Chapter Sixteen
Stella
The pounding jolts me from a fitful sleep.
My hand automatically reaches for my phone to check Hannah’s usual late-night return time. But this isn’t Hannah’s playful tap-tap rhythm. This is something else — aggressive, demanding, almost threatening.
My heart races as I push myself up from the couch where I’d fallen asleep after a mindless Netflix binge. My sleep patterns have been totally screwed up since Mom went.
The knocking continues, each impact making the door frame shudder.
“Hannah?” My voice comes out small, uncertain. No response, just more pounding.
I wrap my arms around myself, the thin silk of my pajamas offering little protection against the sudden chill. The clock on the microwave blinks 3:47 AM.
The pounding stops abruptly. In the silence, I hear heavy breathing on the other side of the door.
My fingers tremble as I reach for the deadbolt. Common sense screams at me to call the police, but something else — maybe exhaustion, maybe grief-induced recklessness — pushes me forward.
I turn the lock and open the door a few inches, the security chain pulling taut with a metallic rattle.
“Hello, sis.”
The stale smell of sweat and cigarettes hits me before I fully process Nick’s appearance. My baby brother — the one who used to steal my lip gloss and tease me about my science magazines — looks like he’s aged ten years in the month since Mom’s funeral.
“Nick?” My voice cracks. His usually styled hair hangs in greasy strands, dark circles carved deep under bloodshot eyes. The designer clothes he took such pride in are wrinkled and stained.
“Let me in.” His words slur together as he glances over his shoulder, body twitching with nervous energy. “Please, Stels.”
I fling the door open and reach for him but he flinches away, head snapping toward the stairwell. The movement reveals fresh bruising along his jaw.
“What happened to your face?”
Another panicked look down the hallway. “Just — I need to get inside. Now.”
The fear in his voice triggers every protective instinct I have. I grab his arm and yank him through the doorway, his body trembling under my grip.
I guide Nick to the couch, his body collapsing into the cushions. His hands won’t stop shaking as he accepts the glass of water I press into them.
“Start from the beginning.”
“I messed up, Stels. Really messed up.” Nick’s words tumble out between gulps of water.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. “Mom—”
“I know about Mom,” he says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but I was worried that if I was near you…” He trails off.
“For God’s sake, Nick, tell me what the hell is going on!”
“I… got in with some bad people. Thought I could handle it, you know? Quick money, easy job.”
I perch on the coffee table across from him, studying him. He’s a mess. “What kind of job?”
“Weapons. High-end stuff. Military grade.” He runs trembling fingers through his matted hair. “Your ex helped set it up.”
“Gianni?” The name hits hard, even though I’d told myself I’d put that behind me. “What do you mean he helped set it up?”
“He knew I needed cash. Said it was foolproof — just move some merchandise, take a cut.” Nick’s laugh comes out hollow. “Didn’t mention who it belonged to.”
“Who?”
Nick’s voice drops to a whisper. “Aleksei Tarasov.”
The name sends a chill down my spine, though I’ve never heard it before. Something in the way Nick says it, like speaking it might summon death itself.
“He runs everything, Stels. The whole LA underground. Bratva. And I…” Nick swallows hard.
“What the hell did you do, Nick?” I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly.
He licks his lips. “I… I cooked the books.”
“You what???”
His throat works. “I found a way to skim from the deals by adjusting the figures.”
My heart almost stops. “Oh, my God, Nick!” I rub my eyes, trying to process this. Without realizing it, I’m on my feet, stumbling to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” he calls after me.
“Need something to clear my head…”
This can’t be real. Maybe I’m still asleep on the couch, dreaming that my estranged fucking brother just returned from God only knows where to tell me he’s a criminal.
“He deserves everything he gets,” says Boyana.
“Let’s hear him out,” I mutter under my breath. My hands shake as I measure coffee grounds into the filter, trying to process Nick’s words. Bratva. Russian mob. My little brother got mixed up with the actual Russian mob.
“It was supposed to be simple.” Nick’s voice drifts from the living room. “Move the merchandise, take a cut. But then I saw how much cash was involved…”
I focus on the familiar motions — filter, grounds, water. The coffee maker’s gentle gurgle provides a surreal soundtrack to this nightmare.
“Gianni said the payment would be in cash. Old school, you know?” Nick continues. “When I saw all those stacks just sitting there…”
The rich scent of brewing coffee fills the kitchen as I grab two mugs from the cabinet. One still has a chip from when Hannah dropped it last week. Such a normal, mundane detail in this insane situation.
“How much?” I pour the coffee with unsteady hands, not sure I want to hear the answer.
“Three hundred thousand.”
The mug slips from my grip, shattering on the tile floor. Hot coffee splashes my bare feet, but I barely feel it.
“Three hundred…” My voice fails. “Nick, tell me you didn’t…”
“I couldn’t help it, Stels!” He jumps up from the couch, pacing like a caged animal. “Do you know what I could do with that kind of money? Get clean, start fresh somewhere else…”
I stare at the broken ceramic scattered across my kitchen floor. Three hundred thousand dollars. From the Russian fucking mob. The kind of people you see in movies or newspaper headlines.
“Where’s the money now?”
Nick’s silence tells me everything.
“You spent it already.” It’s not a question. I know my brother too well.
The broken mug forgotten, I grab Nick’s arm and yank up his sleeve. Track marks pepper his skin like angry constellations.
“You promised me you were clean.” My voice shakes.
“I tried, okay?” He jerks away, rubbing his arm. “But life got complicated, and I needed something—”
“ Something? You needed drugs and gambling while I planned two funerals?” The rage builds, hot and fierce in my chest. “Where were you when I had to identify Dad’s body? When I sorted through Mom’s clothes?”
