Chapter 42 Olivia
OLIVIA
I stand in front of a three-way mirror, squinting at my reflection.
The dress is perfect. Soft and romantic, with layers of silk chiffon that float around my legs like clouds.
No corset, no boning, nothing constricting.
It’s just gentle draping that skims over my body and the small bump of my belly.
“Oh my God,” Camille breathes from the velvet settee behind me. “Liv, that’s the one.”
I turn, watching the fabric swirl. “You think?”
“I don’t think; I know. That dress was made for you.”
The boutique owner, Signora Bellini, clasps her hands together. “Bellissima. You are like an angel.”
I can’t stop staring at myself. I’ve tried on eight dresses already. Some were too formal, with excessive lace and beading that made me feel like a wedding cake. Others were too simple, basically glorified slips. But this one is different.
This one makes me feel like a bride.
“It’s really comfortable,” I say, running my hands over the silk. “I can actually breathe.”
“That’s because it’s not trying to suffocate you into submission,” Camille points out. “Unlike dress number four. That thing was a torture device. I thought you were going to pass out.”
Signora Bellini brings over a champagne flute filled with sparkling water and a small plate of marzipan fruits. “Please, sit. Rest. You have been standing for so long.”
I sink onto the settee next to Camille and take a sip. The water is perfectly chilled, with a hint of lemon. On the low table in front of us is an array of handmade chocolates that we’ve been steadily demolishing for the past hour.
“This is the fanciest dress shopping I’ve ever done,” Camille says, popping a chocolate into her mouth. “Stefan really went all out.”
“He reserved the entire boutique for the day.”
“Of course he did. Because why have other customers when you can just buy out the whole place?”
I laugh. “It’s excessive.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s both.”
Camille leans back, studying me. “You’re glowing, you know that?”
“I’m sweaty from trying on a million dresses.”
“No, I mean you’re actually glowing. Like, pregnancy glow. Happiness glow. In-love glow.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Stop.”
“I’m serious. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re happy. Actually, genuinely, no-reservations happy.”
I look down at my hands. The engagement ring reflects the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the wall. “I am happy,” I admit quietly. “Really happy. But I’m also scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Of losing myself in all this. Stefan is just... larger than life. He takes up all the air in the room. I’m not sure I can keep up with him.”
Camille nearly chokes on her chocolate. “Are you kidding? You are Olivia freaking Aster. You started your own fertility company and it was so damn great that your mentor stole your ideas, your innovations, and your client list. If that doesn’t scream success, I don’t know what does.”
“That’s a weird way to frame it.”
“It’s the truth. Rebecca Walsh saw what you built and wanted it for herself. That’s the ultimate compliment, even if it came wrapped in betrayal.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling. “Only you would spin my life’s biggest disaster into a compliment.”
“I’m just saying, you’re not some delicate flower who’s going to wilt next to Stefan’s big, scary presence. You’re a badass who built a clinic from scratch, fought off investors who wanted to exploit your patients, and told a literal mob boss to go fuck himself. Multiple times.”
“I never actually said those exact words. Well, at least, I don’t think I did.”
“Well, fine, but the sentiment was there.”
Signora Bellini returns with another plate, this time loaded with tiny pastries. “For you, bella. You must keep your strength.”
“Thank you, but I’m going to gain ten pounds just from this appointment.”
“Nonsense. You are eating for two now, yes?”
Camille grins. “See? Even the Italian dress lady says you should eat more chocolate.”
I grab a pastry just to make her happy. It’s filled with cream and dusted with powdered sugar, and it melts on my tongue.
“Okay, that’s amazing,” I admit.
“Everything in Italy is amazing. The food, the wine—well, not for you right now—the architecture, the men...”
I raise an eyebrow. “The men?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t notice Taras.”
Heat floods my face. “Taras is Stefan’s best friend. Also, he’s not Italian.”
“That doesn’t stop him from being incredibly hot. That accent, those shoulders... I nearly passed out.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m observant. And horny. There’s a difference.”
I laugh and take another sip of sparkling water. Around us, the boutique is quiet. Soft classical music plays from hidden speakers. The late afternoon sun streams through the windows, making the silk dresses on display shimmer.
“I can’t believe I’m getting married in four weeks,” I mumble.
“I can’t believe Stefan convinced you to do it that fast.”
