Chapter Eighteen
Stella
My hands won’t stop shaking as I apply another coat of mascara. The wand slips, leaving a black smudge under my eye.
“Damn it.” I grab a tissue, dabbing at the mark while my reflection stares back with haunted green eyes. The tissue crumples in my fist. My stomach churns with anxiety about facing Gianni again.
I lean closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the concealer under my eyes. The dark circles refuse to disappear completely, thanks to my sleepless night spent watching Nick toss and turn on my couch. My only remaining family member and I barely recognize him anymore.
The lipstick tube rattles against the counter as I pick it up. Deep breath. Steady hands. I trace the rich burgundy across my lips, the color bold and defiant. Let Gianni see what he lost. Let him think I’ve moved on, that I’m strong enough to face him without breaking.
My phone buzzes with a traffic alert. Construction on Wilshire. Accident on Santa Monica Boulevard. My carefully planned route dissolves into a maze of red lines on the map.
The lipstick clatters into the sink as panic spikes through my chest. Gianni’s timeline was explicit. Being late isn’t an option, not with Nick’s life hanging in the balance.
The drive takes forever, and by the time I arrive, I have minutes to spare. My heels echo through the foyer. Two minutes left by the time I reach his front door.
“You can do this,” I whisper, channeling Boyana’s steady voice in my head. I smooth my hair, squeeze my eyes shut, and then knock on the door.
The door swings open. My carefully rehearsed speech dies in my throat.
Gianni stands there completely naked, his olive skin gleaming in the dim light. That familiar smirk plays across his lips as his hazel eyes rake over me.
My body goes rigid. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp as understanding crashes through me. This was never about money. This is about power. About humiliation.
“Come in, cara .” His voice carries that silky tone I once found endearing. Now it makes my skin crawl. He steps back, giving me an unobstructed view of his sculpted body. “We have business to discuss, no?”
I can’t move. My fingers dig into my purse strap as he reaches for my arm.
“What’s wrong? You’ve seen it all before.” His gold-flecked eyes glitter with cruel amusement. “This is the price of my help. Take it or leave it.”
He adjusts his signet ring, a casual gesture I’ve seen a thousand times. The familiar motion in this twisted context makes bile rise in my throat.
“Did you really think I’d just give you the money?” His perfect teeth flash. “Everything has a cost, bella . You know how this works.”
I force my eyes up to his face, refusing to let his nakedness intimidate me. “This isn’t necessary, Gianni. We can discuss terms like business people.”
“Business?” He laughs, the sound echoing through his marble foyer. “What do you have to offer besides your body, cara ? Your event planning skills?”
“I can work for you. Pay it back with interest.” My voice stays level despite the tremor in my hands. “Set up meetings, handle logistics—”
“I have people for that.” He steps closer, backing me against the doorframe. His cologne — that expensive scent I used to love — fills my nose. “But you… you have something unique to offer.”
I press my palms flat against the wall behind me. “Name your interest rate.”
“So practical.” His fingers brush my cheek. I jerk away from his touch. “But I’m not interested in money. You know what I want.”
“There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” He traces the neckline of my blouse. “One night. That’s my price for saving your precious brother.”
Shit.
I think of Nick sleeping on my couch, haunted and hunted. Of the Bratva’s reputation for creative violence. Of the debt that could get us both killed.
“Tick tock, bella .” Gianni’s voice hardens. “The offer expires in thirty seconds. Then your brother’s fate is sealed.”
“Three hundred thousand dollars is worth this much to you?” My voice cracks.
“Your humiliation is priceless.” He chuckles. “Choose now. Your body or your brother’s life.”
My mind races, searching for any leverage. “I’m not on birth control anymore.” The words tumble out in desperation. “After everything… I stopped taking it. You know what that could mean.”
Gianni’s smirk widens as he leans closer, his naked body radiating heat. “Even better. A baby would tie you to me forever, cara . Make you dependent on my generosity.”
My stomach lurches. The casual cruelty in his voice strips away any lingering doubt about the man I almost married.
“Though if you prefer…” His fingers trail down my arm. “We can explore other options. Ways that won’t risk pregnancy but will still satisfy my terms.” He lifts his hand, tracing a fingertip over my bottom lip before sliding it past into my mouth.
Oh fuck, no!
