Chapter Twenty
Stella
My hands tremble on the steering wheel as I approach the towering iron gates of Blackwood Manor.
The security booth’s harsh spotlights illuminate my face, making me squint. The guard’s expression remains impassive as I roll down my window.
“I have an urgent delivery for Mr. Tarasov.” My voice wavers despite hours of practicing this line in my car. “Time-sensitive materials.”
The guard’s eyes narrow. “Name?”
“Stella Fer- uh, Verona,” I say, remembering my brother’s instructions to go along with his alias. I grip the black bag tighter on my lap.
He speaks into his radio in rapid Russian. My heart pounds as I catch fragments — words that remind me of childhood in St. Petersburg before everything changed. Before Dad…
“ID,” he demands.
I fumble with my purse, dropping my wallet. “Oh… oops,” I mumble. “Sorry. I could have sworn that I had it in here.” I fumble some more, the guard growing increasingly impatient.
Finally, I emerge holding a card embossed with balloons and clowns. The name “Miss Stella Bear” is printed in the middle.
“Gosh, I can’t find it. Will this do?” I ask him meekly. “It’s from the foundation I work for.”
“Stella Bear?” He stares at me.
“It’s a children’s foundation,” I say. “For kids with severe diseases.”
The guard studies me while I fight to keep my breathing steady.
“Purpose of visit?”
“Like I said, an important delivery that can’t wait until morning.” I force confidence into my tone. “Mr. Tarasov is expecting it.”
Another burst of Russian into his radio. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the evening chill.
The guard’s stony expression doesn’t change as he hands back the card. “Follow the main drive. Park in front of the right wing. Don’t deviate from the path.”
The gates slide open on oiled tracks, barely making a sound. I edge my car forward, hyperaware of the security cameras tracking my every move. The winding driveway seems endless, manicured hedges looming on either side like prison walls.
Two identical buildings emerge from the darkness — one gleaming white and modern, the other more traditional with stone facades. The right wing blazes with light, every window a reminder that I’m walking straight into the den of the man who wants my brother dead.
I park where instructed and then get out of the car, trying not to cringe at how it sticks out like a sore thumb alongside the rows of Bentleys and Ferraris already parked there.
The stairs to the front doors are lit up. A red carpet is set down the middle, leading up to wear a burly man is standing with a clipboard.
Shit.
Gathering my wits, I head toward him, trying not to trip up the stairs. His eyes run over my simple black dress and plain black court shoes.
God, why didn’t I dress up?
It’s not like I haven’t attended events like this before. Although I have to admit, this shindig is next level.
“Name?” he says, glancing down at the board.
“Um… Stella,” I say. “I- I’m not on the guest list. I’m here to deliver a package.” I nod down at the bag. “They called ahead from the security gate?”
His eyes narrow. “Service entrance is ‘round that way.” He jerks his head to the right, where a path leads to a side door.
Geez.
“Oh. Right. Of course. Silly me.” I turn awkwardly and scurry toward the door, my cheeks flaming as a gathering on the landing watches me.
There’s another guard at the service entrance who listens as I go through the story again.
“Through the side entrance, and then off to your left,” he says as I sign in. “There’s a room there. Someone will meet you to take you to Mr. Tarasov. Keep it short. He’s busy tonight.”
“Of course,” I murmur before making my way through the door. A short corridor leads through to an empty room with a desk on one side and two doors leading out. I wait there for a couple of minutes, my nerves stretching thin.
“What are you waiting for, idiot?” Boyana asks.
“Screw it,” I mutter, then open one of the doors. My head spins as I step into a cacophony of sound. I’ve walked straight into the heart of the party.
I weave through the crowd, clutching the black bag to my chest like a shield. The glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos make my simple black dress feel like a cleaning lady’s uniform. A woman in a red Valentino gives me a dismissive once-over before turning back to her champagne.
“Excuse me… pardon me…” I murmur, dodging waiters with silver trays. The opulent ballroom seems endless, a maze of crystal chandeliers and marble columns. My practical court shoes squeak against the polished floor.
“You don’t belong here,” Boyana whispers. “Everyone can tell.”
“Shut up,” I mutter under my breath. A nearby couple gives me an odd look.
The scent of expensive perfume is overwhelming, making my head spin. Or maybe that’s just anxiety. I spot what looks like a quieter hallway and make a beeline for it, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere.
I’m so focused on my escape that I don’t notice the woman in front of me.
