“Too many,” she replies before taking her next bite.
Vanessa snorts. “Ana gets a bit obsessive the month leading up to a show. In fact, we’ll probably hardly see her. If she’s not working, she’ll be at the gym or in her studio downtown.”
Another figure joins us, and awareness settles heavy on my shoulders, telling me who it is without looking up. His gaze sweeps the table before taking the chair directly across from me.
“Finally. I texted you a while ago,” Anastasia grumbles around a mouthful of food.
“Got busy.” His deep rumble vibrates through the room and directly into my sternum. Before yesterday, I didn’t ever believe I’d be so…so…awareof him.
Vanessa finishes off her slice and wipes her fingers on a nearby napkin with the kind of grace I could never master. “I’ve spoken with the dean, and it’s your choice whether you begin tomorrow or the next day. Since we’re not far into the semester, most profs haven’t assigned much yet, so she claims it’ll be easy to catch up. I’ve already placed your new textbooks on order, which you can pick up at the school’s bookstore. Most of your courses were an easy transfer; only one doesn’t exist at this school, but the dean chose a similar one. By tonight, she’s reassured me they’ll email you a schedule as well as all account info to log into the online portal. Lev is set to attend classes with you, and the dean is personally seeing to informing your profs. No one has any idea who you are—and I’d like to keep it that way. Mind you, your accent is vastly different, so people will figure where you’ve come from soon enough.”
Having been raised around Zeno and his influence is one thing; it’s natural to see my older brother pull his weight within his own organization. It’s different when it’s someone else, the influence she, and the Bratva by extension, has over companies here.
“Thank you. Can we go tomorrow to get the books and peek around campus, and then start the day after?” The question is directed at Lev, who responds with a nod.
We continue eating while Vanessa and Anastasia toss comments back and forth, occasionally asking me a question. The only one who doesn’t speak is Lev, who stands with his plate when finished.
“I’m going out for a bit. Fina, message me when you want to leave tomorrow.” Then, he turns and walks out of the room without a glance my way.
Silence is palatable until he’s much further down the hall, and Anastasia whips around.“Fina?”Interest covers the word.
Even though it’s raising questions, my teeth sink into the inside of my cheek over the fact he’s still using his nickname for me. “A nickname.”
Anastasia leans back in her chair and regards Vanessa. “Hear that, Van? Lev’s using nicknames now.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She barks a laugh, followed by the front door shutting as Lev leaves. “It’s a big deal for him. He’ll sometimes refer to me as Ana, but that’s because he believes my name is too long otherwise—plus, I kinda force him to. In his phone, I’m labelled as ‘Annoying Twin’, but that’s because he changed it when he was drunk one night and never switched it back. Lev doesn’t use nicknames because he doesn’t believe in them. Dimitri, Vanessa, anyone else—it’s all given names. Not sure if you’ve picked up by now, but my brother’s quirky.”
He’s actually pretty great.
“Well damn,” Anastasia murmurs. “Look at him, expanding his horizons.”
Anastasia and I clean up while Vanessa takes a quick call. She meets me on my way out of the kitchen, which is filled with my earliest interactions with Lev, when he handed me an apple I later forced down.
She slips a piece of paper into my hand. “My number. If you need anything, text anytime.”
I slide it into my back pocket, murmuring my thanks as I head up the staircase. I’ll program it into my phone soon.
She stays in step beside me. “Your brother’s meeting with the Commission as we speak, so hopefully, we’ll get some answers soon. This probably isn’t an easy place for you to be.”
“The last time I was here, you all were kind. Madre’s horrors are not my own.”
At the top of the stairs, she tips her head in the opposite direction, towards the painting of Ursin Volkov. I remember it well enough from last time—and that I avoided looking for long.
“Do you miss him?”
“No.” Her nose wrinkles, and she shudders. “He was a product of his own papa’s influence, or what being Pakhan made him into. The child still inside me mourned a father who cared. The adult in me mourns the childlike wonder I held for him. I mean, what five year old doesn’t love their parent? I had no idea then how horrible he was. Growing up, when I realized…that’s when I began hating him.”
“When was that?”
Shadows pass over her expression, and she turns away from the picture, heading into the wing with the bedrooms. “A story for another day. It’s not a pleasant one. So no, I don’t miss him. Had he still been alive, he’d kill me for being with your brother.”
“How did he die?”
“The New YorkFamigliaBoss shot him. My father tried to kidnap his wife and have me serve as a replacement when he was attempting to build his forces to better take on Zeno. As you’d imagine, New York wasn’t for having his wife stolen. At the time, I was scared and pissed and grieved my father, but in the end, theFamigliafreed me. They have my thanks; I wouldn’t be Pakhan without the bullet that ended Papa.”
“You’re his daughter. Why wouldn’t you be?”
