It’s a large room, double the one in Madre’s house, with the bed in the centre and against one wall. The white bedspread looks finer than anything I’ve ever slept on, even in the Mancini villa. There are two bedside tables, matching blackout drapes over the window directly across from me, and two doors, one leading to a bathroom, the other an empty walk-in.
“It’s beautiful.Grazie.”
They comment on coming down when ready and then leave me to unpack and embrace this next chapter.
A chapter written by the mansion’s ex-owner, the man who wed me off without ever acknowledging my existence.
PART 2
25
LEV
When the basement door opens, the familiar steps of my Pakhan descend. I count each of the twelve stairs to quell the distaste she wants to talk so soon after finally finding a moment’s peace.
I twist my chair away from my desk when she reaches the twelfth and bottom step after double-checking the servers, ensuring all the familiar beeps and coloured lights are behaving as they should.
Vanessa hovers by the bottom, falling against the stair’s post. “Please tell me my eyes had it wrong when you were glaring at Nero.”
That.He was hugging Serafina with a brotherly familiarity. I didn’t mean to watch, didn’t mean for any of the same sensations felt when saving her from Vitale to colour my reaction.
“Depends on what your eyes were saying. Considering what Vitale nearly did to her, and that I’ve spent a week around her, I’m feeling a bit protective, that’s all.”
Her brows lift into her hair that’s been since pulled back in a braid.“You?”she drawls with contempt. “You don’t get protective over people.”
She’s right. Serafina’s a mission, needing security. A job to be completed without emotions.
“Consider it a first.”
“She needs a friend, not?—”
Panic swarms me, my head electrocuted with unwelcome perceptions. It’s too much, and my hand slams down on the desk, feeling a kind of rage once reserved for my papa and prison inmates. “What are you insinuating?”
“You watched her a lot during the flight. You think I didn’t notice?”
I didn’t mean to. She was right there, across from me, and watching her has become a pattern. A near-obsession, if only for the assignmentVanessasuggested.
Her bright eyes lit up even bolder as we neared Moscow, like she was excited about coming here, and it was nice to see. It was finally an emotion to contradict everything since Alessio’s attack.
“We barely talked to one another before the party from hell.”
Vanessa straightens from the post, rubbing her hand along the back of her neck. “Sorry. I know you wouldn’t…dothat…with her. That you don’t thi?—”
Think like that. Just say it.Everyone here knows something’s wrong with me, but no one will come out and say it.
“Until Zeno breaks the engagement, she’stechnicallyVitale’s, and the Bratva doesn’t need those kinds of complications. Plus, she’s vulnerable. More so, once this is over, Zeno will probably keep her away from the Cosa Nostra, so the less entangled she gets with this life, the better.”
Because Serafina is meant for things outside mob life. Becoming friendly with anyone here won’t help when she’s sent on her way back to normalcy.
Everyone dictates her life for her, a fact I don’t think I like. She has no control, down to Vanessa ensuring her connections to this place remain unattached.
“I’m aware.” My hand slides from the table to my lap, finger tapping its usual pattern before getting too overwhelmed. I’ve never fought with Vanessa, and it’s not something to start. “Beyond her classes, we won’t interact. I’ll be down here most of the time. I’ll return to work this week, now that Ivan’s captured and I’m home. Part-time basis, to still attend her classes.”
Vanessa’s lips spread in her usual pleased and professional smile. After a few final words, she returns upstairs, and I once again count her every step until the door shuts, allowing me to breathe again.
A few minutes later, it opens again. Presumably, it’ll be my sister about to taunt me over whatever subject she’s found most amusing for the day.
Once the person hits the second step, it becomes apparent it’s not Anastasia. Ana’s steps are confident, the steps of someone who comes down here more often than I’d prefer. Someone who doesn’t give two fucks about encroaching on my space.
