Page 57 of Porcelain Lies

“You don’t, actually. But right now, we have bigger things to worry about.” I turn away from him, my mind racing. Because getting into the lion’s den isn’t the only problem I’m facing right now.

I still need to find the money.

And there’s only one place I can think of to get it.

Chapter Seventeen

Stella

My fingers tremble over the name in my contacts.

The screen’s glow illuminates Nick’s restless form on my couch, his face twisted even in sleep. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his face is gaunt — evidence of days without proper food or rest.

“What choice do I have?” I whisper to Boyana, her imagined presence a comfort in the pre-dawn darkness. “There isn’t anyone else who can help.”

Nick whimpers, curling tighter into himself. The sound pierces my heart, reminding me of when we were children and he was afraid of thunder. Now the storms are of his own making, but my need to protect him hasn’t changed.

Dammit!

I pull up my last text exchange with Gianni. Four weeks of unanswered messages from him, each more desperate than the last. My thumb hovers over the call button.

Nick mutters something in his sleep — a name that sounds like “Aleksei.” His hands clutch at the throw blanket, knuckles white with tension.

“I know you’d tell me I’m crazy,” I say to Boyana. “But what’s worse — asking my cheating ex for help, or letting Nick face the Russian mafia alone?”

The first rays of sunrise creep through my apartment windows, painting Nick’s troubled face in shades of gold. Helooks so young, so vulnerable. The weight of his stolen money sits heavy in my chest.

My phone feels like lead in my hand. Gianni’s smirking contact photo stares up at me, a reminder of every lie, every secret he kept. But I don’t know anyone else with that kind of cash.

Nick thrashes, nearly falling off the couch. The movement startles me. I press the call button before I can change my mind.

Each ring feels like a knife twisting in my chest. One. Two. Three. My free hand presses against my stomach, trying to contain the nausea that rises with each electronic tone. The memory of that woman’s voice on his phone — “Leave my boyfriend alone” — echoes in my head.

I almost hang up on the fourth ring. This is insanity. After everything he did, after walking in on him half-naked with that girl on his balcony…

“Stella?”

My breath catches. His voice, that familiar Italian lilt, sends a wave of conflicting emotions through me — rage, hurt, and grief at the loss of what we had.

“I knew you’d call eventually,cara.” The smugness in his tone makes my teeth clench. “Finally ready to be reasonable about-?”

“Don’t.” The word comes out sharply. Nick stirs on the couch, and I lower my voice. “I’m not calling about us.”

“No? Then why break a month of silence?”

I grip the phone tighter, hating how easily he can still get under my skin. The urge to hang up nearly overwhelms me.

For Nick.

Do it for Nick.

“I need…” The words stick in my throat. Asking Gianni for anything feels like swallowing glass. “I need your help.”

His laugh, low and knowing, makes my skin crawl. “Now this is interesting.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on Nick’s sleeping form rather than my revulsion at what I’m about to do. “I need to borrow three hundred thousand dollars.”

The silence on the other end stretches until I wonder if the call dropped. Then Gianni’s laughter erupts, sharp and mocking.

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