Page 60 of Porcelain Vows

I look at Stella— really look at her. The mother of my daughter. The woman who somehow broke through defenses I spent decades building. Her eyes are wide, waiting, already glistening with tears she’s fighting to hold back.

I have no choice.

I must tell her the truth and bear the consequences.

“It’s true,” I say, voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. “I did.”

Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence. She hadn’t expected honesty. Had prepared for denials, for manipulation, for the dance of lies most men would attempt.

I am not most men.

She stands abruptly, moving away from me, one hand pressed against her mouth as if physically holding back words— or perhaps screams. I remain seated, giving her space, watching as the reality settles over her.

Tears slide silently down her cheeks. Not the dramatic sobbing I’ve seen in movies, but the quiet devastation of someone whose worst fears have been confirmed.

“Are you ready to hear the story behind it?” I ask finally. “It may change the way you look at your father.”

Her head snaps up, anger flashing through the grief. “Don’t you dare try to justify—”

“I’m not justifying anything,” I interrupt. “Just offering context. The full truth.”

She pulls further away, wrapping her arms around herself. “There’s nothing you can say or do to make this better,” she says hoarsely. “Nothing.”

“I would never try, Stella. There’s no way to make this thing better. But listen anyway.”

She’s stiff, her body radiating emotion. But she nods.

I take a deep breath. This story has lived inside me, festering like an untreated wound. Now I’m about to lance it, with no guarantee the infection won’t kill what’s between us.

“Some background first, before I tell you what happened,” I say.

“Don’t think you can wheedle your way out of this with some kind of sob story,” she says sharply.

“I don’t. But you need to understand some things about how it all began.” I take a breath as I figure out how to put itall into context. “I had a short relationship with Olga, Bobik’s mother. After we went our separate ways, she called me one day to say she was pregnant. I was twenty-four at that time, and I had just becomePakhanin the Bratva. It was a difficult time. I had just exiled my father to Siberia, and the organization was in upheaval.”

“Siberia? Why?” she asks, the question seeming to surprise her.

“He ruined our childhood.” The words come out flat, stripped of the emotion they deserve. Because talking about the man… merely thinking about that time opens old wounds that have never really healed. “And he killed our mother.”

Her eyes widen, but I continue before she can interrupt. This part needs to be said quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

“My mother disappeared one day and never came back. Diana was devastated. But if either of us dared to ask where she was or when she was coming back, we got beaten. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with whatever was nearby— belt, bottle, chair leg.”

“No!” She shakes her head. “What kind of person would do that to their own children?”

“He was not a good man.” I keep my voice matter-of-fact, though the memories still burn. “The years passed, and I did my best to protect Diana from the worst of it, but that just turned his hate toward me. I never forgave him. Technically, my elder brother, Vasya, who had been sent away for his studies, was going to bePakhanas the firstborn son, but it was never truly in his nature. He’s an introvert, an IT genius, so we shared the tasks: he does the technology behind all the operations, and Itook on the active role asPakhan. The first thing I did was get the old bastard out of my sight for good.”

I pause, gathering my thoughts. Stella has moved to the window, staring out at the night, but I know she’s listening. Her posture is rigid, attentive despite her distress.

“So there I was, unmarried, with my firstborn son on the way, who could be my rightful heir when the time came, even if I wasn’t married to his mother. I had decided that I would never be like my father. I planned to raise my boy so he would want for nothing. That he would always know how important he was to me.”

I look down at my hands, surprised to find them clenched into fists. I deliberately relax them.

“AsPakhan, my finances were good, so I paid for the best medical care for Olga. The pregnancy went well. We agreed that after the birth, Olga and I would separate amicably, but I would remain in the baby’s life— she understood my lifestyle wasn’t compatible with raising a child together.”

I reach for my champagne again, needing something to occupy my hands. “But here comes the catch. The private doctor I had paid for during the pregnancy fell ill with a contagious virus and couldn’t attend the delivery. He sent his colleague as a replacement.”

Stella is frowning. “Aleksei, this is all very fascinating, but I don’t see how it has anything to do with what you did.”

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