“He’s very persuasive.”
Camille leans forward. “But seriously, Liv. Are you okay with the timeline? Because if you’re not, you can tell him no. He’ll listen. If you won’t, I will.”
“I know he will. But I don’t want to wait, either. I want to be his wife. I want us to be a family before the baby comes.”
She nods like that settles it. “Then I’m happy for you. Even if your fiancé terrifies me.”
“He’s not that scary.”
“He literally had armed guards escort us to a dress shop, Liv.”
“That’s just practical security.”
“‘Practical security.’ Listen to yourself. You’re already talking like a mob wife.”
I throw a piece of marzipan at her. She catches it and pops it in her mouth, grinning.
Signora Bellini clears her throat. “So, signorina, this dress? You will take it, yes?”
I look at myself in the mirror again. The dress really is perfect. Romantic without being over the top. Elegant without being stuffy. And most importantly, comfortable enough that I can actually move and breathe.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful! I will have it wrapped for you. And perhaps you would like to see some veils? Or shoes?”
“Shoes, definitely. I can’t get married barefoot.”
“Though knowing Stefan, he’d probably be fine with it,” Camille adds. “As long as you show up.”
We spend the next hour trying on shoes and looking at accessories. I settle on a pair of simple ivory heels and a delicate veil that barely reaches my shoulders. Nothing too elaborate that will steal focus from the dress.
When we’re finally done, Signora Bellini presents me with the bill. I hand over Stefan’s black credit card without even looking at the total.
“You didn’t even check the price,” Camille whispers.
“Stefan told me not to. I’m learning. Slowly, but learning.”
The boutique owner runs the card, packages everything in beautiful boxes tied with silk ribbon, and wishes me a lifetime of happiness. Then Camille and I step out onto the cobblestone street, arms full of purchases.
The sun is starting to set behind the rooftops. Florence is even more beautiful in the evening light. Tourists wander past, taking photos and laughing. Halfway down the block, a street musician plays the violin.
“I could get used to this,” Camille sighs, breathing in the warm air. “You should convince Stefan to move here. Open an Italian branch of the clinic. I’ll come work for you and we can eat pasta every day.”
“That sounds perfect except for the part where Stefan would never leave Boston.”
“True. He’s too attached to his crime empire.”
I’m about to respond when I notice the cars. Three black SUVs pulling up to the curb in quick succession. My security detail is supposed to be discreet, but this feels different. More urgent.
The doors open and Stefan steps out, followed by Taras. Both of them look tense. Stefan’s jaw is tight, his eyes scanning the street like he’s searching for threats.
My stomach drops. “What’s going on?” I ask as he strides toward me.
“There’s a situation at home,” he says. His face is pale. “An attack on the house. They were trying to break Mikayla out of the basement.”
My breath catches. “Did they get her?”
Guilt crashes through me. I’m the one who told Natalia about Mikayla. I’m the one who gave her that information. If Mikayla escaped, if she’s out there causing more damage, it’s my fault.
“No,” Stefan says. “But we have to go back to the States immediately.”
There’s something else, something he’s not saying. His eyes are too dark, his shoulders too rigid. This isn’t just about Mikayla.
“What’s going on, Stefan?” I ask carefully. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he reaches out and takes my hand, his grip almost painfully tight. “It’s Babushka,” he rasps. “She was shot. She’s in the hospital now. It’s critical.”
I feel sick. “What?” I whisper.
“They shot her,” he repeats. “During the attack. She was in the kitchen and they—” He stops and shakes his head as he swallows the rest of his words. “We need to go. Now.”
I can’t breathe. Elena. Sweet, sharp, wonderful Elena who welcomed me into her home and her life without hesitation. Who made me stroganoff and told me stories about Stefan as a boy. Who looked at me like I was already family.
“Is she going to be okay?” I manage.
Stefan’s face is a hardened mask, but I can see the cracks forming. “I don’t know.”
Taras steps forward. “The jet is ready. We can be in the air in thirty minutes.”
Camille touches my arm. “Liv, I’m so sorry.”
I can barely hear her over the roaring in my ears. Elena was shot. Because of an attack on Stefan’s house. An attack that might have been triggered by information I gave to Natalia.
Tears blur my vision. “She has to be okay. She has to.”
