Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Elena
"Mommy, I had a nightmare."
"Mommy, what are you doing?"
Stella's voice—so soft, so innocent—pierced through the panic in my chest like a sharp needle. She stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, wearing her favorite teddy bear pajamas. I rushed to her side, crouched down, and pulled her tightly into my arms.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here." My voice sounded calm, pretending nothing had happened. "They were just playing around. Let's go back to your room and sleep, okay?"
Stella yawned and lifted her little face to look at Igor and Marco. Her gaze swept over Marco's bruised and battered face, words forming but never spoken.
I looked at Igor with pleading eyes, hoping he would stop. In that moment, time seemed to freeze. This man who had just used violence and desire to dominate me—his expression finally shifted under my gaze.
"Mommy... were they fighting? Did Uncle Marco lose?" Stella asked curiously.
"No. Your mommy's right—we were just playing around." Igor's voice was still low, but that savage edge had been dulled. He used the blade to cut through the silk scarves binding Marco.
Then Igor whispered something in Marco's ear. I could read his lips.
"Get out."
Those two words carried actual force in the room.
Marco's body stiffened for a second. He turned to look at me, and I could see his jaw clenched tight.
"Elena." He spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Marco, go." I interrupted him, my voice soft.
Complex emotions flashed in his eyes—anger, resentment, pain. He looked at me deeply, then at Stella, before slowly standing and stumbling toward the door.
I didn't watch Marco's retreating figure. I just took Stella's hand and used my body to shield her view.
"Let's go, baby," I said gently to Stella.
I led my daughter back to her room. I knew I needed to get her to sleep, and then—then I needed to face that man.
After Stella lay down in bed, I tucked her in. Her eyes were growing heavy again.
"Mommy, he's the one who was watching me in the kindergarten garden. He really looks like a giant. So you know him, right?" she asked with that pure innocence only children possess.
A giant. My throat tightened.
"Yes, he's an old friend of Mommy's." I answered almost mechanically, gently stroking her forehead. "Now close your eyes and sleep. Mommy's right here."
She didn't ask anything more. That's how children are—no matter how strange everything around them seems, as long as their mother is beside them, the world feels safe.
I sat beside her for ten minutes until her breathing became steady and deep, then quietly left the room. When I returned to the master bedroom, Igor was still there. He was cleaning up the mess on the floor—the shattered lamp, the torn silk scarves.
"What the hell do you want?" I asked. My voice wasn't as steady as I'd hoped. In fact, it sounded like shattered glass—sharp and fragile.
"What do you want to ask?" He turned to look at me, his eyes bright. But his tone was calm, as if nothing had happened between us. "Why I'm here? Why I followed you? Why I can't let you go? Why I did this to you?"
"Five years. You never once tried to find me, and now you suddenly appear in my life like some psycho, rape me, and beat up Marco." I heard myself say. "I want answers to all these questions. All of them."
He walked toward me. Each step was slow, each step deliberate. Like a predator approaching its prey, but this time, I didn't run. This was my home. I had nowhere left to run.
"After that engagement banquet," he began, "I've been looking for you, Elena. But you vanished without a trace."
I sensed something shift. There was something broken in his tone—something I'd never heard before.
"I didn't marry Natasha. The moment you left, I immediately called off the engagement between the Vorontsov family and the Ivanov family."
I laughed coldly. "You think I'd believe that? Igor, you got engaged to her on Christmas night, in front of everyone. You think a few words will make me believe you called off the engagement?"
"Everything I'm saying is true." He took another step forward. "After the engagement banquet, I tore up the marriage contract in front of both families. For five years, I've used every resource to find you, searched all over Europe."
I crossed my arms, said nothing. I didn't believe a powerful crime family would have such difficulty finding one person.
"You don't believe me?" Seeing my defensive posture, he smiled bitterly. "Someone covered your tracks, and this is Italian mafia territory. I—"
"Enough." I cut him off, my voice cold. "Even if all that's true, so what?"
The truth about all this didn't matter anymore. It wouldn't change my attitude toward Igor. There was no possibility left between us.
"What?"
