Chapter 2
Stella
The city glides past in a blur of headlights and shadows, the hum of the engine filling the quiet between us. My mother sits poised, every hair in place, despite the hour, pretending the night wasn’t a complete snooze fest.
“All in all, not a bad night. Don’t you think, piccolina?” she coos at Annamaria, who is staring out the window, watching the world slip by.
Anna gives her a tender smile, not having the heart to say what she really thinks about the party we just had to endure.
I, on the other hand, have no qualms about telling my mother how I really feel. “The whole party was a waste of our time. I felt like we just went through a circle of hell with better hors d’oeuvres. Thank God it’s over.”
My father hides a grin behind his hand, while my mother’s mouth hardens into a razor-thin line.
“I swear, unless there are knives and blood involved, no party will ever meet your standards. Honestly, Stella, if the night doesn’t end with someone bleeding, you just can’t seem to enjoy yourself, can you?”
“I like what I like, Mammà.”
“Yes,” she exhales. “That’s the problem.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, offended.
“Only that you’re too clever for your own good.
Every word out of your mouth tonight was a reminder—to everyone—how far beneath you you consider them to be.
You didn’t need your favorite toys to cut anyone down, Stella.
You managed just fine with that tongue of yours and that scathing look in your eyes. ”
“I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Mother.”
“Great. Now I’m Mother,” she blurts in frustration. “I can’t say anything without you assuming it as an attack.”
“That’s because it usually is,” I grumble, curling my arms around my chest and leaning back in the seat.
God, I wish we didn’t have to go to that godawful ball in a limo. If we’d gone in separate cars, I would’ve ended my night on a boring note instead of a pissed-off one.
Sensing that my mother and I are seconds away from another full-blown argument, Annamaria—always the peacemaker—rushes to intervene.
“The party did have its peculiar moments,” she says, her tone a little too light to be casual. “Everyone was buzzing when Kirill Petrov walked in.”
My mother and I lock eyes across the back seat, both of us recognizing Anna’s attempt to wave the white flag before our fight grows roots. For her sake, we let the silence win and retreat to our respective corners.
“I do wonder what that was about,” my mother adds to the remark. “I didn’t even know the Petrovs were invited to such things.”
“They’re not,” our father cuts in, his thoughts clearly still on tonight’s unwelcome guests. “Not usually, anyway. Petrov must have pulled a lot of strings to get an invite.”
“But why, though? He didn’t seem like he was having a good time. Why go through all that trouble to attend a party he clearly didn’t enjoy?” Annamaria muses.
“Sweetheart, let your father worry about such things,” my mother interjects quickly.
In other words, leave the thinking to the men.
Ugh. I fucking hate that.
“Anna does have a point. It isn’t like Kirill to come to such things,” I press on.
“Kirill?” My father raises an eyebrow, his hazel eyes piercing through me.
“That’s his name, Papà. Or would you rather I call him the devil in black?” I joke, earning a sheepish giggle from my sister beside me.
Still, my father doesn’t see the humor in it. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on mine longer than I’d like.
“Did he ask you to call him that when you two went out to the terrace earlier this evening?”
Shit. Leave it to my father to know my every move, even when I thought I was being cautious.
“You what?!” My mother’s eyes practically look like they’re about to pop out of her skull.
“I just saved him from the governor’s stepdaughter, that’s all,” I reply nonchalantly.
“And why on earth would you do something like that? The Petrovs are dangerous criminals,” my mother scolds.
“Newsflash, Mammà—so are we.” I grin, smug and unrepentant, as my mother’s cheeks flush bright red.
However, the way my baby sister shrinks in her seat, turning her attention back to the window, makes the small satisfaction of getting under my mother’s skin die in my chest. I might enjoy provoking her, but I hate being the reason for that sullen little frown on Anna’s lips.
We keep silent for the rest of the ride, too attuned to Anna’s melancholic silence.
Yep. I really did it now.
When we finally arrive, Anna and my mother are the first to step out of the limo, bidding us goodnight as they excuse themselves to their rooms, while Dad and I lag behind.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to him when I feel his penetrating gaze starting to weigh on me.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he points out matter-of-factly. “You know how your sister doesn’t like being reminded of the family business and all the dangers that come with it. And neither does your mother.”
