Chapter 4
Stella
“Damn it!” I shout as Dom flings me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, sending me crashing to the floor mat of our home gym in the converted barn out back.
“Get up,” he grumbles when I take too long to dust myself off and get back on my feet.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,” I mumble, pissed for not seeing the move coming.
I drop back into position, ready for the next round, but my dad just crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at me instead of launching an attack.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong,” I reply, wiping the sweat off my brow with my sleeve.
“Bullshit.” His frown deepens. “Your head isn’t on practice today. So, I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?”
“I said I’m fine, Dad.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am,” I snap, my voice sharper this time. Before I can get another word in, his fist shoots toward my cheek in a blur. Luckily, I have just enough wits about me to swat it away before it connects. “See? I’m fine.” I smile triumphantly.
He hums under his breath, clearly unconvinced. “No, you’re not. And that’s why I’m calling it.”
“What? No! I haven’t even broken a sweat yet, Dad.”
“Don’t care. You’re too distracted today. Bound to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt, Dad. Promise. Now come at me.” I plant one foot forward, arms raised and ready.
“I said we’re done for today. Go back inside and get ready for class. Hopefully, you’ll be more attentive there.”
I watch him, jaw agape, as he grabs his towel, drapes it around his neck, and heads toward the door.
“I’m not distracted! Come back!” I yell after him, but he doesn’t even glance over his shoulder, heading back to the house instead of listening to my excuses.
Goddamn it. There goes today’s training session.
“I’m not distracted. I’m not,” I tell myself, voice low and brittle as I pick up a handful of daggers from a nearby table.
I step toward the corner of the room, making sure I stand a few feet from the paper silhouette pinned to a post, and release the first two, watching them settle just shy of the target.
Frustration swells in my chest at the sight.
I never miss. Never.
I shake it off and close my eyes to center myself and take three deep breaths.
When I open my eyes again, instead of the shadow target, I find him in the dark shape, feeling the heat his black gaze invokes, and imagine the crooked dip of his smile when he smirks.
I throw the last dagger in my hand, groaning when it finds its mark this time, the blade striking square where his family jewels would hang.
Damn it. Dad was right. Maybe I am a little distracted. But can you blame me?
That little visit I paid Kirill a few days ago didn’t exactly go to plan.
I went to that godforsaken club to confront him for lying to us about Frankie’s bracelet.
And instead of getting the answers I wanted, I left with a story that was both tragic and unsettling, revealing a vulnerability in a man who wasn’t supposed to have any.
In a roundabout way, Kirill hinted that the bracelet might’ve been pawned off to feed some woman’s drug habit. But the way he talked about that woman’s mother… It left me with more questions than answers.
There was tenderness in his voice. A man like Kirill Petrov shouldn’t even recognize the word, let alone embody it.
Not unless he’s talking about one of his own.
That much I know. There has to be more to the story.
I fucking feel it in my gut. Or maybe… maybe I’m just making excuses to see him again.
I have to admit, being around Kirill gives me a certain adrenaline rush. Even if I hate everything about him and what he represents, there’s no denying there’s an attraction there. A pull.
It’s my own damn fault, really. If I went looking for trouble, then I found it. The man is pure temptation—magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to resist. Forbidden. I know he shouldn’t appeal to me, but I’ve never been good at walking away from things I’m told I can’t have.
Trouble has always been my drug of choice.
I chase it, flirt with it, let it hold me just long enough to feel alive again.
Maybe it’s the rebellious streak in me, or perhaps it’s just survival, since the rush keeps me from drowning in the quiet, obedient life I was raised for.
It’s the only coping mechanism I’ve found that works for me.
However, once I manage to persuade my father to induct me into the Outfit, my days of playing with matches just to feel the burn on my skin will cease to exist. I would never risk my place in the family business for a cheap thrill.
Those rebellious days will officially have to stay behind me.
I can’t afford to throw away my standing in the Outfit, no matter how tempting or fun the risk might be.
Perhaps it’s because that day feels so far away that the reckless part of me keeps daring to go back to Kirill, even when good sense tells me I should stay clear. But then again, if I don’t see him, how will I ever get the answers I need from him?
I can’t shake the feeling that Frankie’s bracelet holds more significance than Kirill let on. I just don’t know how.
Curiosity killed the cat.
That’s what I told him, yet here I am, seriously considering ditching school just to pay the Bratva underboss another visit.
