Chapter Seventeen
Stella
My fingers tremble over the name in my contacts.
The screen’s glow illuminates Nick’s restless form on my couch, his face twisted even in sleep. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his face is gaunt — evidence of days without proper food or rest.
“What choice do I have?” I whisper to Boyana, her imagined presence a comfort in the pre-dawn darkness. “There isn’t anyone else who can help.”
Nick whimpers, curling tighter into himself. The sound pierces my heart, reminding me of when we were children and he was afraid of thunder. Now the storms are of his own making, but my need to protect him hasn’t changed.
Dammit!
I pull up my last text exchange with Gianni. Four weeks of unanswered messages from him, each more desperate than the last. My thumb hovers over the call button.
Nick mutters something in his sleep — a name that sounds like “Aleksei.” His hands clutch at the throw blanket, knuckles white with tension.
“I know you’d tell me I’m crazy,” I say to Boyana. “But what’s worse — asking my cheating ex for help, or letting Nick face the Russian mafia alone?”
The first rays of sunrise creep through my apartment windows, painting Nick’s troubled face in shades of gold. He looks so young, so vulnerable. The weight of his stolen money sits heavy in my chest.
My phone feels like lead in my hand. Gianni’s smirking contact photo stares up at me, a reminder of every lie, every secret he kept. But I don’t know anyone else with that kind of cash.
Nick thrashes, nearly falling off the couch. The movement startles me. I press the call button before I can change my mind.
Each ring feels like a knife twisting in my chest. One. Two. Three. My free hand presses against my stomach, trying to contain the nausea that rises with each electronic tone. The memory of that woman’s voice on his phone — “Leave my boyfriend alone” — echoes in my head.
I almost hang up on the fourth ring. This is insanity. After everything he did, after walking in on him half-naked with that girl on his balcony…
“Stella?”
My breath catches. His voice, that familiar Italian lilt, sends a wave of conflicting emotions through me — rage, hurt, and grief at the loss of what we had.
“I knew you’d call eventually, cara .” The smugness in his tone makes my teeth clench. “Finally ready to be reasonable about-?”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharply. Nick stirs on the couch, and I lower my voice. “I’m not calling about us.”
“No? Then why break a month of silence?”
I grip the phone tighter, hating how easily he can still get under my skin. The urge to hang up nearly overwhelms me.
For Nick.
Do it for Nick.
“I need…” The words stick in my throat. Asking Gianni for anything feels like swallowing glass. “I need your help.”
His laugh, low and knowing, makes my skin crawl. “Now this is interesting.”
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on Nick’s sleeping form rather than my revulsion at what I’m about to do. “I need to borrow three hundred thousand dollars.”
The silence on the other end stretches until I wonder if the call dropped. Then Gianni’s laughter erupts, sharp and mocking.
“Have you been drinking, cara ?”
“I’m serious.” My fingers dig into my palm. “I’ll sign whatever papers you want. Set up a payment plan—”
“Three hundred thousand?” His voice drips with condescension. “And what could my perfect, proper Stella do with that kind of money? Finally developing expensive tastes now that you’ve thrown away the real thing?”
“It’s not for me.” The words scrape my throat. “It’s for—”
“Ah, let me guess. Your junkie brother finally crawled out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in?”
My stomach lurches. The casual way he mentions Nick tells me he knows more than he should.
“How did you-?”
“Please, cara .” I can picture his dismissive hand wave. “You think I don’t know exactly what kind of trouble little Nico’s gotten himself into? Who do you think has been watching him dig his grave deeper and deeper?”
The implications hit me. Gianni knows about Nick’s theft. About Aleksei Tarasov. About all of it.
“You’ve known this whole time?” My voice shakes. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Why would I?” His tone turns sharp. “You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me. Besides, your brother made his choices. Let him face the consequences.”
I sink to the floor, phone pressed to my ear. The pieces click together — Nick’s nervousness whenever Gianni was around, the way he’d dodge questions about work. He didn’t want me to know what they were up to.
“How long?” The words barely make it past my lips.
“Months.” Gianni’s voice holds no sympathy. “Your precious brother has been skimming money, thinking he was so clever. As if nobody would notice.”
My chest feels too tight to breathe. “And you just… let him?”
“I was curious how far he’d go.” Gianni’s tone turns cold. “But then he got greedy. Started stealing from Tarasov directly.”
The name sends ice through my veins. Even half-asleep on my couch, Nick flinches at the sound.
“Aleksei Tarasov doesn’t forgive, cara .” Gianni’s words carry weight I hadn’t felt before. “He doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t show mercy. Your brother is already dead — he just doesn’t know it yet.”
The gravity of Nick’s situation crashes over me.
