Page 37 of Porcelain Vows

Beside me, Aleksei stirs. His eyes open, immediately alert in that way that’s always unnerved me— no gradual awakening, just instant consciousness. His gaze finds mine, and somethingin my expression must alarm him because he sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

I open my mouth, but no words come. My body has gone rigid, frozen in place as conflicting impulses war within me. Part of me wants to scream accusations, to demand answers. Another part wants to pretend I remember nothing, to preserve this fragile peace between us.

He reaches for me, his hand warm against my cheek. “Stella? Talk to me.”

I flinch away from his touch, unable to help myself. His expression flickers with concern.

“Another bad dream?” he says gently, and my body responds instantly to the warmth of his voice.

Still, I can’t speak. My throat feels constricted, my lungs struggling for air.

He is your father’s murderer.

Is he? Hannah said he’s responsible. What does that mean? What really happened? Did he kill him? If yes, why?

Finally, when the silence feels like it’s gone on too long, I nod my head.

“Yes,” I whisper, “a bad dream.” And then I let him pull me up against his chest, and I melt there. I squeeze my eyes shut as I do it, willing the images away, wishing the memories hadn’t returned.

Because, God help me, I’ve fallen in love with my father’s murderer.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

Chapter Sixteen

Aleksei

The call ends with Dr. Malhotra’s careful, measured voice still ringing in my ears.

“The brain heals at its own pace, Mr. Tarasov. These episodes of memory loss could persist for weeks, possibly months. Her recent trauma has exacerbated the condition. I’d recommend—”

I disconnect before he can finish. Another fucking recommendation. Another clinical explanation that tells me nothing I can use.

I slide the phone into my pocket, standing motionless in the dim light of my bedroom. The curtains remain drawn against the early morning sun, casting the room in shadows. Stella lies curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other stretched across the space where I should be. Her breathing comes slow and even— the first peaceful sleep she’s had in days.

Last night’s screams still echo in my head. The way she thrashed against invisible enemies, eyes wide but seeing nothing. The way she didn’t recognize me when I tried to calm her.

I move closer, studying the curve of her shoulder, the wave of chestnut hair across my pillow. The bruise on her temple has faded to a dull yellow, but the sight of it still makes me want to kill the fucker who hurt her.

Lucky for him, he’s already dead.

My hand hovers above her hair, fingers spread. I want to touch her. To feel the silk of those strands between my fingers. To wake her and see recognition in her eyes.

I curl my fingers into a fist and pull back.

She needs rest more than she needs my touch.

I back away, careful to make no sound as I leave the bedroom and close the door behind me. The hallway stretches before me, silent and empty as I make my way to my office. I must get my shit together.

Control. Distance. Focus.

I’ve built an empire on these principles. I won’t abandon them now, not even for her. Years of blood and sacrifice have cemented my position. Men fear me. Families respect me. The Bratva follows because I never waver, never show weakness. One woman with green eyes and a smile that haunts my dreams won’t change that. No matter how her presence makes my chest tighten. No matter how much I want to claim her. Some lines can’t be crossed— shouldn’t be crossed— if I want to maintain what I’ve built and protect my family.

Reaching my desk, I sink into the tall executive chair and rub the stubble on my jaw as I scowl down at the latest figures. The financial reports spread across my desk tell a story I can’t believe. Numbers don’t lie, but these must be mistaken. I scan each page again, searching for an error that isn’t there.

“Chert! Etogo ne mozhet byt’,” I growl. This can’t be right. Three major weapons contracts canceled within a week. Two European distributors suddenly refusing shipments. Four offshore accounts frozen. Six shell companies under investigation.

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