Chapter Forty-Six
Aleksei
I lie beside Stella.
The faint scent of her shampoo mixes with the lingering traces of our shared heat. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, each touch stirring something unfamiliar inside me. Normally, I’d be gone by now, the walls rebuilt, the distance restored. But tonight, I can’t seem to move.
“This was… amazing,” she begins softly, her voice hesitant.
“ Da ,” I reply, an unfamiliar softness edging my tone.
Silence settles between us, but it’s not the awkward kind I’m used to. It’s… comfortable. Almost peaceful. I stare up at the ceiling, the shadows dancing with the faint light filtering through the curtains.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says, but there’s a question in her words.
“I know,” I murmur. Yet I make no move to leave.
She turns her head to look at me, those striking green eyes searching mine. “Then… why are you still here, Aleksei?”
Good question. One I don’t have an answer for. Or perhaps I do, but admitting it feels dangerous. Uncomfortable.
I let out a slow breath. “You make it… different.”
“Different how?” There’s genuine curiosity in her voice.
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t talk about my past. Not with anyone.”
She rests her chin on my shoulder, her gaze unwavering. “And why is that?”
A part of me wants to shut this down, to seal off the vulnerable parts and fortify the barriers. But another part, one that’s grown louder since she came into my life, pushes against that. “My childhood was… not ideal.”
She waits, patient, not pushing.
“My mother,” I begin, the name catching in my throat. “She disappeared when I was ten. One day she was there, singing me lullabies. The next, gone without a trace.”
Stella’s fingers grow still on my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“My father… Rodion, was a vicious man. A drunk.” The memories surface bitterly. “He took his anger out on me. Beatings were… frequent.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “That’s horrible.”
I shrug, a habitual gesture to mask the old pain. “Diana tried to protect me when she could. Being twins, we looked out for each other.”
“Diana,” she repeats. “You’re close?”
“She’s the only family I have left,” I say simply. “And Bobik, of course.” I smile at the thought of him, even though so many things about his existence are not ideal. But I love my son. I’ll never stop loving him. And I’ll move mountains to make sure he gets what he needs.
“He’s a great kid.” Her lips curl into a smile, though her eyes are still teary. “I bet you were too.”
I shake my head. “I was angry. Very angry.”
“Who could blame you?” She turns her head to look at me more clearly. “To go through all of that… it must have been tough.”
“It’s what I put others through that was the problem.” I stare up at the ceiling thinking back to a time when I forged my path in blood.
“You were a boy, Aleksei. You can’t be blamed for doing what you needed to survive.”
I shrug a bit. “I wasn’t afraid of blame. I loved it. The violence. The power. Eventually, the beatings stopped — my father knew it was just a matter of time before I killed him.”
She shudders against me.
“It is the way of my world, Stella. The weak make way for the strong. My father was weak. When I turned twenty, I had enough. Exiled the bastard. Took control of everything he had. Made it a part of my empire.”
She lays a gentle hand on my cheek. “You were so young.”
“A man grows up fast in the Bratva,” I reply, the hardness creeping back. “There’s no room for weakness.”
She hesitates for a moment. “And your mother? You never found out what happened?”
I shake my head, the familiar ache settling in. “ Nyet. She was just… gone.”
Stella cuddles closer, offering warmth without words. It’s strange, this comfort.
“And that’s why you were so close to your sister. Still are?”
“ Da ,” I say. “She’s always been there. Acts like my mother sometimes. At least tries to.” I shake my head, my smile wry. “The irony is that the one person in the world who dares tell me what to do is just a mere woman.”
“Hey. Don’t underestimate the strength of a woman.” Stella nudges me. I look into her eyes, realizing that there’s an unspoken strength there too.
“You’re right,” I acknowledge. “There is a depth to women that few men can understand. When I saw Olga with Bobik, I could only admire how tireless she was. She never gave up hope for him.”
“Olga… his mother?”
“Yes. She passed recently. Cancer.” I swallow hard as I think of the loss my child has had to face on top of all his challenges. Sometimes the world seems so fucking unfair.
“Oh, that poor kid.” She looks stricken. “Losing a parent is the worst kind of pain. Especially this early.”
We’re both silent for a moment, processing this.
“What happened to him?” she says, breaking the silence. She rests her chin on my chest. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I pull in a deep breath. I might as well tell her. She’ll find out eventually anyway.
Eventually?
How long do you think she’ll be around, mudak?
I push the thought away. “It was an accident. When he was born. The doctor fucked things up. Damaged his spinal column during delivery.” I grit my teeth. “He was drunk.”
She sucks in a breath. “Oh my God. You mean… he would have been normal if it hadn’t happened?”