“Mom should be used to it. She was born into this life long before any of us.” I frown.
“You could say the same thing about Annamaria,” he reminds me. “She was born into this life, too.”
I know he’s right, but a part of me still wants to fight him on it. To tell him that Annamaria is different. Special. Sensitive. Sure, she was born a Romano, but she doesn’t act like the rest of us. She doesn’t feel like the rest of us.
Anna’s an emotional sponge—a pure-hearted vessel who feels too damn deeply.
None of us shares that quality. We learned early on how to compartmentalize, how to shove the darkest parts of ourselves somewhere no one can reach.
We’ve mastered raising our walls high enough that nothing gets through. Not unless we want it to.
But not Annamaria. She wears her heart on her sleeve for anyone to see… and abuse. She reminds me a lot of Marcello when he was younger. He felt deeply, too. And look what good it did him.
“I promise I’ll do better,” I mumble, disheartened for bringing any kind of pain to Anna.
My father cups my face in his hands and presses a tender kiss on my temple. “I know you will, dolcezza. I know you will.”
I’m too old for him to be calling me such things, but I still can’t help the smile the endearment brings to my lips.
“Goodnight, Papà.”
“Good night,” he returns, but just as I place my hand on the staircase rail, he stops me.
“Stella?”
“Yes, Papà?”
“Why did you help Petrov tonight? He’s more than man enough to fight his own battles. So why step in?”
“Never hurts to have a Bratva underboss owe you one, now does it?”
My father’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “Smart girl.”
“I learn from the best.” I wink at him.
“Don’t let your mother hear that.”
“Hear what?” I retort, aloof, before cracking a smile.
However, as I climb the stairs to my room, I don’t miss how my father doesn’t go to bed. Instead, I watch him head towards his office and lock himself inside.
Hmm. I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know he’s going to spend most of the night making calls, trying to dig up intel on Kirill and the real reason why he showed up at tonight’s charity ball. Truth be told, I’m a little curious myself.
Kirill said his brother ordered him to make a larger contribution to the city, to improve Bratva’s image, or some noble bullshit like that.
But seeing Kirill twice in as many days has to mean something.
And I’m not conceited enough to think it has anything to do with me.
Still, I don’t buy his poor excuse of suddenly being ordered to play nice with high society either.
The Bratva is definitely up to something. I just wish I knew what that something is.
All those thoughts go out the window when I open my bedroom door and find Annamaria already in bed, her back to me, scrolling on her burner phone.
“You know Mom will have a conniption fit if she catches you with that,” I call out, plopping down on my bed and kicking my heels off.
“She hasn’t found it yet,” Annamaria replies softly before hiding the phone inside her pillowcase.
It’s true. Anna has had a second phone since she was thirteen, and she’s yet to get caught with it.
Mostly because no one in our family would ever dream she’s capable of deceiving anyone—let alone keeping a secret like a burner all to herself.
Also, because she’s careful. Painfully careful.
She keeps both phones in identical cases so no one can tell which one she’s actually using.
She even goes as far as keeping the same lock screen on both.
It’s subtle, but so far, it’s been an effective camouflage.
I’ve never given her grief about it because I get it. I wouldn’t put it past our mother—or one of our overprotective fathers—to have one of the twins hack her phone just so they’d know which sites she’s visiting or who she’s talking to just to keep her safe from the vultures of the world.
Not that Anna talks to anyone who doesn’t have Romano as their last name.
Still, I can’t help but be proud of her for outsmarting our parents.
Anna doesn’t have a deceitful bone in her body, but she’s always been private.
And I give her props for setting that kind of boundary with the rest of us, even if none of them know about it. Well, except me, of course.
Anna doesn’t keep secrets from me. And I don’t keep secrets from her, no matter how much they might hurt.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch on our ride home,” I say, before standing up and getting undressed.
“You weren’t a…” She chews her lower lip, unable to even say the word bitch. “I just don’t like seeing you always start a fight with Mom.”
“I didn’t start it.” She hikes her blonde eyebrow as if calling bullshit. “Fine. I started it. But you have to admit that Mom sure makes it easy.”
“Whatever. I just wish you two were kinder to each other.”
Yeah, me too.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I kick my dress to the floor, pull on a T-shirt, and sneak my way into Anna’s bed, cuddling her from behind.