Page 80 of A Devious Arrangement

“I remember her hair, how it looked just like yours does now,” I say before she can process my ramblings. It works because her eyes soften as if she’s looking through her own memories.

“It was my fifth birthday, you know? I was so excited.” She feels too light in my arms as she begins to tremble.“I know…” She sniffles. “I know it was an accident. Of course I can understand that, but…if it wasn’t for me. If I didn’t insist on that stupid freaking balloon… The truth is I knew she’d get it for me—she’d always done everything to make me happy. I should have told her it was dangerous, but I just wanted it so bad.”

I brush the hair from her face. “You know it’s not your fault, so why do you keep blaming yourself?”

“Because.” Her eyes are sharp. “I can’t rewind time and fix it. There’s no getting her back. It might not be my fault, but no matter what, I’m still the reason she climbed on that counter…the reason she fell. If it wasn’t for me, the Volkov family wouldn’t have imploded that day.”

I never knew the specifics around the death of Mrs. Volkov other than she passed from a fall. Xander’s words from the other day don’t sit well. He said that the Russians may have played a part in it. I can’t tell Stasia yet—it wouldn’t do anything but hurt—but I’ll ask Xander to keep digging. If I find out they made my girl hurt like this, I’ll gladly rip them apart.

“Listen, Anastasia. You are going to stop beating yourself up for this right now. You are not the reason your mother passed. It was a tragic accident, and it never should have happened. There’s nothing fair about it, but you hating yourself over it won’t change that. Promise to stop blaming yourself?”

Her nose is red, and she’s still not meeting my gaze, but she nods.

“Good. Now, tell me why you need this tiara because I know it’s not just to avoid your brother getting married.” I don’t bother mentioning the Russians’ plans to marry her off because that’s never been a possibility from the start. Not if any of them want to survive.

“My dad borrowed money from the Salvatore family.”

Fucking idiot.

She covers her face with her palms. “We didn’t know until after he died. We went to our Russian family for a loan, but they wanted the Kokoshnik Tiara first.”

He is so fucking lucky he’s already dead. The Salvatores are ruthless in the way they do business, ruling the ones under them with fear. A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of what the Salvatore Organization does with women who can’t repay their debts.

“You’re hurting me,” Stasia squeaks, and I loosen my grip.

“Sorry…” I grit out. “I’m just processing the fact that your father may actually be a bigger asshole than mine was, and I’m really not sure how I feel about him being knocked downfrom that top spot. I’ve basically made daddy issues my entire personality.”

She chuckles, and some of the spark returns to her eyes, easing the tension curling in my chest.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah?” I drop my forehead to hers. “What’s that?”

“Trying to make me laugh.” She tilts her head so our lips brush against each other.

“Is it working?” I rasp.

I’m grateful when she shoves me back because God knows how far I would have taken this. Somehow, I don’t think fucking her on the couch is the right way to go. I crack my neck. “So you get the tiara, and your Russian family will release your brother and give you the money to pay off the Salvatores?”

“Pretty much. I know I’m putting too much trust into them. That they don’t have a lot of reasons to help us, but honestly, asking for the tiara made more sense than them just lending us the money. Plus, now we won’t actually owe them anything after. Nikolai will be free to do what he wants for the first time in his life.”

I tamp down the sickening pit of jealousy. Apparently, I’m going to be jealous of anyone she cares about for the foreseeable future.

None of this sits right with me. Not her mom’s death, the way her dad gambled all their money, and especially not the Russians’ willingness to help. Power never wants to give up power, and a family like that wouldn’t do anything from the kindness of their heart.

Anastasia’s mine now, which means her problems are mine. Whether she’s ready to realize it or not, she’s not alone in this. I stroke her back in long, slow movements and promise, “I’ll help you.”

It’s hours before Stasia’s breath evens out and she’s finally asleep. I carefully disentwine her arms from around my waist, careful not to wake her as I get out of bed. I collapse against the sofa, fisting my hair and yanking hard on the end. I royally fucked up.

This whole time, I had no idea what she was going through, and I should have fucking known. I should know everything about her.

I pull out my phone and dial Damon. I’m going to fix this right now.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Damon’s voice is rough with sleep. He used to be an insomniac, but his wife, Misty, fixed that years ago. Now, it’s their kids who keep him up at night.

“I fucked up, Damon,” I say.

Shuffling noises come from the other side of the phone and the click of a door shutting. “What’s up?”

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