"I said I don't care about any of this anymore. Don't care whether you looked for me or not." I heard my own voice, calm, but I could feel my resolve wavering. I was angry, yes. I'd been hurt, yes. But I could also feel something I didn't want to acknowledge stirring in my chest.
"Why?"
"Because you—" My voice began to shake. "You abandoned me. You betrayed me. I don't love you anymore."
"Don't love me? Then who do you love? That bastard Marco?
You once told me you'd only have children with a man you deeply loved.
So you were already in love with Marco back then, weren't you, Elena?
You were fucking in love with him five years ago?
" Igor roared, his voice filled with disbelieving pain.
"You dare bring up five years ago, Igor?" I laughed coldly. "Isn't all of this your doing? Who I love has nothing to do with you. Whose child I have has nothing to do with you."
My lungs felt ready to burst. How dare he question me from such a high horse?
Igor seemed struck by my words. He staggered back two steps.
"You can't do this to me, Elena."
"Why not? Only you get to trample on other people's feelings without consequence?" I laughed mockingly.
"I didn't." His expression was guilty. "I just... I didn't realize you were the most important thing to me. I've always loved you, Elena!"
"Loved me? Then where were you when I needed you most?" My voice rose.
"I was looking for you!" His voice went hoarse. "I checked every airport, every place you might have gone!"
"But you didn't find me!" My voice was trembling too. "Because you didn't try hard enough! Because in your heart, power was always more important than me!"
"No!" He grabbed my shoulders roughly. "It wasn't like that, Elena!"
"Let go of me!" I pushed him hard. "So what gives you the right to question my relationship with Marco? What gives you the right to question whose child Stella is? What right do you have?"
"Because you said you loved me!" he roared.
"That was before you betrayed me!" I screamed. "Before you chose another woman! Before you destroyed everything we had!"
"I never chose her!" Igor's voice was full of despair. "The engagement banquet was a mistake—the biggest mistake of my life!"
"Stop talking. I don't hate you, Igor." I closed my eyes, not wanting to continue this pointless argument. "But please don't disturb my life anymore."
"No..." His voice suddenly became very soft. "No, Elena. I won't allow it. I won't agree to that."
His voice changed. Something shattered in his tone.
I opened my eyes only to find this cold, ruthless man was crying.
Tears slid silently down his sharp cheekbones, glistening in the light. His deep green eyes were full of pain—pain so raw, so naked, it made my breath catch.
He seemed unaware he was crying, still talking. "I won't agree to it, Elena. You can't do this to me. I've been looking for you for five years. I think about you every day. I—"
His voice broke, and only then did he raise his hand to touch his face. When his fingers met the wet tears, he froze.
I was stunned too, unable to believe what I was seeing. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to soften toward him. But my legs seemed to have a mind of their own, keeping me rooted in place, watching him cry like a broken man.
"Damn..." His voice trembled as he tried to wipe away the tears with the back of his hand, but they kept flowing. "Damn..."
My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. This man never showed weakness, never exposed vulnerability, but now he was breaking down in front of me.
I couldn't help myself. I reached up and grabbed his tie, making him bend down. Then I stood on my tiptoes and found the tears on his face with my lips. I kissed away the tears on his cheeks, kissed away the thing that was breaking inside me.
I could feel his body stiffen under this kiss, then he kissed my lips with desperate hunger, taking control. Everything he'd suppressed for five years exploded in that moment. My tongue ached from his intensity.
"I don't care if you kissed me out of pity or whatever else," he said quietly when our lips parted. "I'm going to pretend you still love me."
I wanted to deny it. I could feel reason screaming, telling me this was crazy, dangerous, the very thing I'd been trying to protect myself from for five years. But my body was betraying me.
My heart was racing. My skin craved more touch.
My lungs were sending signals to my brain that this man's presence made me feel alive.
But his violent behavior these past few days made it impossible to just forgive him—he'd stalked me, sent those sick emails and photos, dragged me into his car and violated me, ignoring my fear and panic.
"Maybe," I heard myself admit. "But there's no possibility left between us."
He laughed. It was a low, joyful sound.
"No possibility?" He lifted my chin with his finger, forcing my eyes to meet his. "Soon you'll find out whether there's a possibility or not."