“Please.” The word tastes like acid. “He’s my brother. I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Gianni’s voice drops lower, intimate in a way that makes my skin crawl. “That’s quite an offer, cara . Especially from someone who wouldn’t even return my calls.”
I press my forehead against my knees, fighting back nausea. “This isn’t about us, Gianni.”
“No? Then what is it about? Your junkie brother who chose drugs over attending your parents’ funerals?”
The jab hits its mark. Nick’s absence at both services still aches like an open wound. But I can’t let Gianni’s cruelty distract me.
“Name your terms.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Interest rates, payment schedule, collateral—”
“Oh, Stella.” His laugh cuts deep. “You think I want your money? What could you possibly offer that would be worth three hundred thousand?”
“Then what do you want?”
“Maybe I want you to beg.” The words slither through the phone. “Maybe I want you on your knees, admitting how wrong you were to walk away.”
My stomach heaves. “Fine.” I swallow hard. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left. Is that what you need to hear?”
“It’s a start.” His satisfaction burns. “But words are cheap, cara . I need something more… substantial.”
“Like what?”
“Come to dinner tonight. Just you and me. We can discuss proper… repayment terms.”
The implication in his voice makes my hands shake. But Nick’s life hangs in the balance.
“What time?”
“Ten o’clock. My place.” Gianni’s voice carries the same commanding tone he used during our engagement. “Don’t be late.”
I rub a hand over my forehead. “Ten it is.”
“Wear the black dress. The one from Milan.”
My throat tightens. He means the designer dress he bought me — the one that fits like a second skin. Of course he’d want that specific reminder of when I belonged to him.
“And cara ?” His voice drops lower. “No underwear.”
Bile rises in my throat. “Is that really ne-?”
“Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”
Shit.
“Fine.” The word comes out roughly.
“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
I close my eyes, picturing Nick’s haunted face. “Yes. Whatever you want.”
“That’s my good girl.” The praise makes my skin crawl. “Ten o’clock. Don’t disappoint me.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. My phone slips from numb fingers, clattering on the hardwood floor.
The sound of my phone hitting the floor makes Nick stir. I quickly wipe my eyes, but when I turn, he’s already sitting up, watching me with that haunted look I’ve come to hate.
“Who was that?” His voice is rough from sleep.
“No one important.” I force myself to stand, my legs shaky. “Just following up on a lead for the money.”
Nick’s eyes narrow. Even strung out and exhausted, he catches the tremor in my voice. “Stella, what are you planning?”
“Nothing.” I busy myself straightening the throw blanket, avoiding his gaze. “You should try to get more sleep. You look terrible.”
“Don’t change the subject.” He grabs my wrist as I pass, his grip desperate. “I heard you mention three hundred thousand. Where are you getting that kind of money?”
I gently extract my hand from his grasp. “I told you I’d handle it.”
“Not if it means putting yourself in danger.” His face crumples. “This is my mess. I can’t let you—”
“We already discussed this. I’m not letting you deal with this alone. You said yourself, Tarasov won’t hurt me.” The name feels heavy on my tongue. “And I’m not watching you die because of your own stupidity.”
“But—”
“No buts.” I cut him off, channeling our mother’s stern tone. “I have connections from my event planning. People who owe me favors. Just… trust me, okay?”
The lie tastes bitter, but it’s better than telling him I’m crawling back to Gianni. There’s no need for him to know the real price of his salvation.
Nick’s shoulders slump with visible relief, and he pulls me into a tight hug. “I don’t deserve you, sis.”
The embrace that should feel comforting now makes my skin crawl. Every point of contact reminds me of Gianni’s revelations — months of theft, deliberate deception, choosing drugs over our parents’ funerals. My brother held these secrets while I planned both services alone.
“You’re right,” I murmur into his shoulder, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “You don’t.”
He stiffens slightly, but seems to take it as sisterly teasing rather than the accusation it is. When he pulls back, his smile is grateful and innocent — the same expression he used to give me when I’d cover for his teenage mishaps with our parents.
How many other lies has that boyish face hidden?
“I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow,” he says, squeezing my hands. “Once this is all over, I’ll get clean. For real this time. No more schemes, no more—”
“Save it.” I extract my fingers from his grip, unable to bear another false promise. The clock on my wall shows 8 AM — fourteen hours until I have to face Gianni. My stomach churns at the thought of what “making it up to me” really entails.
Nick mistakes my nausea for doubt about his promises. “I mean it this time, Stella. You’ll see. Everything’s going to be different.”
I turn away, pretending to straighten the throw pillows so he won’t see my expression. His words echo Gianni’s countless apologies after I caught him cheating — more pretty lies from men I trusted. The black dress hangs in my closet like a sentence, waiting to be served.
And I feel like the proverbial lamb being led to the slaughter.