Chapter 39
BELLA
The phone buzzes once on the nightstand shortly before dawn.
Even without looking, I know who it is, just like how you know a storm is coming from the heavy feeling sitting on your chest before the rain comes.
Truth be told, I’ve been waiting for this since I sent the list.
I pick up the phone, and sure enough, there’s a text from Nico.
You did well
My stomach drops through the floor and bile rises up in my throat. I did well…
I put a child’s life in danger. I got a woman hurt with my actions. And like the coward that I am, I’m still nowhere near close enough to confess to Slava about what has happened.
I asked him to hurt me, yes, and he has. But it was a selfish kind of hurt where he gave me what I wanted without taking an ounce of the pound of flesh I owe him.
Another text comes.
But you’re not done yet
My breath pauses in my chest.
Whatever it is he wants to do, I want no part of it anymore. I want to tell him that I’ve done enough damage and that I won’t be part of this awful plot that only ends when an innocent child is buried.
Does Nico even know about who Alessandro is?
He has to, right? He has to know that this is his nephew. That a part of the sister he so professes to love so much lives on in this boy.
And if he does… how can he be so callous and cruel as to want the death of this boy?
Or is this all part of this awful game that criminals play with each other?
Another text comes.
My family needs to know your exact location
My thumbs hover over the screen. And then, a new madness seizes me. The message is short and simple.
I don’t want to do this anymore
My hand hovers for a moment before I send.
The response comes fast.
You have no choice
One phone call and your trip to paradise will become a living nightmare
I’m still processing that when the next message arrives.
To say nothing about the boy you’ve done your best to hide
Or the pretty pharmacy tech watching him
The phone nearly slips from my fingers.
He didn’t have to name Anthony or Lydia for me to know that he’s threatening them. Fear creeps into my heart. How long has he known about them?
Leave them both alone
They have nothing to do with this.
That decision is not up to me anymore
I stare at the screen until the words blur. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
The three dots of a message being drafted keep flashing.
My father’s patience is not infinite
He wants this affair settled once and for all
For your family’s sake, please give him what he wants
I don’t know how to interpret these messages, and I’m not about to jeopardize my position by calling Nico now to clarify. But I know better than to trust him, even as he positions himself as the reasonable one, and a buffer between me and his monstrous father.
My fingers move before I can stop myself.
Do you have even the slightest idea of what is here?
The three dots start flashing again. They keep flashing, over and over, and I know that Nico is looking for the right words to say. I can practically see him typing his message, before erasing it all only to start over again.
Finally, a message comes.
Yes
Its brevity tells me everything I need to know from him. Then, the dots start again.
Which is why you need to trust me
Give me one good reason to
She was my sister before he was ever my nephew
For her sake, don’t hurt him
There’s a part of her that lives in him!
I know…
This is no longer within my power to control
But it is in yours
My blood runs cold at those words.
Outside the window, the sun starts to peek over the horizon, and it paints a blood-red streak across the sky.
At breakfast, I watch Slava and Alessandro converse in Russian, before he says something to Alessandro that has the boy’s eyes widening in giddiness. But all I feel when I look down at my coffee is the dread that’s been expanding in my stomach ever since Nico’s messages last night.
He still hasn’t responded, and I have the sneaking suspicion that he won’t ever be responding anymore.
For a brief moment, I wonder if it’s possible for him to trace my phone’s location through messages alone.
Alessandro asks to be excused, and Slava sends him on his way. I pick up my coffee and put it to my lips. But I can barely taste it.
“When can we go back to America?” I ask Slava once we’re alone.
He looks at me. “You miss Anthony.”
“Yes,” I lie. “I miss him.”
I need to know that he’s safe.
“I won’t keep you from him for too long,” Slava says gently. “Once I make sure that my son is safe, we will return.”
Then, he walks over, leans down, and kisses me.
The kiss carries apologies and promises and all the weight of everything unspoken. His lips taste like coffee and patience, and I feel myself leaning into him, craving the oblivion of his touch the way a drowning person craves air.
The kiss begins to deepen, and for one perfect, terrible moment I’m not Bella the betrayer or Bella the desperate or Bella the jealous woman.
I’m just Bella, kissing a man who wants to kiss her.
I pull away.
Tenderness threatens to break me open in the worst way possible, and the cruel choice that Nico relayed to me echoes like a curse in my head.
On one hand is Anthony, the last real family member I still have in my life. On the other hand is Alessandro, who represents everything good in Slava’s life.
How can it have all come down to this?
How did I put myself in a position where I have to be the one to decide which child must die?
“We can go back earlier,” Slava says, and I realize that I’ve looked away from him.
My knuckles are white from how tightly I’m gripping the handle of my coffee mug.
“I—”
“No, you don’t have to explain.” He shakes his head. “You haven’t seen him since Don Leo’s yacht. It’s natural for you to be worried about him. We can go tomorrow morning.”
I nod numbly.
“But before we go.” He stands up. “There’s one more thing I’d like to show you.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.” He moves toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. “Meet me in the foyer a quarter after one, malyshka.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone with my coffee and uneaten breakfast. My stomach twists into a knot of self-loathing, and nothing will fit past the constriction in my throat.
And as I take another sip of coffee, the weight of an impossible choice grows heavier in my head.