Chapter 21 Stefan
STEFAN
My life may have changed, but the forces that shaped me are still alive and well. And those forces demand that I wake up before the sun.
So I’m opening my eyes, though it’s the last thing I feel like doing. But for once, it’s not danger that pulled me from sleep. Well, not just the danger.
It’s the woman beside me, her dark hair spilled across my pillow, one hand curled against my chest.
I’ve never felt this before. This need to memorize every detail. Dark lashes on pale cheeks, a small, puckered scar in the hollow of her collarbone. A breath in. A breath out.
My father was weak. That’s what I told myself for years. He let my mother destroy him, let love make him blind and stupid. But lying here, watching Olivia sleep with my child growing inside her, I finally understand him.
I could make a thousand mistakes for this woman. And I’d make them gladly if it meant keeping her here, like this, forever.
But the world doesn’t stop for my newfound emotional revelations. Carefully, I slip from the bed, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. She murmurs something that sounds like my name and burrows deeper into the warmth I left behind.
Fuck. Even that small sound makes me want to crawl back in beside her.
I pull on yesterday’s pants and head topside. The morning air is crisp, salt-tinged. The sun hasn’t broken the horizon yet, but the sky is starting to lighten at the edges. I start the coffee maker in the galley kitchen and check my phone.
Seventeen missed calls. Wonderful.
I call Denis first. He answers on the second ring, sounding exhausted.
“Boss. We checked the Cypress Street lead. Neighbor saw a woman matching your mother’s description three days ago, but the trail’s cold.”
“Keep looking.”
“Stefan, if she’s really alive—”
“She is.” I pour coffee, black. “The question is where she’s hiding and what she wants.”
“Maybe she wants her son back?”
“She had fifteen years to want that. Try again.”
Denis sighs. “We’ll keep searching.”
I hang up and call Taras next. He answers with a string of Russian profanity.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say.
“Your psycho head of security is driving me insane. She screams all night. She’s destroyed everything in that basement room. Yesterday, she somehow got hold of a fork and tried to stab herself with it.”
“Don’t let her die.”
“Easier said than done. She keeps saying she failed you, that she deserves death. It’s fucking creepy, Stefan.”
“She’s in love with me.”
“Yeah, no shit. The whole ‘screaming your name while trying to off herself’ gave that away.” Taras pauses. “Where are you?”
“The yacht.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus. Do we really think this is a good time to play house, Stef? Our world is kinda on fire.”
“Nothing’s burning. We’re handling it.”
“Right. Your mother’s alive, the feds are sniffing around, Mikayla’s having a psychotic break in your basement, but sure. Everything’s handled. No smoke, no fire.”
“Taras—”
“Just don’t stay gone too long, that’s all I’m saying. This ship needs its captain.”
He hangs up before I can respond. I stare at the phone for a moment, then set it aside and focus on breakfast. Croissants from the freezer that I heat in the oven. Fresh fruit from the yacht’s well-stocked fridge. Orange juice. More coffee.
I arrange everything on a tray, then head back below deck.
Olivia’s awake when I return, sitting up in bed with the sheet tucked under her arms. Her hair is a beautiful mess, her lips still swollen from last night. She lights up when she sees the tray.
“Oh my God, you brought me breakfast in bed?”
“You need to eat.” I set the tray across her lap. “You’re eating for two now.”
She tears into a croissant immediately, moaning at the taste. “This is amazing. I’m so spoiled right now.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her eat. She catches me staring and her cheeks turn pink. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re beautiful.”
“I’m a mess.”
“Absolutely. But a beautiful mess.”
She sets down the croissant as her smile fades. “Stefan, about last night...”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“We need to talk about it.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.” She pushes hair behind her ear. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
Something cold slithers through my chest. “Are you saying you regret sleeping with me?”
“I don’t regret sleeping with you. That’s the problem.
I probably should, but I don’t.” She picks at the croissant and starts methodically shredding it into tiny pieces.
“This just complicates everything even worse than it already was. We have so many lies between us, so many secrets. Adding sex to that mix is like... like pouring gasoline on a fire.”
“Good. Fires clear things out. Fire can be useful, Olivia. If we let it be.”
“Stefan—”
“You want truth? Fine.” I take the tray, set it aside. “Let me tell you exactly what happened when I took over the Bratva.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t have to—”
“You said secrets are the problem. So no more secrets.”
I lean back against the headboard, gathering my thoughts. Where to even begin?
“After my father died, I lived with my grandmother for a year. Elena tried to make it normal, but nothing was normal. My uncle Vasily had moved into my father’s house, taken over his businesses. He was fucking my mother in the bed where my father used to sleep.”
Olivia’s hand finds mine. I didn’t realize I was clenching my fist.
“The day I turned eighteen, I left for Russia. I couldn’t watch it anymore. How was I supposed to pretend everything was fine while they erased my father from existence?”
“Where did you go?”
“To stay with one of my father’s old vors. Taras’s family, actually. His father had worked with mine back in the motherland. He took me in, trained me. Not just the violence—though there was plenty of that. But the business side. How to run crews, move product, manage money. How to be a pakhan.”
“How old were you when you came back?”
“Twenty-four. Six years of preparation. And for everyone one of those six years, I stayed awake at night planning. Planning, Olivia, for what I’d do when I was ready to come home.
” I close my eyes, remembering. “I knew their routines. When they went to the cabin. How long they stayed. The cabin was perfect—isolated, wooden, single exit, no one around to hear the screams. I waited until I knew they were both inside. Then I barred the doors from the outside and set it ablaze.”
Olivia’s breathing has gone shallow.
“I watched it burn, Olivia. Stood in the trees and watched the whole thing go up. Heard the screams. Smelled the smoke. When it was over, when the fire department finally arrived, there was nothing left but charred bones and ash. And my mother’s ring, still gleaming on the burnt finger of her corpse.
“But if she’s alive...”
I nod as she comes to the same conclusion I have.
“Then the body I buried wasn’t hers.” I open my eyes and meet Olivia’s horrified gaze.
“I’ve been thinking about it. There’s a short window where I looked away.
I was checking my phone, making sure my alibi was solid.
When I looked back, the cabin was already burning.
What if, in that window, my mother left and someone else entered? ”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “That’s the problem.”
“That’s... that’s horrible.” Olivia stares at me, and I can see her wrestling with the reality of what this means. Eventually, she picks up the croissant again and takes a small nibble. “What will you do if you find her? Your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you kill her?”
“I swore to you I wouldn’t.”
“But do you want to?”
I consider the question. “Part of me does. But another part...” I trail off.
“What?”
“Another part wants to know why. Why she betrayed him. Why she let me think she was dead. Why she’s back now.”
“Maybe she wants to meet her grandchild.”
The thought makes my blood run cold. “She’ll never get near our child.”
“Our child.” Olivia’s hand goes to her stomach. “God, Stefan. What are we doing? Bringing a baby into this?”
“We’re giving them what neither of us had. A family. Protection. Love.”
“Love,” she repeats softly. “Is that what this is?”
I meet her eyes. “You tell me.”