Page 100 of Porcelain Vows

Pizdets!

“Well, I didn’t actually bring her here,” she says quickly. “She did it as a favor to help me figure out what I’d gotten myself into. She was also the one who told me about… you. And what happened to my dad.”

I stay silent, jaw clenched so tight my teeth might crack. This fucking Hannah woman would be looking at a shallow grave if she wasn’t Stella’s best friend.

Uspokoysya.

Calm down, mudak.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. What matters right now is that Sofia is okay.” Her jaw sets, a stubbornness I’ve come torecognize. “And I plan to keep her that way… with or without your help.”

Fuck.

The irony doesn’t escape me: I killed Sofia’s adoptive father, and now Stella wants me to welcome her into our home. The woman who once believed she would be my wife is actually Stella’s sister. The universe, it seems, has a particularly fucked-up sense of humor.

“Yebat’ menya,” I mutter, pushing away from the counter to pace the kitchen. The floor is cold against my bare feet, grounding me slightly. “This is…”

“I know,” Stella says quietly. “It’s a lot.”

That might be the understatement of the fucking century. My mind races through implications, connections, complications. Sofia— raised in luxury by Sergei Novikov, a man I recently put in the ground. Sofia— once engaged to me in an arrangement I broke when I chose Stella instead. Sofia— who threatened my family out of jealousy that now takes on entirely new dimensions.

Family in our world is both weapon and shield. Adding Sofia to ours could strengthen usortear us apart completely.

“There’s something else,” Stella says after giving me a moment to process. “I’d like her to stay with us. When she recovers.”

I stop pacing, turning to face her directly. “Stay with us.” The words are colored with disbelief.

Ya blyad’ ne véryu, chto éto proiskhódit.

I can’t fucking believe this is happening.

“Yes.” She gnaws on her bottom lip anxiously, but her gaze is steady. “She needs help, Aleksei. Professional help, certainly, but also… family. She’s lost everything— her father, her identity, her purpose. She tried to kill herself today.”

“This complicates things,” I say, the words pathetically inadequate for the mindfuck of implications.

“I know.”

“She hates me. She hates us.” I gesture sharply between Stella and myself. “She believes you stole me from her, and now she learns you actually are her family— her sister, her blood— but that I’m still in the picture.”

“Yes.” Stella doesn’t deny the complexity. “It’s messy. Probably the messiest thing we’ve faced yet.”

The maturity in her response surprises me. No argument, no emotional plea— just acknowledgment of reality coupled with determination. It’s a far cry from our earlier conflicts, a sign of how our relationship has evolved despite recent strains.

Relationship? If only there was one, instead of this freakish no man’s land we’ve settled on.

“Why?” I ask finally, the question bursting from me. “Why invite this bullshit into our lives when we’re already dealing with so much?”

Stella stares down at her cup, considering her answer. I can see her throat work as she swallows. “To make things right,” she says finally. “To help her. To be a unit. A family.”

The simplicity of her answer catches me off guard. After everything— after learning I’m responsible for her parents’ deaths, after the trauma of Gianni’s abduction, after the upheaval of my mother’s return and father’s death— Stella stillbelieves in the possibility of making things right. Of healing what’s broken.

Naivnaya.

Naive.

But fuck if it isn’t one of the things I love about her.

“It won’t be easy,” I say, softening slightly. “Sofia is… volatile. Unstable. And she has legitimate reasons to hate me.”

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