I press harder against the wall, trying to maintain distance as his meaning sinks in. Even my last attempt at control has backfired, giving him more ammunition instead of protection.
“The clock is ticking, bella .” His hand settles on my hip. “Which will it be?”
“Fine,” I say hoarsely, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Come on. You’ve done this before,” says Boyana, ever pragmatic.
“Get on your knees, cara .” Gianni’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He gestures to the floor in front of him, his smooth hair falling across his forehead.
Just get it over with!
I lower myself slowly, my skirt grazing the floor at my knees.
I can do this. It’s just a body, just a task to complete. But my hands tremble as I slide my hands up his thighs, still struggling to believe this is happening.
“Hurry up.” Gianni’s impatience is clear as he pushes my shoulders, urging me down. “Your sweetness will only get you so far. I’m not a patient man.”
Oh, God.
I close my eyes, steeling myself as I curl my fingers around his shaft. But it’s not enough to blunt the reality of what I’m doing.
He’s already half-hard, and as my grip tightens, he hisses, his cock twitching to life against my palm. Pulling in a deep breath, I part my lips and take the tip into my mouth.
His fingers tangle roughly in my hair as I begin, holding me in place. I gag, unused to the depth of his insistence. He makes a satisfied sound deep in his throat as I pull back to breathe.
“That’s it, dolcezza .” His praise does nothing to ease the humiliation burning my cheeks. “Just like you used to.”
I try to focus on the sensation, to play the game he wants. But I can’t separate myself from the degradation of being on my knees in front of him. It feels like every single cell in my body is screaming in protest.
“Suck harder, amore mio .” His grip tightens in my hair. “Use your tongue like you mean it. You remember how.”
My eyes spring open at the flash of memory — Gianni’s eyes closed in pleasure, his hands gentle as he touched me. But that was before, when I trusted him. When I believed in our future.
Now, I’m just another item to be used in his portfolio of possessions. My teeth graze him lightly, and he curses, his hips jerking.
“Faster.” His voice grows ragged. “Suck it like you want it, Stella.”
The sound of his demand spurs me on, instinct taking over as my movements become more desperate. I want this over. I want to get Nick and myself out of danger forever.
My mind is blank as I focus on the rise and fall of my mouth, the wet sounds punctuating Gianni’s harsh breathing. His grip tightens on my hair, guiding me with a demanding rhythm as he thrusts into my mouth.
I gag again, my throat protesting the pace. Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t stop, my jaw aching as I keep going. I will not give him the satisfaction of my resistance.
The hand on my head relaxes slightly, giving me a second to breathe. I use the opportunity to reach down, cupping his balls with my left hand while my right continues to stroke.
His breath hitches as I lightly scrape my nails against the sensitive skin of his scrotum. “Don’t stop sucking, dolcezza .” His voice holds a warning.
Obediently, I increase the pace of my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip, tasting the salty musk of his excitement. My right hand moves faster, mimicking the bob of my head.
His hips jerk suddenly, and I gasp as he fills my mouth, the warm liquid coating my tongue. I swallow, suppressing my reflex to gag, my eyes squeezed shut as I endure the bitter taste.
Oh God, I’m going to be sick!
I’m going to throw up all over him!
I think of scientific formulas, neurotransmitter pathways, anything to stay disconnected from this moment.
“That’s my good girl.” His voice turns silky again as he frees my hair from his grasp. “You do still love me. Admit it.”
I pull back, my lips sliding off him with a final slurp. His fingers linger on my jaw for a moment, tilting my face up to his.
“No.” I spit the word at him, repulsion sharpening my tone. “This isn’t love. It’s a trade.”
His dark eyes narrow, and I see the spark of irritation in their depths. He straightens, dismissing my words with a shrug.
“Call it what you want, dolcezza .” He smirks. “You can get up now.”
Staggering to my feet, my legs carry me to his marble bathroom. The door slams shut behind me. The sound breaks something inside me.
I hit my knees in front of the toilet, my body convulsing as I retch. The taste of bile fills my mouth. Tears stream down my face, ruining my careful makeup. My silk blouse sticks to my clammy skin.
My hands shake so badly I can barely hold my hair back. Another wave of nausea hits. I heave until there’s nothing left but bitter acid burning my throat.
