Chapter Forty
Stella
I balance the tray carefully as I knock on Sofia’s door.
The herbal tea sends tendrils of chamomile and lavender into the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and honey— comfort food from Maria’s recipe collection. After a moment’s pause, a faint “come in” reaches me through the heavy wood.
Sofia sits propped against pillows in the guest bed, her forehead bandaged, wearing a borrowed silk robe.
The private doctor assured us the wound wasn’t life-threatening— the bullet had grazed rather than penetrated— but the physical injury seems almost incidental compared to the psychological one that drove her to that forest clearing.
“Good morning,” I say, setting the tray on the bedside table. “I thought you might be hungry.”
She eyes the food warily, as if suspecting poison— an irony not lost on me, given her previous attempt to drug my meals through Imelda. The thought comes without bitterness; understanding someone’s actions doesn’t require condoning them.
“Thank you,” she says finally, her voice raspy from yesterday’s tears. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” I pour tea into a delicate cup, adding a spoonful of honey. “Would you like to talk, sister?”
The word hangs between us— unfamiliar, powerful, loaded with a lifetime of implications. Sofia’s lips curve in the faintest smile.
“Not used to being called sister,” she admits, accepting the tea. “Feels strange.”
“For me too.” I sit in the chair beside her bed, giving her space while remaining close. “But I’ve been talking to you my whole life, in a way. As Boyana.”
She sips the tea, watching me over the rim of her cup. The wariness remains, but something else flickers in her eyes— curiosity, perhaps. Or hope.
“The doctor says you can get up if you feel strong enough,” I continue. “I thought maybe a walk in the gardens would be nice. Some fresh air.”
She considers this, then nods. “I’d like that.”
Twenty minutes later, we stroll side by side along a gravel path winding through Blackwood Manor’s meticulously maintained gardens.
Sofia moves slowly, still weak from the medication and emotional exhaustion, but her steps grow steadier as we progress.
The morning sun bathes everything in a gentle light, highlighting a day that’s crisp and clean after last night’s downpour.
We find a secluded bench beneath a flowering cherry tree, positioned to catch the sun while offering privacy from the main house. In the distance, Bobik sits in his wheelchair on the main lawn, Maria beside him pointing out something in a book.
“There is a lot to talk about,” Sofia finally breaks the silence. She shoots a sidelong glance at me before looking away.
“Yes,” I say. “But only if it will make you feel better.”
“I think it would, but… I don’t know where to begin,” Sofia says. Her hands twist together in her lap, an uncharacteristic display of nervousness from a woman I’ve only known as calculated and composed.
“We have time.” I answer.
She takes a deep breath. “I suppose I should explain about Aleksei. About why I was engaged to him.”
I nod, giving her space to continue.
“It was an arranged match,” she says, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “Bratva business. My father wanted to merge operations with the Tarasov organization. I was just a pawn in his game.”
“You didn’t love Aleksei,” I observe.
A bitter laugh escapes her. “Love has nothing to do with Bratva marriages. As a woman born into that world, you’re meaningless unless you’re someone’s wife. Preferably someone powerful.”
Looking at Sofia— Boyana— I see fragments of my own face, my own pain, reflected back at me. The same shaped eyes, though hers hold a hardness mine lack. The same cheekbones, the same curve of jaw. We are so similar, yet distorted by vastly different lives.
“I accepted it,” she continues. “It was my duty to Father. Then I met Gianni at a business function.”
The name sends a chill through me. “Gianni Maranzano.”
“Yes.” She glances at me. “Your ex-fiancé. I didn’t know that at first. He was charming, attentive— everything Aleksei wasn’t. He made me feel… special.”
I think of Gianni’s manipulative charm, his ability to make anyone feel like the center of his universe while pursuing his own agenda. “I understand that all too well.”
“What I didn’t know was that Gianni had his own vendetta against Aleksei. A business rivalry involving weapons deals. When he discovered I was engaged to Aleksei, he saw an opportunity.” Her voice hardens. “And I was foolish enough to become his willing accomplice.”
“What happened?” I ask, though I suspect I already know parts of the answer.
“Aleksei left me at the altar. Publicly humiliated me. You probably know that much.” The pain in her voice sounds fresh despite the months that have passed. “My father was furious— not because he cared about me, but because the alliance was ruined. I became worthless to him overnight.”
I think about how desperate my parents must have been to sell their first baby. The weight of being unwanted seems to have followed Sofia from birth, shaping her into someone defined by rejection.
“Gianni offered a partnership,” she continues. “Revenge against Aleksei, destroying his personal life, acquiring his business contracts. We discovered your brother was in financial trouble, used that as leverage.”
The mention of Nick makes me tense slightly. “Nick was just a pawn, too.”
“Yes. We needed someone inside Aleksei’s organization. Someone who could be pressured.” She looks down at her hands. “Gianni was already planning to sabotage Aleksei’s weapons business by undercutting his prices through Pakistani suppliers. He needed client lists, delivery schedules.”
The scope of their plot startles me. I’d known pieces— Nick’s debt, Gianni’s involvement— but not the full extent of the conspiracy.
“My father financed the operation,” Sofia adds. “He wanted Aleksei ruined as much as I did. Gianni was brilliant enough to transfer the client list to offshore servers before his death. The operation came to an end when my father died.”
“And the kidnapping?” I ask, referring to when Gianni and her abducted me. “Was that part of the plan, too?”