Nick shrinks back. “Stels—”
“Don’t ‘Stels’ me! I called you every day. Every single day, Nick!” My fist slams against the counter. “But you were too busy shooting up and pissing away stolen money to answer?”
“You don’t understand—”
“Understand what? That my little brother chose drugs over his family? That he’d rather gamble with mob money than help me figure out who killed our father?”
Nick’s face crumples, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his cheeks. “They’re going to kill me.”
The raw terror in his voice stops my next accusation cold. His hands shake as he wraps his arms around himself, looking so much like the little boy who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.
“Tarasov doesn’t forgive theft,” he whispers. “They already…” His fingers brush the bruising on his jaw. He doesn’t need to elaborate.
“Tarasov’s a really bad guy, Stels. The worst of the worst.”
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck!
I want so badly to tell him to get lost. To kick him out and let him sort out his own shit. But instead, the anger drains from me, replaced by an icy fear. Nick might be a mess, might have made horrible choices, but he’s still my brother. Still the only family I have left.
I pace the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken mug and spilled coffee. Each turn brings me past the family photos on the fridge — Mom, Dad, Nick, and me at graduation. Happy, whole, alive. Now I’m the only one left standing.
“They sent someone to my digs yesterday.” Nick’s voice cracks. “I barely got out. Had to climb down the fire escape in my boxers.”
My fingers curl into fists. “And you led them here?”
“No! I made sure…” He swallows hard. “I took back streets, doubled back. But they’ll find me eventually. Tarasov’s people are everywhere.”
“What people exactly?” I stop pacing, studying Nick’s battered face.
“Russian enforcers.” Nick’s eyes dart around the kitchen like he expects them to materialize from the shadows. “They have this system — tattoos that show rank. The guy who came for me? His whole chest was covered. Said he’d cut out my tongue first, then—”
“Stop.” I press the heels of my palms over my eyes, trying to think. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“There is no place safe!” Nick waves his arms, knocking over his untouched coffee. “You don’t get it — these aren’t street thugs. They’re organized, professional. They have connections everywhere — police, government…”
“Jesus,” I whisper.
“You have to help me, Stella. Please.” His voice is colored with desperation.
“And just how do you propose that I do that?” I snap.
“I… I thought that maybe…” His lips pinch together. “You have a good job, make decent money. Maybe you have some cashed saved, and you could go to him and—”
“What?” I half-yell, my temper shooting through the roof. “You want me to clean out my savings and go to negotiate with some fucking mafia boss?”
“Bratva,” he corrects me. “They’re Russian, not Italian.”
“Jesus Christ, Nick! I don’t fucking care!” I scream at him.
Someone next door thumps on the wall and yells at us to keep it down.
I lower my voice. “You said yourself how dangerous this guy is. And you want me to go there? To haggle with him?”
“He wouldn’t hurt you, sis.” Nick shakes his head. “It’s me he wants. And if you take cash and tell him you’ll pay him back…”
“I can’t fucking pay him back!” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“What about the estate… didn’t we get… an inheritance?” My brother shifts awkwardly.
I stare at him, aghast. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“He’s a businessman, Stella,” he goes on, ignoring me. “He wouldn’t screw up a deal just to make a point.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Maybe if you met him somewhere public and explained things…”
I sag against the kitchen counter trying to process all that I’m hearing. “What could possibly be public enough to keep me safe from this guy.”
“A party,” Nick says eagerly, latching onto what he thinks is me considering doing this thing. “He’s having a big party in a couple of days. Everyone will be there. If you went in to talk, he could hardly do anything in front of everyone, right?”
I shake my head. This is insane. Absolutely insane.
Partly because I’m actually starting to think about doing it.
“Okay, tell me more,” I hear myself saying.
“Are you completely nuts?” Boyana’s voice echoes around my mind.
I pull out my phone while Nick rambles on about the party, my fingers trembling slightly as I type “Aleksei Tarasov” into the search bar.
The results make my stomach clench. News articles about weapons trafficking investigations that mysteriously disappeared. Business profiles highlighting his legitimate ventures — real estate holdings, tech investments, private security firms.
“He’s not like other Bratva bosses,” Nick says, peering over my shoulder at where I’m scrolling through a news feature. “Most of them are old school thugs, but he’s different. Smart. Ruthless.”
“Says here there’s rumors he exiled his own father,” I mutter, scanning an article. “Took over the organization at twenty.”
“They’re not rumors. Anyone who crossed him disappeared.” Nick’s voice drops.
I click through more articles, each one painting a clearer picture of calculated violence wrapped in a veneer of legitimate business. The man operates with surgical precision, whether he’s funding a new tech startup or eliminating rivals.
An idea starts forming, dangerous and probably stupid. But looking at my brother’s bruised face, I realize I don’t have many options.
“The party,” I say slowly. “You said everyone will be there?”
Nick nods eagerly. “All the major players. It’s like this annual thing he does — shows off his power, makes deals…”
“Okay,” I exhale the word, already feeling doom descending as I say it.
“You’ll do it?” Nick’s eyes are wide.
“Not for you,” I say grimly. “For Mom. And Dad.”
My brother finally has the good grace to look shamefaced. “I’m so sorry, Stella. If I could have done things differently…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just trying to protect you.”
“Save it,” I say darkly. There really isn’t any point in going down that road now.
Nick nods once quickly. “You’re right. I get it.”
“You don’t, actually. But right now, we have bigger things to worry about.” I turn away from him, my mind racing. Because getting into the lion’s den isn’t the only problem I’m facing right now.
I still need to find the money.
And there’s only one place I can think of to get it.