“You’ll be fine. You’ll have to meet her at some point if you and Zeno stay together.”
“Da.At some point.”
By the time we catch up, Serafina’s already inside, but Zeno lingers by the door. I slow so she’s forced to talk to him, but all he does is kiss her.
“You’ll be alright, I promise. When have I ever let anything bad happen to you?”
He leads us inside and down a skinny hallway, enveloping us into the warmth of the cozy house. I’m less concerned about my Pakhan now that we’re inside, instead curious about where Serafina spent her life.
The hallway opens to a large space, an open kitchen to our right, living room to our left. It’s quant, comfortable, and in many ways, reminds me of my basement—secluded. Unlike the place Anastasia and I grew up, which was sterile enough to be a hospital.
There’slifehere. It’s in the knitted blanket tossed into a messy ball at one end of the couch, the same couch with the mismatched cushions askew. The glass coffee table is home to a mug half-filled with tea and a puzzle nearing completion. The attached kitchen has dishes drying on the counter rather thanhidden away in glass cupboards. It’s orderly and tidy, but not like a museum.
My next scan is to search for signs of Serafina. A few framed pictures hang on a nearby wall—one of a child at a beach, another from only months ago, her graduation gown dating the image. Lots of her and Zeno together, or her and their mother. Another from her pre-teen years in front of a cake that has a 1 and a 2 candle jammed into it.
She’s smiling in all of them, genuine and free. There were no pictures of Anastasia and me smiling on our house’s walls.
A house that sits desolate and empty, uncared for—not even to sell. Anastasia has staff circle through there once in a while to ensure our father isn’t camping out, but since taking off after Vanessa’s rise to power, we’ve barely heard of him, too busy licking his wounds.
Vanessa nudges me sharply in the ribs, bringing my focus to the family as Serafina releases their mother. She steps aside to allow Zeno to tug Vanessa closer.
“Madre, meet Vanessa Volkov.”
Vanessa shuffles her feet, no sign of the unfailing Pakhan I follow existing. “Ms. Mancini…ciao.” Her Italian is not smooth.
Gabriella Mancini gestures Vanessa closer, and Zeno releases her to the older woman. Vanessa all but trips across the room, her heels putting her easily a foot above the woman who shares many of Serafina’s physical traits. Gabriella’s hands stop an inch from embracing Vanessa, both women mutely staring until, in an abrupt flurry of hands, she gestures to the couch.
“Sit.”
Vanessa, after an imploring glance my way, obeys Gabriella’s request. She looks out of place, sitting on the faded, blue material, her knees pressed primly together, exactly as Ursin once taught her. Her hands rest on her lap, and she stiffly waits for the other woman to begin.
Instead, Gabriella leaves Vanessa in her anxiety to look at me. “You must be the young man who’s been protecting my Sera at school.”
All except last night.“Yes,mem. Lev Petrov.”
“You have my thanks.” She glances between Vanessa and me, who still looks like she’s sitting on spikes. “Coffee? Tea?”
“We’ll be going soon, Madre,” Zeno says softly before patting Serafina’s arm. “Go pack whatever you want.”
Serafina disappears, but their mother is already in the kitchen, heating a kettle. “Nonsense. At least stay for a drink. I’d like to meet your new friends.”
With an apologetic frown at Vanessa, he grabs a chair from the kitchen table and swings it into the living room area, lowering onto it backwards. I move to lean on the couch beside Vanessa.
“Vytashchi menya otsyuda,”she hisses, begging me to get her out of here.
“Desyat' minut. Ty vyzhil i khuzhe.”Ten minutes. You’ve survived worse.
Gabriella pours boiling water into four mugs and carries two over, handing them to me and Vanessa while Zeno retrieves the others. Gabriella takes hers and lowers onto the opposite end of the couch, twisting her body to look at Vanessa. “You’ve done a lot for my family.”
Vanessa tightens her hands around the hot ceramic. “There is no level of sorry for what my papa did?—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she interrupts in a sharp tone, one used to direct others. “I saidyou’vedone a lot for my family. You,SignorinaVolkov. Your father’s actions are the past. You weren’t around for them and hold none of the blame.”
Vanessa shudders, glancing at Zeno. “Th-thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate that, even if I disagree.”
“I’m talking about all the help you’ve given my family,” Gabriella continues, as though Vanessa hasn’t spoken. “You made my boy a very happy man. You’ve offered my daughter a home in yours, a place where she can continue her education. I owe you. Even your own family”—she flicks eyes up to me—“has taken mine in. And saved her life to boot.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Vanessa replies cordially with a dip of her head. “Lev was brave that day. You don’t mind she’ll be staying inside the Bratva mansion?”