Sofia has the grace to look ashamed. “You were supposed to be bait to draw out Aleksei. Gianni wanted him to suffer by threatening you, making him see how easily you could be reached.” She pauses. “I never expected him to pull that stunt he did… when he threatened to… to…”
“Rape me?” I finish, the word tasting like bile.
She looks down at her hands. “Yes. I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I pinch my lips together, pushing back the memory of those horrible moments. Sofia had fought with him over it, though.
“Did you hit me?” I ask impulsively. “When everything went down in the warehouse. Something knocked me unconscious. Was it you?” Now isn’t really the time to ask, but I can’t help myself. I need to know.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t me.”
“Are you sure?” I press, half-afraid of the answer.
“I think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t lie about that,” she says.
“Some of the old brickwork came loose during the gunfight. A chunk of it came down and cracked you on the head.” She’s still looking at her hands.
“I… I thought it had crushed your skull, to be honest. There was… so much blood. I know I should have done something, but all I could think about was getting the hell out of there.”
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure her. “Sasha was there. He got me to the hospital. And here I am now. Good as new.” I put my hand on her arm and squeeze. I don’t want to put any more emotional pressure on her than she’s already feeling.
“Yeah, good,” she says grimly. “Just as you always were. Growing up with my mother and father. They sold me.” Her voice turns bitter. “A transaction. That’s all I ever was.”
“That’s not true,” I say, though I understand why she feels that way. “Our parents were facing impossible choices.”
“Perhaps.” She looks away. “But the result was the same. I grew up in a mansion with everything money could buy and nothing that mattered. No siblings. No friends— Father didn’t allow them. Not even a pet.”
As she speaks of her isolation, I understand how a lifetime of rejection can twist a person into someone unrecognizable. The protective shell around her heart must be inches thick after so many betrayals.
“Oh, Sofia,” I murmur, rubbing her arm softly. “If I could go back and change everything, I swear to you, I would.”
“Yeah,” she says brokenly. “I know you would.” She pulls in a shuddering breath. “God, I’ve made so many mistakes.” Her shoulders slump, her chin dropping.
The lonely child Sofia describes stands in stark contrast to the calculating woman who tried to destroy my family. Yet they are one and the same.
“But we’re going to put that behind us now.” I tighten my grip on her arm and look into her eyes. “Do you hear me?”
She nods silently, looking so young and fragile that my heart clenches. I lean in and put my arms around her, careful not to bump her head.
“Okay.” Her voice is small but her lips have curved slightly, a hint of sunshine gleaming through the rainclouds.
We sit there like that for a minute or two, arms around each other, just getting used to each other’s presence.
It’s so strange to think of being able to physically touch the sister I’ve spent so many years talking to.
Eventually, we straighten, but I keep my hand on her arm, reluctant to lose the connection.
“There’s something else you should know,” she says after a pause, her voice dropping. “About Bobik.”
My attention sharpens instantly, gaze drifting to where he sits with Maria in the distance. “What about him?”
“I discovered his existence during my… investigation of Aleksei.” The clinical term doesn’t disguise the intrusion. “I realized he was Aleksei’s greatest vulnerability. I have— had— video evidence of his existence. Proof that could expose him to Aleksei’s enemies.”
My blood runs cold at the implication. “What did you do with it?”
“Nothing, besides telling my father.” She glances toward Bobik, genuine remorse crossing her features. “I considered using it. That’s when I tried to get rid of you… with Imelda and the poison. I thought if you were gone, I could replace you, become part of Aleksei’s family that way.”
Tears begin to stream down her face, surprising us both. “I’ve done some pretty terrible things, Stella.” She reaches into her pocket, withdrawing a small USB drive. “This contains everything. The videos, the documentation. I want you to make it disappear.”
I take the drive, feeling the weight of trust this represents. Without hesitation, I place it on the gravel path and crush it under my heel, grinding until the plastic cracks and the circuitry inside splinters. Sofia watches, relief visibly washing over her.
“Thank you,” she whispers as I collect the pieces, shoving them into my pants pocket. I’ll dispose of them later.
We’re silent for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts, until I turn to her.
“Why did you…” I hesitate. “Why did you try to kill yourself yesterday?” I ask, the question that’s been haunting me since finding her in the forest.
She looks down at her hands, tears still flowing. “My father is dead. Gianni is dead. The revenge plot feels hollow now. And when I realized you were my sister— that I’d been trying to destroy my own blood…” She shakes her head. “There’s no point in me living.”
The raw despair in her voice strikes directly at my heart. I reach for her hand, covering it with mine. Our fingers intertwine naturally.
“That’s not true,” I say firmly. “You have me now. You have family.”
She looks up, disbelief warring with desperate hope in her eyes. “After everything I’ve done? You can’t possibly want me in your life.”
“We’ve both been victims of circumstances beyond our control,” I say. “But now we have a choice about what happens next.”
In the distance, Bobik laughs at something Maria has said, the sound carrying across the garden like a reminder of innocence and joy still possible in this complicated world.
“I don’t know how to be a sister,” Sofia admits, vulnerability replacing her usual mask of control. “I don’t know how to be part of a family.”
“We’ll learn together.” I squeeze her hand gently.
The spring breeze stirs the cherry blossoms above us, sending a shower of pale petals spiraling around our bench. Some land in Sofia’s dark hair like tiny stars against a night sky. For the first time, I see a genuine smile touch her lips— hesitant, unpracticed, but real.
“I’d like that,” she whispers.
As we sit together under the flowering tree, I feel something shift between us— not forgiveness exactly, not yet, but the possibility of it.
“You’ll never have to be alone again,” I promise, and in that moment, I truly mean it.