63. Chapter 63
63
Konstantin
T he helicopter lands just after sunset. I cut through the gardens, avoiding the main entrance. Less chance of questions. Less chance of having to explain where I’ve been for eleven days.
Not that I need to explain myself to anyone. This is my house. My family.
Except it doesn’t feel that way anymore. Oleg’s updates have continued daily—the children’s schedules, their activities, their meals. Hearing about my own home like I’m some distant relative. A fucking spectator to my own life.
The wind picks up as I climb the stairs to the rooftop observatory. Alya begged for it last year—something about becoming an astronaut-princess. Cost nearly half a million to install the professional equipment. Worth every cent when I saw her face.
I pause at the door, hearing voices. A male laugh—deeper than Nikolai’s. Julian. And then her voice, soft with just an edge of steel. Bella.
Eleven days.
I push open the door. The night air hits my face, carrying the salt from the ocean. The sky above is clear, stars spread across black velvet. Perfect visibility. The rooftop is designed to maximize the view, with glass barriers that don’t obstruct the horizon.
They don’t notice me at first. Julian stands tall—taller than I expected—with his back straight and shoulders set. Protective. The stance of someone who’s had to be the man of the house too young. I recognize it because I lived it.
Bella sits on one of the loungers, wearing a light blue dress that makes her eyes look like the deepest part of the ocean. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, moving gently in the wind. She’s… glowing. There’s no other word for it. Something about the starlight catches on her skin, making her look ethereal.
For a moment, I just watch them. Brother and sister. The family they built without parents. The bond forged in that absence.
Then Julian turns, sensing my presence. His posture shifts instantly—spine straightening, chin lifting. The universal stance of a young man trying to prove something.
I cross the distance, stopping a few feet away. Extend my hand.
“Julian Marquez,” I say, keeping my voice even. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Konstantin Belov. Bella’s husband.” I pause, noting the wariness in his eyes. What the hell. Might as well address the elephant on the roof. “And yes, to answer your question—this is indeed a crime family.”
His eyes widen, but to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he takes my hand, his grip firm.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he says, with just enough emphasis on ‘finally’ to make his point.
I deserve that.
“I apologize for not being here when you arrived,” I tell him. “Business has been… complicated.”
“Seems to be going around,” Julian says, glancing at his sister.
Bella looks away, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. The silence stretches uncomfortably.
“I hear you’re excelling at Blackwood,” I say, changing the subject. “Top of your class in Physics and European History. And the soccer team’s new forward, correct? Coach Richards thinks you might be their ticket to championships this year.”
Julian blinks, clearly surprised. “You know about that?”
“Of course. I receive weekly reports.”
“Reports?” Bella echoes, looking between us.
“Standard procedure,” I shrug. “I like to know what happens in my household. That includes academic achievements and extracurricular activities.”
“You didn’t tell me Julian was playing soccer,” Bella says, her voice carrying a hint of accusation.
Julian shifts uncomfortably. “It just happened last week. Haven’t had a chance to mention it.”
Another silence falls. This one heavier.
“Well,” Julian says, dragging the word out, “I should probably check on Lila. Make sure she’s not teaching Alya how to pick locks or something.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is lock-picking one of her talents?”
“Among others. Our father was paranoid about home security. Taught us both.”
I file that information away. Useful skills in this family.
Julian turns to Bella, bending to kiss her cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” His eyes carry a message I can’t decipher. Something just between siblings.
Bella nods, squeezing his hand.
“Tomorrow, then,” I say, watching as he heads for the exit. “And Julian—if you’d like to continue soccer professionally, I know several excellent coaches in Europe. Just say the word.”
He pauses, looking back at me with a mix of confusion and intrigue. “I’ll… keep that in mind. Goodnight.”
The door closes behind him. Leaving just us.
Bella and me.
Eleven days of absence crystallized into this moment.
She stands, smoothing her dress. The fabric catches the starlight, shimmering like water. It clings to her curves in a way that feels unintentional and deliberate all at once. The wind tugs at her hair, pulling strands across her face. There’s something different about her. Beyond the glow. A new strength in the set of her shoulders. A challenge in her eyes.
“I should go too—”
“Stay.” It comes out more command than request. I soften it. “Please.”
Her eyes narrow, but she remains standing. “Why? You made yourself pretty clear last time.”
“Bella—”
“Eleven days, Konstantin. Not a word. Not a text. Nothing. Now you show up dropping truth bombs about your ‘crime family’ to my teenage brother?”
“He asked.”
“And you just answered? Just like that?”
I move to one of the telescopes, adjusting it absently. Buying time. “He deserves honesty.”
“Unlike me?”
Her question hangs in the air. Sharp-edged and cutting.
I look at her—really look at her. The wind tugs at her hair, pulling strands across her face. The dress shifts against her skin, the hem catching on her thigh as she shifts her weight. There’s a fire in her eyes now. A steel edge that wasn’t there before.
“I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Why did you come here, then?” Her chin lifts. She’s still standing, but there’s a slight shift in her posture, a tightening of her jaw, a clench of her fists. A readiness for whatever bullshit excuse I’m about to give.
