Chapter Fifty-Three
Stella
My lungs burn as I try to catch my breath between sobs.
The bathroom tiles press cold against my skin, grounding me in a reality I don’t want to face. The shower still runs, steam filling the room and making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that’s just the panic crushing my chest.
Hannah’s voice is gone. The phone — I dropped it in the other room. I should get up, should retrieve it, but my legs won’t cooperate. Every muscle feels leaden, weighed down by the horrific truth.
Aleksei had my father killed.
He’s responsible.
The thought sends another wave of nausea rolling through me. I press my forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet, willing my stomach to settle. The baby moves again, a gentle swirling sensation that now feels like an accusation.
Another sound joins the din in my head. The sleek iPhone Aleksei gave me buzzes on the bathroom counter.
His name lights up the screen, filling my veins with ice water.
I stare at it, paralyzed, as his face appears — a photo I took weeks ago when he was playing with Bobik. He looked so human then. So normal .
What does he want now?
Shit. The biomarker. I took it off when I made the call to Hannah. Clambering up, I find it and strap it on.
The phone keeps vibrating. I can’t answer. Can’t hear his voice. Can’t pretend everything is fine when he’s the reason my parents are dead.
Finally, it stops. A message appears instead:
“Your stress levels are too high. Are you alright?”
Goddammit!
The stupid fucking device is betraying my emotional response to the man who destroyed my family. I want to rip off again and fling it across the bathroom. I want to smash it.
I want to smash something . Anything.
Another message arrives: “Stella? Answer me.”
My hands shake as I type: “I’m fine. Just feeling a bit nauseous. Morning sickness.”
The lie tastes bitter. But what else can I do? I’m carrying his child. His blood runs through my veins now, mixing with the very blood he spilled. My family’s blood.
I lean back against the wall and press my hands over my eyes. Every time I close them, I see my father’s mangled car. My mother’s vacant stare. Aleksei’s hands on my body, touching me while my parents’ blood stains his soul.
I have to get out of here.
Now.
Moving on autopilot, I stumble from the bathroom and pull on clothing.
Sneakers. Jeans. An oversized sweatshirt.
It’s hardly haute couture, but it’s all I can manage.
Then I gather essentials — cash, ID, my burner phone.
The Louis Vuitton bag he bought me mocks my trembling fingers as I stuff items inside.
Everything in this fucking place was bought with blood money.
My father’s blood .
I’m still shaking with shock when I reach for the iPhone again. My fingers move automatically as I type the message to Aleksei. “I need some feminine products. I need to go to town.”
His answer is almost immediate. “Tell me what you need. I’ll send someone to pick it up.”
Fuck!
Of course he would say that. I can’t believe that even now, I’m having to explain myself. Explain myself to the man who took my father away from me. But I’m not backing down.
“I don’t want one of your thugs picking up the wrong size and brand of tampons. Send someone with me if you don’t trust me.” My text feels like manipulation, but I’m beyond caring. All I care about is getting out of here, away from this gilded prison.
“Fine. The driver will meet you downstairs,” comes the answer.
Yes!
I pull in a series of calming breaths as I make my way through the hallways of the manor to the towering doors that lead out of this hell. The burly driver is already hovering beside the entrance like a dark shadow.
“Shopping,” I tell him as I shove past him. He opens the door for me and nods, unsuspecting. Why would he suspect anything? I’ve been the perfect prisoner, always following rules, staying in my lane.
Not today.
The city bustles around us as we drive, life continuing as though my world hasn’t just imploded. We pass shops filled with things I once cared about, before my world turned upside down. Now nothing will ever be the same again.
Finally, we cruise up into a shopping district. Boutique stores line the road, shoppers milling about.
“Stop here,” I command, my voice foreign even to my own ears. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“I’ll be right behind you” he says, but I silence him with a haughty look.
“I am perfectly capable of taking a walk down the street. The exercise is good for the baby.” I reach for the door handle and he quickly brings the car to a halt near the sidewalk, probably afraid I’ll get out before he stops. In my current mood, I just might.
“Stay in sight,” he says.
“Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” I lie, already looking for an opportunity to make a run for it. There’s no way I’m going to buy anything. This could be my only chance to get away from the mess my life has become.