My jaw clenches. I nod silently, not trusting myself to speak. The things I want to say about that cunt shouldn’t be said in front of a lady.
“Was there ever any recourse?” she asks. “Were you able to file a malpractice suit or something?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. They denied everything. Remember, this happened in Russia. Facts can just… disappear over there.” Just like humans. I know this more than most.
“That must have been… frustrating,” she says.
“Yes,” I scoff. “You could say that.” I stare up at the ceiling again. “But in my world, there are ways of settling scores.”
She sucks in a breath. “You mean-?”
“It’s not important.” I clear my throat. “What about you? Your family?”
There’s an uncomfortably long pause as I look down at her. She’s pinching her lips together, and I sense that she has secrets of her own to keep.
“You might not believe this, but I’m… well,” she hesitates as if looking for the right words. “I’m actually Russian,” she finishes quickly, as if she’s telling me this against her better judgment.
I shoot a surprised look at her. “Russian? Ty russkiy? ”
Well fuck.
Although, now that I think about it, there’s something in the carefully precise way that she speaks that hints at an accent. I simply hadn’t identified it.
She nods. “We were never supposed to talk about it.” Her expression dims. “We fled when I was seventeen. It was so sudden. One day, I was planning for university; the next, we were on a plane to Los Angeles.”
“Why did you leave?” I ask, intrigued.
She bites her lip. “My parents wouldn’t tell me. Just that it wasn’t safe anymore.”
I shift slightly, pulling her closer up against my side. I like how she feels against me. I like it too much. “Must have been difficult.”
“Yeah,” she admits. “I was angry for a long time. Confused. But I tried to trust that they were protecting us.”
“What happened after you arrived?”
“We settled in. Got into a routine. My brother and I got drilled taking English lessons. I could never understand why my dad was so nuts about the way we spoke. It was like we had to give up everything we ever were and become something completely new.”
“ Blyad. Sounds tough.” I could never deny my heritage that way. Being Russian defines me. I don’t say this out loud.
She heaves a sigh. “It was. But we had no choice. It was how things had to be. Anyway, it was ten years ago. Another life. We learned to adapt.”
“I can see that,” I say. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be Russian. “And now? Your parents? Are you close?”
A shadow crosses her face. “They’re gone.”
I furrow my brow. “ Izvini . I’m sorry, zaychik ,” I say, feeling a strange urge to comfort her. I pull her closer.
Her breath shudders out. “It wasn’t that long ago.
Only been a few months. First, my father in an accident.
At least that’s what the police said it was.
My mother swore there were men who came for him, but they wouldn’t investigate further.
It broke her. Losing him. Not having them believe her.
It was too much…” Her voice trails off. “She took her own life,” she whispers.
I feel a pang of something — regret, perhaps. “You were alone.”
She gives a small nod. “It was… hard. My brother disappeared, and I was left to piece things together on my own.”
Fuck.
I never realized she’s gone through all of this. I tighten my arm around her instinctively. “You’ve been through a lot.”
She looks up at me, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I suppose we both have.”
For a moment, we simply absorb each other’s presence. Two souls bearing scars beneath the surface.
I find myself speaking again. “You say you are Russian. And your brother. Nico…” I frown, remembering the cocky little fuck who thought he could steal from me. “He’s not Italian? Nico Verona?”
She shakes her head, her hair soft on my chest. “That’s not his real name. He’s Nick. Nick Fermont.”
I stiffen as she says it. For more than one reason. First, because I’ve always just assumed that the woman carrying my child is Stella Verona. And second, because…
“Your name is Stella Fermont?” My nerves are beginning to string tight.
“Mmm-hmmm,” she responds, her palm warm on my chest. “Although before we left Russia, it was Larkina. My father’s name was Tomas Larkin. He was a doctor.”
My blood feels like it has turned to ice in my veins.
Jesus…
Blyad!
“A doctor,” I echo. “And the police wouldn’t investigate.” It’s not a question. I know they didn’t because I paid for the case to go away.
“No. They wouldn’t.” Her voice cracks.
Fuck.
Motherfuck!
I can feel it as the color drains from my face. The air seems to thicken until breathing starts to feel like dragging concrete through my lungs. This woman… The one who is carrying my child. The one who is inching her way into my world in a way that I can’t comprehend…
I had her father killed.
I’m the reason that her mother took her own life.
I’m the cause behind her pain.
I dip my head and brush my lips over the top of her head. “I am so very sorry, Stella,” I murmur.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back. “It’s not your fault.”
Except it is. It is my fault as surely as if I pulled the trigger myself. I’m responsible. Just like her father is responsible for what happened to my son.
A decision settles in my chest, hard as concrete and twice as cold.
She must never, ever find out.