62. Chapter 62
62
Bella
T he rooftop observatory wasn’t mentioned in the house tour. Then again, neither was the indoor rock-climbing wall, the underground bowling alley, or the room dedicated entirely to rare butterflies. At this point, I should stop being surprised by what this mansion contains.
The rooftop smells like cinnamon tea, metal, and stars. The air is cool but not cold—just enough to make you grateful for sleeves, just enough to make the sky feel closer.
Three old-fashioned telescopes are planted like silver soldiers along the edge of the patio, aimed at constellations I can’t name. Someone—probably Nikolai—dragged out two beanbags, a folded star chart, and a clipboard filled with scribbles I’d need a PhD to decode.
Lev is spinning one of the telescopes wildly like he’s about to launch it into orbit. He’s wearing socks, no shoes, and has somehow managed to get chocolate on his elbow.
“I’m telling you,” Nikolai says in that I-read-all-the-footnotes voice, “Orion isn’t a planet, Lev. It’s a constellation. You can’t land on it.”
“Says you,” Lev mutters, frowning into the telescope. “You don’t know. What if it’s a secret base?”
“Then the secret base would’ve already collapsed under stellar fusion,” Nikolai replies, deadpan.
Julian snorts beside me, legs sprawled, head tilted back as he scans the sky like he might actually find something other than stars.
“I give him five minutes before he says ‘wormhole,’” Julian murmurs.
“He’s already said it twice,” I say.
Lev whirls around. “Wormholes are real, by the way. Look it up.”
I smile despite myself. My stomach, however, does not.
We had pan-seared black cod in white wine garlic sauce for dinner. Normally, I’d fake a compliment and chew through it. But tonight? The moment it hit the table, I nearly dry-heaved into my water glass. Something about the smell—fish plus wine plus the faintest memory of seaweed—turned my insides into mush.
“I’m good,” I’d lied, pushing the plate away. “I had a late lunch.”
Now, seated cross-legged on a blanket, I’m sipping tea and fantasizing about dark chocolate. Or brownies. Or chocolate on brownies inside cake.
My stomach gives a rude twist. I pretend it didn’t.
“Did you know,” Nikolai says suddenly, “that Betelgeuse is actually about to explode into a supernova, but it might’ve already happened centuries ago, and we just haven’t seen it yet because the light hasn’t reached us?”
Julian perks up. “That’s the red giant in Orion, right?”
Nikolai nods, eyes bright. “If it does explode, it’ll be visible during the day. Like a second sun.”
“That’s mental,” Lev says, instantly re-invested. “I wanna see that.”
“You’d have to wait a few hundred thousand years.”
“I’ll stay up.”
I lean back on my hands, heart warming at the sight of them—Lev practically vibrating, Nikolai explaining things with clinical pride, Julian grinning like he forgot to be the brooding older teen for a second.
The girls are curled up on the opposite side of the roof, legs tangled in a blanket, whispering in that way girls do when there are secrets involved, and giggling is mandatory.
Alya is braiding a section of Lila’s hair, twisting it into something vaguely elegant and definitely too tight.
“You have good texture,” she declares. “Do you use product?”
Lila squints. “What does that even mean?”
“She means your hair doesn’t frizz,” I call gently.
“Unlike yours that one time,” Lila says, eyes gleaming. “Remember the curling wand incident? You looked like a deranged Victorian orphan.”
“I was going for volume,” I mutter.
“You looked like you lost a fight with a haunted chandelier.”
Alya squeals. “Tell me everything.”
“I was trying to impress this guy—”
“Who had zero idea she existed,” Lila adds helpfully.
“Okay,” I say, sitting up. “Rude.”
I’m still smiling when the sliding glass door opens, and one of the nannies steps out, soft-footed and serene.
“Time to wind down, kids.”
Lev groans like he’s being asked to disarm a bomb. “Can I just stay and see if Orion punches the moon?”
“No,” Nikolai says, standing up and folding his star chart precisely. “Because that’s not how physics works.”
“I still want to see it.”
“Let’s go,” the nanny says with the patience of a saint.
Alya climbs to her feet and loops her pinky with Lila’s. “Will you read to me tonight? Mishka’s been waiting.”
Lila softens, brushing Alya’s hair off her forehead. “Yeah. Sure. Only if I get to do the voices.”
“Obviously.”
They trail off, Lev following behind after one last dramatic sigh. Nikolai pauses just long enough to align the telescope again before giving me a quiet nod and disappearing through the door.
And then it’s just me and Julian.
Under stars that feel too bright. With air that feels too still.
“They’re funny kids,” Julian chuckles low beside me, still watching the door where they vanished.
I let out a soft breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.
“Yeah. They are.” I glance up at the stars. “Lila’s finally found someone who can keep up with her attitude, and Lev somehow managed to get chocolate on his elbow during dinner. I mean, that’s talent. And Alya—she’s like a tiny general in glitter sneakers.”
Julian hums, quiet amusement flickering on his face. But when I glance back at him, he’s not looking at the sky anymore. He’s watching me.
Closely.
His eyes, so much like mine but darker and steadier, linger on my face.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He doesn’t press. Julian’s never been the type to interrogate. But he doesn’t look away, either.
“I just…” He scratches at the scar on his eyebrow. “I’m glad you’re getting better. It’s just—I don’t know. You’ve been off.”
I freeze, then try to hide it by fixing the blanket near my ankles. “Off how?”
“You’re good at pretending,” he says simply. “You always were. But I know what it looks like when you’re trying too hard. You’ve been doing that since Mom and Dad died.”
The air thins a little.
“I had to,” I whisper. “I had to be okay. For you. For Lila.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I just think… maybe they’d want you to be happy, too.”
That does it. I almost lose it right there—like something sharp has been lodged in my throat for weeks, and he just knocked it loose.
He nudges my arm. “So… is your mystery husband, like, a mafia boss or something?”
My head snaps to him.
He smirks. “What? Belov owns half the coast. Including my new school, by the way. You think I didn’t Google the guy?”
Heat shoots straight up my spine.
Julian leans in slightly. “He’s dangerous, isn’t he?”
I don’t answer. I can’t . Not without unraveling everything.
There’s so much I want to say—about the contract, the threat, the way Konstantin makes my chest ache even when he’s nowhere near. But how do I explain any of that without destroying Julian’s sense of safety?
“I just want you to be safe,” he says. “And honest. With me, at least.”
Before I can respond— footsteps .
Heavy. Unhurried. Controlled.
Julian sits up straighter.
And then Konstantin steps onto the rooftop, all crisp lines and quiet authority.
He doesn’t speak at first—just takes in the scene, the telescope still aimed at Betelgeuse, the scattered mugs of tea, the blanket around my knees.
Then he lifts a hand. Not casual. Respectful.
Julian rises to his feet.
They shake hands—firm, steady. Man to man.
“Julian Marquez,” he says, “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Konstantin Belov. Bella’s husband.” A pause, then with the faintest hint of a smile: “And yes, to answer your question—this is indeed a crime family.”
His eyes flick briefly to mine—just a heartbeat of contact—but it’s enough to send my pulse racing like I’ve run a marathon.
Just like that, eleven days of absence collapse into nothingness, and I’m back where I started—drowning in blue.