Damn it all to hell. One more visit won’t hurt.
Just one more… then I’m done. Promise. And even if I don’t get my answers, at least I’ll get to play with my food a little longer.
With that thought in mind, I grab my gym bag and head inside, rushing through a shower so I can make it to breakfast.
“Morning,” I call to Lourdes, our housekeeper, as I walk into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed.
“Good morning, Stella,” she says with a smile. “Have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate.”
I give her a grateful smile and take my usual seat next to Marcello’s empty chair, just as Enzo and Lucky stroll into the kitchen.
“Morning, Lourdes. God, I’m starving,” Lucky groans, dropping into the chair across from me while Enzo leans down to kiss Lourdes on the cheek before sitting beside his twin.
“Glad to hear it. There’s more than enough to go around this morning,” she replies with her usual warmth and continues, “since your parents already left for the city.”
“And Marcello?” I ask.
Lourdes’s smile fades as she shakes her head.
“Marcello didn’t come home again last night,” Lucky answers for her, annoyed. “Fucker’s officially moved into Jude’s penthouse.”
“And why is that any concern of yours?” I arch a brow.
“Because that’s where he takes Frankie for their make-out sessions,” Enzo says with a grin, winking at me. “Lucky’s just pissed our big brother’s cock-blocking him.”
I don’t even need to look back to know Lourdes has probably turned every shade of red in the crayon box after Enzo’s colorful explanation of why Marcello’s at the top of Lucky’s shit list.
“Damn asshole walked in on us yesterday. Right when things were getting good,” Lucky mutters under his breath.
“Spare us the visual,” I drawl, letting the disgust seep through. “Lourdes doesn’t need that mental image burned into her brain.”
“Sorry, Lourdes,” Lucky and Enzo say in unison.
Lourdes just smiles politely and excuses herself from the kitchen, pretending to have more important things to do elsewhere around the house.
“See what you two dimwits did?” I grumble, throwing a handful of blueberries across the table in the twins’ direction.
Enzo just laughs while Lucky gets even more annoyed.
“Quit it, Stella. Not in the mood for your lectures.”
“Yes, yes. We all know what kind of mood you’re in.” I roll my eyes at him.
“Let’s stop giving him a hard time, sis,” Enzo says, throwing an arm around Lucky’s shoulder. “Poor guy’s balls are probably bluer than those berries you threw at him.”
“Hardy har har,” Lucky mutters, swatting Enzo’s arm away. “Where’s Anna? She needs to hurry up if she wants a ride with us.” He pushes his plate aside, having officially lost his appetite.
Almost on cue, Annamaria rushes into the kitchen, hair still damp. “I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, I’m late.”
“That’s okay, angel. Eat up. We can wait,” Enzo says sweetly.
“No, we can’t. I’ve got shit to do,” Lucky cuts in.
“And by ‘shit,’ he means sneaking in a few kisses with his girlfriend before class,” Enzo says, smirking like he’s enjoying every second of prolonging his twin’s suffering.
“Look who’s talking. Like I’m the only one itching to get some alone time with my better half.
Don’t sit there and deny you’re dying for a little lovin’ from your boyfriend too, asswipe,” Lucky fires back, swiping a strip of bacon from Enzo’s plate just to make sure his twin sees his shit-eating grin.
“Boyfriend? What boyfriend?” Annamaria asks, her eyes sparkling at our now tongue-tied brother.
Enzo is never at a loss for words. So if he’s purposely being coy about his new conquest, that can only mean one thing—whoever this boyfriend is, he’s off-limits.
Not that I’m surprised. Enzo has always liked a challenge.
Add the forbidden element to it, and my brother is all in.
That’s just how Enzo rolls. We have that in common.
“Enzo? Aren’t you going to tell us who this mystery boy is?” Annamaria presses, causing Lucky to almost choke on his bacon.
“Boy?” Lucky blurts out with a loud chuckle after he manages to swallow his food, only to suck in his next words when Enzo throws him a scathing look.
“It’s still early days, sweet angel,” Enzo says with a soft smile in Annamaria’s direction. “When I know it’s the real deal, I’ll tell you who he is.”
Unable to help himself, Lucky bursts out laughing again.
“What’s so funny?” Annamaria asks, genuinely curious.
“Our brother. He’s a fucking riot today. Don’t let him fool you—he’s already in deep.”
Enzo shoots him a look. “Eat, brother. Put something in your mouth before I find something to shut you up with.”