Because Tatiana is meeting my father tonight. Because the succession ceremony is in six days. Because something is happening beneath the surface of this family, and I can’t see it clearly. Because I’ve thought about you every day for eleven days, and it’s driving me fucking insane.
I say none of that.
Instead, I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small velvet box.
“I brought you something.”
Her gaze drops to the box, then back up to me. “What? A muzzle?”
“No,” I say, stepping closer. “A bracelet.”
I open the box. A delicate chain of silver, a single dark stone set in the center. It glints, catching the starlight. Inside the stone, a minuscule tracker—the kind you’d need a microscope to find. I force myself to keep my expression neutral.
“For you,” I say, and before she can answer, I take her wrist. Her skin is warm, soft, and she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.
The clasp clicks into place. My fingers linger, just for a second. I can feel her pulse, quick and erratic, just beneath the bone. A pulse I can now trace if anything goes wrong. If she disappears again.
“Why?” she says, voice low. “Why now?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Instead, I brush my thumb over her wrist, feeling that thin line of her vein, that fragile, thrumming life beneath my touch.
She pulls away.
“Right. The contract.” Her voice goes flat. “How convenient to remember just when you need to smooth things over.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not interested in your gifts, Konstantin. Or your games.”
“It’s not a game.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “No? Then what is it?”
I step closer, the bracelet still in my hand. “Let me at least put it on you.”
“Why? So you can disappear again tomorrow? So you can pretend this night never happened, just like the kiss?”
Despite her words, she doesn’t back away when I move into her space. Close enough now to smell her perfume—something light and floral that makes my chest ache with a feeling I don’t want to name.
“Give me your wrist,” I say, softening my voice.
For a moment, I think she’ll refuse. But then she extends her arm, her expression defiant even in compliance.
I clasp the bracelet around her slender wrist, my fingers lingering against her pulse point. Her skin is warm, soft. I’ve forgotten how small she is compared to me. How delicate she seems despite the fire inside her.
“There,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “It suits you.”
She looks down at the bracelet, then back at me. This close, I can see the faint freckles across her nose. The exact shade of her lips—pink like the inside of a seashell.
“I’m not a doll you can dress up,” she says, but her voice has lost some of its edge. “You can’t give me crumbs and expect me to fall for you, then pull away again. I’m not your toy, Konstantin. I’m not something you can pick up and put down whenever it’s convenient.”
Her words hit harder than they should. Because they’re true.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t know. Because I can’t say what she wants to hear.
She steps closer, and it’s like she’s looking through me, right into that black, empty space where my heart should be.
“You keep acting like you don’t care. Like this is all business. But you know what I think, Konstantin? I think you don’t even know your own damn heart.”
“Bella—”
“You don’t know what you want, so you push and pull and play goddamn mind games. You can’t even admit that you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then what is it like? Explain it to me.”
How do I explain what I don’t understand myself? This pull toward her that defies every rule I’ve set. The need to protect her from a world she doesn’t fully comprehend yet. The war between what I want and what I need to be.
“Complicated,” I finally say.
She steps back, breaking the spell. “Not good enough.”
“Bella—”
“No.” She shakes her head, the bracelet catching starlight as she moves. “I deserve better than ‘complicated.’ I deserve better than disappearing acts and expensive apologies. I deserve the truth.”
Truth. Such a dangerous concept in my world.
“The succession ceremony is in six days,” I say, offering a piece of the puzzle. “After that, everything changes. My position. My responsibilities. The targets on all our backs.”
“And that justifies ghosting your own family? Hiding from your children? From me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? You? Because that’s the only threat I’ve faced since that kiss.”
The wind picks up, carrying the distant sound of waves against the cliffs below. The stars above us seem impossibly bright, witnesses to a conversation that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
“Maybe you’re right,” I admit. The words taste foreign on my tongue. Vulnerability isn’t my native language. “Maybe I was protecting myself.”
Her eyes are still daggers, still firing like she’s ready to draw blood. There’s no softening. If anything, her jaw tightens, her chin lifts—like she’s daring me to contradict her.
I step closer again, unable to help myself. “The contract was never supposed to be… this.”
“This?” she echoes.
“Real.”
The word hangs between us, as fragile and dangerous as a live wire.
She looks at me for a long moment, something shifting in her eyes. Then she steps back, shaking her head.
“Well, you got what you wanted, then. It’s not real. It’s a business arrangement with benefits when you feel like collecting.”
She turns, moving toward the exit. The blue dress flutters around her legs, catching the wind.
“Don’t walk away from me,” I say sharply.
She stops but doesn’t turn. “Why not? You did.”
“That was different.”
Now she does turn, her eyes blazing. “How? How was it different?”
Because I’m not used to feeling this way. Because I’ve spent my entire life building walls, and you walked through them like they were nothing. Because when I kissed you, I forgot who I was supposed to be.
But I don’t say any of that. The words stick in my throat, casualties of a lifetime of trained restraint.
“Goodnight, Konstantin,” she says when I don’t answer. “Enjoy the stars.”
She walks away, her back straight, her steps measured despite the slight limp. Not running. Not rushing. Just… leaving.
I could stop her. One word from me would do it.
But I let her go.
The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a gunshot.
I’m left alone on the rooftop, surrounded by stars and silence, holding nothing but questions with no answers.