I pretend to stroll alongside my unwelcome companion, staring into storefronts, but all the while, I’m waiting for that right moment.
And then the Universe sends me a gift. A crowd catches my eye — protesters filling the street, their signs bobbing like angry waves. Messages about saving the planet. They seem agitated but harmless.
Perfect.
Shooting a look over my shoulder, I see Aleksei’s ape-sized minion close behind, his eyes scanning the streets for any potential threats. Even though he’s watching me, I’m not going to give him a chance to stop me. I’ll use the element of surprise to my advantage.
As the protesters sweep by, I see it. Aleksei’s thug is distracted, glancing to his side, probably expecting an attack from a rival mafia gang or something.
This is it, Stella!
This is the moment!
I don’t give myself enough time to hesitate.
Not when every millisecond counts. Before I realize, I’m darting into the crowd, my legs pumping viciously.
I tear the biomarker off my wrist, letting it fall to the ground, probably triggering alarms in Aleksei’s surveillance system.
Let it. Shock and fear have turned into rage, and it’s fuelling me now.
“Hey! Hey, come back here!” I hear my driver’s shouting from behind, mingling with the chanting of the crowd around me.
I’m not going back. Of course, I’m not. I keep running until I merge with the protesters, their angry chants providing cover as I slip deeper and deeper into the mass.
It’s barely a few minutes before my phone rings — it’s not Aleksei’s ringtone, but I’m certain it’s another one of his fucking minions.
If he doesn’t already know that I’ve escaped, he’ll find out soon enough.
I silence it without looking, pushing forward, letting the sea of bodies carry me away from his control.
Before I know it, I’m a streets away, the protesters still shouting and waving their arms about.
It should unsettle me, but it doesn’t. I’m still reeling from the horror of what I just learned.
Even an angry mob can’t compare to that.
But now, my stomach is roiling, and it’s not nausea or the baby this time.
Food.
I need food!
It’s always been there when I’ve needed a place to turn, and now I need that more than ever. The golden arches of McDonald’s beckon like a beacon of rebellion. Inside, the smell of grease and salt makes my mouth water. No more carefully portioned meals. No more watching my weight for him .
Fuck the goddamn diet.
Fuck all of it!
“Big Mac meal,” I tell the cashier, then add, “Make it large. Extra fries. And a chocolate shake.” Screw it. “And a Coke. Large too.”
The cashier hands me the slip, and I hesitate. The shiny credit card Aleksei gave me will definitely give my location away, so I pay cash, reveling in this small act of defiance.
I find a booth and sink into it, trying not to look too nervous, but I can’t help it when my eyes dart around the place.
My nerves are stretched as taut as violin strings.
Yet the food, when it arrives, tastes like freedom.
I stuff fries into my mouth, sauce dripping down my chin. Let him try to control this. Let him—
“Ms. Fermont.”
Two men in dark suits and darker glasses materialize beside my table. My heart stops.
They’re clearly not McDonald’s types. This could only mean trouble.
Shit!
Fuck!
Shit!
Freedom had seemed so close, but I’d barely been gone thirty minutes, and already, I’m trapped.
I look around at the other diners. Maybe I can get out of here.
“Mr. Tarasov requests your presence,” the taller of the two says. The words may be polite, but his expression tells me he’s anything but friendly.
“I’m having lunch,” I say, reaching for another fry. His eyes narrow on it.
“Now,” he growls. “Don’t make this get ugly.”
“I’ll do what I damn well please,” I say, my voice rising.
“Is everything alright here.” The manager hovers nearby, looking uncertain.
The tall guy turns to him. “We’re bail bondsmen, here on official business. This woman has skipped out on bail. She’s a flight risk, and we’re taking her into custody.”
My mouth drops open at the ease with which he just came up with that lie. But why am I surprised? These men are criminals, after all. Just like the man who hired them.
“That’s not true,” I tell the manager, who looks at me suspiciously. “I’ve been kept against my will, and they’re trying to force me to go back.”
The shorter guy makes a snorting sound. “If I had a dollar for every time some perp used that line on us, I wouldn’t need this job.”
The manager stares at me, and then down at my food before meeting my eye again.
