Chapter 30 Stefan
STEFAN
What the fuck did I just do?
I can’t believe the things that came out of my mouth. Toxic shit, unforgivable shit. Irreversible shit.
Naive.
Stupid.
Weak.
I sink back onto the sofa and drop my head into my hands.
I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single goddamn word.
The truth is so much worse than what I said. The truth is that, when I look ten years into the future, Olivia is always there. Standing beside me. Arguing with me. Challenging me. Making me better than I have any right to be.
Of course I want to marry her.
I want to bind myself to her in every way possible.
Legal. Emotional. Permanent. I’ll tattoo her name on my skin.
I’ll cuff my wrist to hers and throw away the fucking key.
I want her name next to mine on documents.
I want her in my bed every night for the rest of my life.
I want to watch her belly swell with our child and know that she’s mine, that we’re building something real.
I push off the sofa and head for the door. I need to find her so I can fall to my knees and grovel for her forgiveness.
The hallway is empty. I take the stairs two at a time, heading for her room. When I reach her door, I knock.
“Olivia.”
No answer.
I try the handle. Locked.
“Olivia, please. I need to talk to you.”
Still nothing. Not even a sound from inside.
“I didn’t mean what I said. Any of it. I was... Fuck, I was angry about something else and I took it out on you.”
Heartbreaking silence.
I press my forehead against the door. “Please. Just let me explain.”
I can feel her on the other side of the door, but she’s not going to open it. Not tonight.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I wait another minute. Then two. Nothing changes. Finally, I force myself to step back. She needs space. Time to process. The chance to decide if what I said is forgivable.
I head downstairs, my chest tight with regret.
The house is quiet. I check my watch. Nearly midnight. I should go to bed, but sleep feels impossible right now. As if he can sense my need to sink my teeth into something tangible, my phone buzzes with a call from Taras.
I answer. “What?”
“We got into the house.”
I stop walking. “And?”
“She’s gone. Place was empty. Looks like she cleared out in a hurry, though. Left food in the fridge, clothes in the closet.”
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. “How long ago?”
“Hard to say. Could be hours. Could be days.”
“She knew we were coming.”
“Looks that way.”
I lean against the wall and close my eyes. Of course she did. My mother has always been three steps ahead. She’s had fifteen years to perfect the art of disappearing.
“Keep looking,” I tell Taras. “Check her known associates. Anyone she might run to.”
“Already on it. I’ll call you if we find anything.”
He hangs up. I stand there in the hallway, phone in hand, frustration building in my chest like pressure in a sealed container.
My mother is out there somewhere. Planning. Scheming. And now, she knows about the baby.
Because Olivia told her.
No. That’s not fair. Olivia didn’t know any better. She saw a woman who claimed to be a victim of abuse and she believed her. Because that’s who Olivia is. She sees the best in people. She trusts. She hopes.
All the things I called her stupid for.
I pocket my phone and head outside. The night air is cool against my skin. I walk through the garden, letting the darkness wrap around me.
That’s when I see her.
Babushka sits on the stone bench near the fountain, the chessboard set up in front of her. She’s arranged the pieces for a new game, white on her side, black on mine.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
She looks up and pats the bench beside her. “I don’t do much of that anymore. Here, come, sit.”
I do. The stone is cold through my pants.
“You look troubled, Stefushka.”
I don’t even bother denying it, which goes to show just how fucked up my head is right now. “I said something I shouldn’t have. To Olivia.”
“Ah.” She moves a pawn forward. “What did you say?”
“Things I didn’t mean. Cruel things.”
“And have you apologized?”
“She won’t talk to me.”
Babushka nods. “Then you will have to try again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”
I move my own pawn to meet hers. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”
“Then you will have learned an important lesson about the consequences of your words.”
We play in silence for a few moves. The fountain burbles behind us, a constant, soothing sound.
“Do you remember the year you lived with me?” Babushka asks suddenly. “Before you left for Russia?”
“Of course.”
“You were so angry then. So lost.” She captures one of my pawns. “I worried about you constantly. That anger came so close to consuming you, so many times.”
“It nearly did.”
“But it didn’t. You found a way forward.” She meets my eyes. “You can do it again.”
I move my knight. “It’s different now.”
“Because of her?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She smiles. “That means you’re finally learning.”
I look down at the board. “My father loved my mother. Look where that got him.”
“Your father loved the wrong woman.” Babushka moves her bishop. “There is a difference.”
“How do you know Olivia is the right woman?”
“Because she makes you want to be better. You know your voice changes when you speak of her? Stefan, for goodness’ sake, you’re sitting here in the garden at midnight, agonizing over hurting her.” She arches back to give me a careful look. “What does that tell you?”
We play a few more moves. I’m losing, but I don’t care.
“What happened while I was in Russia?” I ask. “With the Bratva, I mean.”
Babushka’s hand pauses over a piece. “That’s ancient history. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about it lately. About Vasily. About how things fell apart.”
She moves her rook. “Your uncle kept me at a distance. He said I was too hard on him.”
“You were hard on everyone.”
“True.” She smiles. “But Vasily was particularly sensitive. He didn’t like being questioned.”
“What about his relationship with Mikhail?”
She looks up sharply. “Mikhail?”
“Iakov’s father. They were close, weren’t they?”
“At first, yes. Very close. Closer than Vasily and Matvey ever were. Closer than you and Taras, even.”
“What changed?”
“I don’t know exactly. But toward the end, there was tension. Vasily wouldn’t tell me what it was about.” She moves another piece. “But whatever it was, it ran deep.”
“Deep enough for Mikhail to turn on him?”
“I don’t think Mikhail turned on anyone. He was loyal to the end.” She pauses. “He was a good man, Stefushka. Whatever you think of him.”
“He was a fucking traitor,” I snarl. “Just like Vasily.”
“It’s not always quite that simple, my boy.”
I sit back, processing what she’s saying. Mikhail and Vasily. Brothers in everything but blood. Until something drove them apart.
And then Mikhail killed himself rather than face what I would do to him.
Or did he? What if my mother got to him first? What if she convinced him to take his own life to protect someone? His son, maybe?
The pieces are starting to fit together, but I’m still missing the full picture.
“Check,” Babushka says.
I look down at the board. My king is cornered.
“You weren’t paying attention,” she chides.
“I was thinking.”
“Thinking will not save your king.” She moves her queen. “Checkmate.”
I study the board. She’s right. There’s no way out.
“I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself,” she offers with a wry grin.
“No. I need to make some calls.”
She sighs. “You work too much, Stefushka.”
“I know.” I stand and kiss her forehead. “Thank you for the game and for the conversation.”
“Go fix things with your woman,” she advises. “Before you lose her, too.”
I head back inside, pulling out my phone as I walk. I’ve decided on one thing: I definitely need to talk to Iakov. Face to face. Whatever happened between his father and my uncle, he might know something. Or at least point me in the right direction.
Somewhere in there is the key to understanding what happened. And once I understand, I can finally end this.
I just hope it’s not too late.