I stumble and time slows as my shoulder collides with her, the wine glass in the woman’s hand tilting at a deadly angle.
“Blyat!” The shriek pierces my eardrums as red wine blooms across pristine white silk. “You stupid little suka ! Do you know how much this Balenciaga costs?”
I step back, horrified, as the statuesque woman rounds on me. Her grey eyes flash with cold fury, perfectly manicured hands clawing at the spreading stain.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Who let this clumsy peasant in here?” She switches to rapid Russian, drawing a growing circle of onlookers. “Security! Get this woman out of here immediately!”
My cheeks burn as whispers ripple through the crowd. The black bag feels like it weighs a ton against my chest as I try to back away.
“Look at her — must be staff,” someone mutters.
“Probably drunk,” another adds.
The woman in the ruined dress advances on me, her voice rising to a screech. “You’ll pay for this, you little—”
“Sofia.”
The deep voice cuts through the chaos like a knife. The crowd parts instantly, revealing a tall figure in an impeccably tailored black suit.
My heart nearly stops.
Oh.
My.
Fuck.
It’s him. The stranger from the charity event. The man I spent that anonymous night with.
What the hell is he doing here?
“Aleksei!” the woman says sharply. “Can you believe what this stupid bitch just did to my dress?”
My heart rate screeches to a rapid halt.
Aleksei?
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit!
Him! The man from the charity event. The one I had the best sex of my life with… is Aleksei Tarasov.
The man who wants to kill my brother.
“Talk about sleeping with the enemy,” says Boyana.
I can’t find words. Not even to shut up my imaginary sister. So, I say nothing. Just stand there like an idiot.
His dark eyes sweep over me with no hint of recognition, but my body remembers his touch with devastating clarity. The same broad shoulders that loomed over me that night. The same strong hands that…
“Sofia.” His voice carries the same commanding tone that made me shiver before. “You’re making a scene.”
“But Aleksei, look what she—”
“Enough.” Just one word, but Sofia’s mouth snaps shut. “Go change. Now.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then thinks better of it. With a final venomous glare at me, she storms off, trailing the scent of wine and Chanel No. 5.
The crowd disperses quickly, no one wanting to attract his attention. My legs won’t move. I’m trapped in his gravitational pull, just like that first night.
He studies me with cold calculation, so different from the heat in his gaze when we-
No.
Don’t think about that.
“You’re not staff.” It’s not a question. His accent wraps around the words like smoke.
“N-no.” My voice comes out embarrassingly weak. “I have a delivery for you.”
One dark eyebrow rises slightly. “Through the main ballroom?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I got lost.”
His eyes narrow, head tilting slightly as he examines me. Is there a flicker of recognition? Does he remember anything about that night?
“It was weeks ago, Stella,” says Boyana. “He’s probably fucked fifty other women since then.”
The black bag feels like it’s burning against my chest. Inside is the money that could save Nick’s life — or end mine if Aleksei Tarasov decides he doesn’t like how this is laying out.
We stand in charged silence, the party continuing around us like we’re in our own bubble. Just like that night. Except now I know he’s the monster my brother is running from.
“Come with me.” He turns and starts walking, clearly expecting me to follow.
I force my shaking legs to move. What choice do I have?
I follow him down a dimly lit corridor, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Each step takes us further from the party’s noise, but my pulse refuses to quiet. I cling to the bag like it’s a life preserver. In a way, it is.
“In here.” He opens a door to what appears to be a study, gesturing for me to enter first.
The room smells of leather and cedarwood — just like that night. I dig my nails into my palms, forcing those memories away.
“Explain.” He moves behind a massive desk, leaving me standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“My brother, Nick — Nico Verona…” My voice catches as his expression hardens at the name. “He made a terrible mistake. The money he took — I have it here.” I lift the bag slightly. “All of it.”
Aleksei’s jaw tightens. “Your brother?”
“Yes. Please, he’s all I have left. Our parents just died, and he’s…” I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. “He wasn’t thinking clearly. The drugs, the gambling — I know it’s no excuse, but—”
“Stop.”
His command freezes the words in my throat. He stands, moving around the desk with predatory grace. My body remembers that walk, the way he stalked toward me that night before…
Focus, Stella!
“You’re telling me,” he says, stopping inches away, “that you’re Nico Verona’s sister?”
The heat radiating from his body makes it hard to think. “Yes. And I brought the money. Every cent he took. Please, just let him—”