"Igor—"
"Starting tonight, I'm staying here."
"What?" My body went rigid. I stared at him in shock. "What gives you the right? This is my home!"
"You and the child need protection." His tone was like it had already been decided, like I had no choice. "The security here is pathetic. You can sleep in the bedroom. I'll take the couch."
"No. Absolutely not." I tried to step back, but his hand was still locked around my waist. "I'm perfectly safe here. There's no danger. The only possible source of danger is you!"
"Good thing you know I'm a dangerous man. So you definitely can't refuse." He paused, letting the weight of those words settle on me. "Don't think about running, Elena. You can't escape me."
After speaking, he released me and walked toward the living room. I watched him sit on the couch, leather creaking softly.
I stood there for a long while. I wanted to storm into the living room and throw him out, but in the end I just locked the door. Turned off the lights, got into bed. Because too much had happened today—I had no energy left.
I lay in the bedroom darkness, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had just happened. I could hear movement from the couch. He was there, just on the other side of this wall. I knew he wasn't sleeping either.
My brain told me how wrong this all was.
A man who five years ago had made me the other woman, who had betrayed me, had tonight forcibly assaulted me in front of my childhood friend, and now he was casually lying on my living room couch, ensuring I couldn't escape his control.
Even crazier—he was actually Stella's biological father. ..
This was insane. My mind stayed active until I heard the movement from the couch stop. I heard his breathing—deep and rhythmic. I wasn't sure if he was asleep. But I was exhausted. In that moment, I allowed myself to close my eyes and sink into sleep.
Before I knew it, morning light was filtering through the curtain gaps.
When I walked out of the bedroom, I saw he was already awake. Those deep green eyes locked onto me the instant I appeared. Even after five years apart, I could still feel that magnetic pull.
"Good morning." He sat up on the couch. His hair was tousled, his upper body bare, the double-headed eagle tattoo on his chest bold and commanding.
I could feel my face heating up.
"Morning." I nodded at him flatly, pretending everything was still under control.
Stella's door opened at that moment. She appeared in the living room, rubbing her eyes. When she saw Igor in the living room, she shyly hid behind me, only poking out her little head to observe him.
Igor crouched down. The gesture made him seem gentler.
"Good morning, Stella," he said. "My name's Igor."
Stella looked at him with that honest directness only children have.
"This is the first time I've seen your face clearly," she announced.
"Yes," he agreed. "But I'm not scary, am I?"
My heart tightened, unexpectedly curious about Stella's answer.
Stella stepped right out from behind me, giving me her response. She pointed at the tattoo on his chest with her little finger.
"Igor, is that a bird?"
I saw Igor's body tense. This was the Bratva symbol, the mark of his identity and power. And my five-year-old daughter was pointing at it with pure, innocent curiosity.
"It's a double-headed eagle," he answered in a gentle, patient voice. "But it's kind of like a bird."
Stella reached out her small hand and touched his tattoo with her fingertip.
In that moment, I felt something. The power of blood.
This was what I'd been denying for five years, but now, watching my daughter approach this man with such natural ease, I couldn't deny it anymore.
This was his daughter. This was the connection between them.
Even though he'd never known, even though this connection had never been acknowledged in her life, it was there—in her blue eyes, in her stubborn expressions, in her inexplicable trust of this strange man.
While my thoughts churned, Igor stood up.
"I'll make you breakfast." I heard Igor say with that infuriatingly confident tone.
This was going to be a disaster. This man in his custom suits—his knowledge of kitchens probably came entirely from movies.
I was right. He tried to make Russian pancakes, but I heard the pan's harsh sizzling—the kind that meant he'd just made some catastrophic error. When I finally couldn't help walking into the kitchen, I saw a completely ridiculous scene.
This tall, tattooed man was wearing a pink apron, flour covering his face and hair. In the pan before him, what might once have been a pancake had become charcoal.
"Are you trying to burn down my kitchen?" I said sharply, snatching the spatula from his hands.
Watching his large frame fumbling awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him try to hide a sheepish smile... even though I acted annoyed, it made something inside me soften.
Not good. This was very not good. But I couldn't stop it.