“She will be.” But even as he says it, I can hear the doubt underneath. The fear he’s trying so hard to hide.
Taras clears his throat. “We really need to go, guys.”
Stefan nods and starts guiding me toward the SUV. I let him, my legs moving on autopilot. Behind me, I hear Camille talking to one of the guards about getting our purchases back to the villa.
The wedding dress. I was just trying on my wedding dress. Laughing with my best friend. Eating chocolate and planning a future.
And now, Elena is in the hospital, fighting for her life.
Stefan helps me into the back seat and slides in beside me. The door closes and suddenly we’re moving, the beautiful streets of Florence blurring past the window.
I reach for his hand. He takes it, his fingers lacing through mine. “Tell me about the attack,” I say quietly. “What happened?”
“Three men breached the east wing. They knew exactly where Mikayla was being held. Took out two guards before Arkady’s team could respond.”
“Are the guards okay?”
“One’s dead. The other is in surgery.”
My chest tightens. “And the attackers?”
“All dead.”
“Do you know who sent them?” I ask.
“Not yet. But I will.”
The promise in his voice is dark and absolute. Whoever ordered this attack, whoever shot Elena, they’re going to pay. And it won’t be quick.
“What about Mikayla?” I ask. “Is she still secure?”
“For now. But we’re moving her as soon as we land.”
I nod, trying to process everything. My mind keeps circling back to Elena. Was she conscious when they found her? Did she know what was happening? Is she scared?
“How bad is it?” I whisper. “Really.”
Stefan’s grip on my hand tightens. “She was shot twice. Once in the shoulder, once in the chest. They got her to the hospital fast, but...”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
I close my eyes, fighting back tears. “She’s the strongest person I know. If anyone can survive this, it’s her.”
“I know.”
But his voice is hollow. Broken in a way I’ve never heard before.
The SUV navigates through traffic, heading toward the airport. Through the windshield, I can see the other vehicles in our convoy. Armed men, ready to kill or die at Stefan’s command.
This is his world. Violence and danger and constant vigilance. And I’m choosing to be part of it.
“I’m sorry,” Stefan says suddenly.
I look at him. “For what?”
“For bringing you into this. I—” He stops, shaking his head. “You should be safe. You and the baby should be far away from all of this.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Olivia—”
“No. Listen to me.” I turn to face him fully. “I said yes, remember? I chose this. I chose you. And yes, it’s scary and dangerous and sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m not leaving. Not now, not ever.”
His eyes search mine. “Even after this?”
“Especially after this. Elena is family. Our family. And we’re going to be there for her.”
He pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me so tightly I can barely breathe. “I can’t lose her,” he whispers into my hair. “She’s all I have left.”
“You have me. And the baby. And Taras. You’re not alone, Stefan.”
He doesn’t respond, but his hold on me tightens.
The airport appears ahead. Private jets line the tarmac, gleaming in the fading light. Our driver pulls up directly beside Stefan’s plane, where staff are already waiting.
We board quickly. Cami slips into a seat and Taras disappears into the cockpit to talk to the pilots.
Stefan and I take our places near the front. He’s on his phone immediately, barking orders in Russian. I catch fragments—hospital, security, lockdown—but most of it is too fast for me to follow.
The engines roar to life. We taxi down the runway and lift into the air, Florence disappearing beneath us.
Stefan ends his call and stares out the window, his knee bouncing. “Talk to me,” I say softly.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Just don’t shut me out.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “She raised me. After my father died, after everything fell apart, she was the one who held me together. She taught me how to cook, how to speak Russian properly, how to be a man instead of a monster. She looked at me and saw something worth saving.”
My throat tightens. “She still does.”
“I should have protected her better. The moment things started escalating, I should’ve sent her away.”
“She wouldn’t have left. You know that.”
He does. Elena is stubborn and fierce and completely unwilling to be pushed around. Even by Stefan.
“If she dies—” He stops, unable to finish.
“She won’t,” I say firmly. “She’s too stubborn to die. She still has to see us get married and meet her great-grandchild.”
Stefan looks at me. For the first time since he told me about the attack, there’s hope in his eyes. “You really believe that?” he asks.
“I have to. And so do you.”
He nods slowly, then pulls me against his side. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Outside, the sky darkens. We’re racing against time, flying toward an uncertain future.
But we’re doing it together.
That has to be enough.