I push myself up from the cold tile floor, legs trembling. The faucet squeaks as I turn it on full blast. Water splashes over my hands, but I can’t get them clean enough. I scrub until my skin turns raw.
My reflection shows mascara tracks down my cheeks. I grab one of Gianni’s pristine white hand towels and scrub violently at my face, satisfaction flaring as my lipstick and foundation stain the expensive fabric.
The taste of bile lingers. That, and something else that makes me dry-heave yet again. I squeeze toothpaste directly into my mouth, swishing it around before spitting.
Not enough.
I do it again. And again. My gums start bleeding from how hard I’m scrubbing with my finger.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
“The money’s on the kitchen counter, cara .” Gianni’s voice carries through the wood. “Unless you’d like to stay for round two?”
My stomach heaves again but there’s nothing left to bring up. I grip the edge of his marble sink, forcing air into my lungs.
The transaction.
Focus on the transaction.
Take the money and get out.
I splash more water on my face, straighten my blouse, smooth my hair. My hands won’t stop shaking as I reach for the doorknob.
Just get the money.
Just get the money.
Just get the money.
The mantra repeats in my head as I force myself to open the door and face him again.
I keep my eyes fixed on the black leather bag sitting on Gianni’s kitchen counter, refusing to acknowledge his presence or the weight of his stare.
Deep breath.
The hard part is over.
Take the bag and escape.
“Aren’t you going to count it, bella ?” Gianni’s voice drips with amusement. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m cheating you.”
My stomach turns at his choice of words. The bag sits there like an accusation, proof of what I’ve done. What he made me do. The leather gleams under his recessed lighting, expensive and pristine like everything else in his world.
I reach for the bag with unsteady fingers, its weight substantial and damning. The metal clasp feels cold as I clutch it to my chest, using it as a shield between us.
Three hundred thousand dollars. The price of my dignity. The cost of my brother’s life. Each stack of bills inside represents a moment I’ll never be able to forget, no matter how hard I try.
The bag threatens to slip from my sweaty grip. I adjust my hold, pressing it tighter against my body as if I could somehow hide from the reality of what it represents. Without another word, I grip the leather bag and bolt for the door.
“Drive safely, cara .” His mocking voice follows me out.
I slam the door behind me, cutting off his laughter. My legs carry me to the elevator on autopilot. Avoiding the mirror on the back wall, I stare at my feet until the doors open.
The parking lot feels endless as I run through it. Each step sends shooting pain through my feet as my heels twist and my ankles wobble, but I don’t slow down. The bag bounces against my ribs as I race to my car, a damning reminder of what just happened.
My hands shake so badly I drop my keys twice before managing to unlock the door. I throw myself into the driver’s seat and hit the lock button repeatedly, the clicking sound oddly reassuring in the silence.
The leather bag slides into my lap. I grip the steering wheel, pressing my forehead against my tightly curled knuckles. The familiar smell of my car — vanilla air freshener and coffee — wraps around me like a security blanket.
For the first time since entering Gianni’s apartment, I let myself breathe.
Really breathe. The sobs come without warning, ripping through my chest in harsh, ugly sounds that echo in the confined space.
I curl forward, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could physically hold the pieces together.
It takes several long minutes before I can pull myself together enough to start the car and drive away.
The streetlights blur through my tears as I navigate away from Gianni’s building. My hands won’t stop shaking on the steering wheel. The bag of cash sits in my passenger seat like a dark presence, each bump in the road making it shift and remind me of its existence.
A horn blares. I jerk the wheel, realizing I’ve drifted into the next lane.
Focus.
You need to focus.
Nick is waiting. Nick needs this money. He can never know how I got it.
The thought of telling him makes bile rise in my throat again. How could I explain? “Here’s the money, by the way, I blew your former friend to save your life.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Nick.
“You ok? Been gone a while.”
I pull over, unable to text and drive with my trembling hands.
“On my way. Got the money.”
The reply comes instantly:
“You’re the best sister ever. I don’t deserve you.”
A harsh laugh escapes my throat, the sound foreign and broken. He has no idea what those words mean now. What they cost.
I pull back onto the road, mechanically following the familiar route home. The city lights swim through my tears, but I blink them away. I can’t let Nick see me cry. Can’t let him suspect.
This burden is mine alone to bear.