“I think you’d better finish up and go with these gentlemen, miss,” he says.
Gentlemen?
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I blurt. “These guys are hired thugs!” My voice rises, and the couple at the table nearby turn to stare.
“Please don’t cause a scene, miss,” the guy says. “I have other customers to consider.”
My stomach churns, threatening to expel my act of rebellion. The shorter guy is smirking at me, while the other one stands with his arms folded over his chest. Their stance leaves no room for argument.
“Fine,” I whisper, gathering my things. They flank me as we exit, their presence a cage of flesh and bone. So much for my hastily plotted escape plan.
The black SUV waiting outside might as well be a hearse. The big guy holds the door open, and I slide in, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might break free of my chest.
Fuck!
He’s going to be so pissed.
Too bad. I’m even more pissed.
“I don’t want to speak to him,” I say to the guys, who are occupying the front seats. “You can take me back, but that doesn’t mean I have to swallow any more of his lies.”
They don’t respond, both staring ahead through the windshield in silence.
“I hope you’re proud of yourselves. Bullying an innocent woman. Who’s pregnant.”
More silence.
What did I expect? I’m just a job to them. They’re following orders.
I sink back into the expensive leather upholstery and rub my face with both hands.
There’s no getting around it. I’m going to have to confront Aleksei about what I’ve learned.
I just don’t know how, or what to say. Right now, I’m afraid I might launch an attack when I see him.
Rage is bubbling in me as thick and black as hot tar. I can almost picture it.
God, what a mess.
How could I have been such an idiot? I knew what he was. Bratva. They’re not good guys. Drugs. Trafficking. Illegal arms.
Aleksei Tarasov is not a good guy.
And he killed my dad.
Another sob shudders up my throat, and I fight it back again. When I see him, I’m not going to be some pathetic mess. I’m going to tell him that I know, and that I despise him. That I hope that all the pain he’s inflicted in his lifetime gets inflicted back on him.
But Bobik…
I shake my head. Poor Bobik can’t help who his father is. And just because Aleksei shows some kind of heart around the boy doesn’t mean he’s a good person. Despicable people often care about things. Even Hitler loved his dog.
As the car maneuvers through the city traffic, I work to settle my nerves. I have to keep it together when I face him. Have to be calm.
Boyana , I think desperately, seeking comfort in old habits.
But the thought of her — of Sofia — sends fresh pain lancing through me.
My sister. My enemy. Another truth too bitter to swallow.
It doesn’t matter that the Boyana I know has been imaginary.
I feel her loss as painfully as if she’d been beside me all these years. Because, in a way, she has.
Buildings blur past as we drive, the city giving way to industrial wasteland.
I frown as I realize that I don’t recognize anything around us. “Where are we going?” I say to the guy in the driver’s seat. “This isn’t the way home.”
Home?
Is that really how I think of that place?
He doesn’t respond, so I lean forward and tap him on the shoulder. “Where are you taking me?” I demand. “Did Aleksei tell you to bring me out here?”
“Quiet!” he barks. He flicks a hard glare at me in the rearview mirror, and I shrink back against the seat. A warehouse-looking building looms ahead, its windows dark and threatening. A sickening feeling of dread starts to form in the pit of my belly.
“Get out,” one man commands as we stop.
My legs shake as I comply. Did Aleksei arrange this? Did he find out that I know he organized the hit against my father? Is this how he silences those who know too much?
Oh God… He wouldn’t!
I reach into the car to get my purse, but the short guy snatches it away.
“You won’t be needing that where you’re going,” he says, then puts a hand into it and extracts my phone. “Or this either.” I suck in a sharp breath as he throws it on the floor and stomps on it with the heel of his shoe. Glass shatters and crunches under his foot.
“Wait! You can’t—”
The guy behind me shoves me between my shoulder blades, and I stagger forward, realizing with horror that he just jabbed me with the barrel of a gun.
“Please!” I choke out, struggling to regain my balance. It’s grown darker, and I’m struggling to see my way clearly.
This is wrong. All wrong.
The entrance is directly ahead, tall and ominous.
The warehouse door creaks open, and I hesitate, my legs refusing to move forward. Another shove has me stumbling through the doorway.
I’m swallowed into the shadows.