romanov family's lesser allies here in Moscow, but still dangerous. He exudes an air of authority, his gaze honing in on Anya.

"It's been a while, Semyon," he says smoothly before turning to Anya. "And who is this? Your lovely little wife?"

Asshole.

Anya bristles beside me, immediately on edge. Makarov is ruthless and unpredictable, and I don't trust him.

His eyes immediately narrow on her, and his voice lowers. I don't want her to touch him, but when he reaches for her hand, she sticks her hand out and shakes his—mercilessly.

"Yes. Anya Kopolov. His ‘little wife.'" She emphasizes the words, and I love that she does.

He narrows his eyes. “Well, aren’t you the brave one?”

"And you are?" she presses, unbothered. Pride surges in my chest.

His eyes flash with amusement—a man like Oleg enjoys pushing boundaries, especially with people like Anya, who aren’t seasoned for his world. He chuckles, leaning in too close for my liking. “Someone you don't want to fuck around with,” he finishes, baring his teeth.

“I don’t see what’s so brave about stating my own name,” she says with a cold smile. A part of me wants to cheer heron.Attagirl.Another part of me wants to shove her behind me to protect her.

“Careful, girl,” he mutters, “In our world, some people don’t appreciate a brazen woman.”

Alright, that’s enough of that. I put myself between the two of them. “I fucking do. That’s enough from you.”

The shift in the atmosphere is immediate. The polite mask drops from my face, replaced by something much darker. He freezes as if sensing the threat between us, but since he doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, something harsher might be in order. “You have something you want to say to my wife?" I whisper. "You know she and I pledged vows to each other. You also know what that means, don't you?"

I imagine how this will play out—the way I'll take him, my fist hitting his jaw. He'll fall back to the ground, his head cracking against the concrete. And no one will move. Not one single person will bat an eyelash because this is nothing out of the ordinary for my family—for this gathering.

But I don't. Not yet. I decide to behave myself. For Anya.

Until he decides he has something else to say to her.

"You're his first wife, aren't you? Enjoy that. Don't you know what this family does with their wives?" His voice taunts again, this time meeting my gaze. "I'm disappointed in you, Semyon. Would've thought you’d have taught your wife her place by now."

Anya's jaw drops.

I get in his face. "I don't think I'm the one who should be careful," I warn him. "Rumor has it you have someaffiliations with the Irish. And they're on the move. Doesn't seem like it's in your best interest to fuck that up, does it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, but his cold smile falters. His sharp incisors glint at me. “You moved in on the bakery without wasting any time. Seems like you like to take your wife there too, don't you?"

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