I didn’t mean it. I’m just… Never mind. Come down. Please.
Me
Fine. On my way.
29
LEV
When the fist comes at me, I duck but hold my ground until there’s a prime opening to charge. His movements are sluggish because of the injury to his side, and it’s obvious he’s winded when he whirls on me.
One…
Two…
Before his shoulder makes contact with my stomach, I move sideways so his head slams into the cement wall, barely saved by his reflexes. Blood pours from his forehead, but by the time he straightens, I’m gone.
Controlled attacks always win.
Control is one of the most vital tools in a soldier’s arsenal. When Papa felt I was uncontrollable in my computer fixation, he taught me in a different manner. In prison, against men who were deadlier, I learned to control myself—towin. The one in control remains in control.
That goes for anything. Restraint is key, being able to wait until a prime moment to attack, whether the assault is physical or on an enemy’s network. There’s a reason why I’m patient. Why Vanessa has me on the kinds of jobs the others avoid.
It’s why guarding Serafina, all things considered, is simple. Maintain control until figuring out if her boyfriend was Alessio Vitale. Now, maintain control of myself until she’s able to return to Rome, free from engagements.
Yet…being near her has also been the ultimate test of the very control I’m prideful of. Never in my life have I spent so much time trying to rein it back in. It’s curious, like everything else about her. No one’s ever undone so much of Papa’s work this way.
Twice today, that control nearly slipped.
First, when she was speaking to Andrei. It wasn’t like watching her with Vitale; it was darker. She’s my assignment, meant to be safeguarded—even from soldiers who need to learn to keep their hands, smiles, and eyes to themselves. Seeing Andrei near her turned the noise in my head into a shout.
When he smiled at her, I wanted to kill him.
There’s no point in murdering those loyal to the Bratva. Replacing them takes effort. Loyalty should never be rewarded by death. This is Vanessa’s regime, not Ursin’s, but fuck, if I wasn’t nearly willing to adopt Ursin’s fucked up morals to deal with the issue.
The issue being, I was bothered by it.
The entire time she toured campus, I continued to silently berate myself for feeling that way. It meant ignoring her, which was safer for us both, and letting my head work itself out.
Did it? Not even fucking close, resulting in the second time I lost control: snapping at her, claiming we’re not friends—which maybe we’re not, maybe we are. Outside of the other Elite, friendships are foreign to me, so what exactly categorizes Serafina and me, I don’t know. Either way, the hurt that filled her normally bright eyes reminded me of what I found at the party. It made me feel like I hurt her as badly as Vitale.
I can’t do that to her.Never.I’ll quit before I make her cry like him.
Everything about Serafina Mancini needs to be organized into a password-protected file folder and buried behind firewalls in my network.
This isn’t curiosity anymore.Whyshe’s able to do what no one else can matters little.
How I react—the control I’m clinging to, though barely—does.
While setting everything up, I’ve been talking myself out of this idea, one born this morning when I found her watching her shows on her phone. There was so much wrong with the image.
Acts of kindness aren’t in my wheelhouse, not when I barely understand the differences between kind and mean. Sometimes, Anastasia chides me for being abrupt; others view it as being rude when usually, I’m simply straight-up about how wrong they are.
So this…this is another reason Serafina’s hold on me is an inexplainable marvel.
When the basement door cracks open, my eyes rove over my work for a final inspection. It’s too late to undo anything, and my hands curl, pressure keeping the swell of emotion at bay. Anxiety, I think.
Serafina, dressed in the same jeans and shirt from earlier, minus the cardigan, pauses at the bottom of the stairs. Her mouth slips open as she takes in what I’ve stupidly done.
