31
LEV
At the top of the driveway, instead of pulling forward into the unattached garage, I complete a three-point-turn and park by the door.
Serafina draws her own conclusions about the differences in this arrival versus yesterday. “Not coming inside?”
“Business to attend to downtown. I’ll be back late. When’s your first class tomorrow?”
She attempts to hide her disappointment, but her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly tells me she’s pouting. Perhaps I’d appreciate that she enjoys me being around if I was allowed to.
“Nine.”
“I’ll meet you out here at eight.”
She hesitates for a moment, hand hovering on the door’s handle. Whyever she needed a moment, she shakes it off—literally shakes her head—and steps out, immediately taking her positive energy and leaving the car a bit colder, reminiscent of winter nights.
And, of course, her blasted perfume lingers. Every day, I retrieve this same car—mine, even though Vanessa suggested using one of her SUVs—and every day, I regret it. She’s pollutedthe other parts of my life; I’m pretty sure the car is the final thing on the invisible list she’s unknowingly working off of.
Once she’s safely inside, I head downtown for the meeting I called with the men. Probably the shittiest part of my role as one of Vanessa’s Spies—one of two positions of great influence Anastasia and I hold—is that my main job is to manage the soldiers and ensure operations run smoothly. With Dimitri out of the picture for now, staying on top of things is more important than ever.
When I left for Rome, despite my distaste for hosting meetings, I’d been anticipating returning to this when my job with Serafina was complete. Now, however…I’d prefer not to work.
I want to sit in the basement, pretending not to watch Serafina’s shows with her.
I want to inhale her vanilla and peach scent, stronger than it lingers in this vehicle.
Roles. Responsibility. It’s everything Papa forced into me. For once, I’m pleased by his insistence to turn me into something more than a technology-obsessed nerd, because the control—the discipline—required to step away from my computers is the same it takes to avoid who I want to be around the most.
The meeting goes as expected, though wondering if Serafina ended up in the basement or not distracted me. I’m anticipating returning home to discover the answer for myself, but when a last-minute report regarding unauthorized gang activity in the area comes through, duty keeps me away for longer.
After texting Vanessa, three guys and I head for where the gang reportedly sets up base. They end up being fairly amicable after limited physical convincing and throws their allegiance in with us. While the whole thing takes no longer than an hour, the anticipation of getting back is actually driving me insane.
Once finally home, I head for the kitchen to wash the blood off my knuckles and clean the cuts. My ribs ache from the singular punch the gang leader landed before he started cooperating.
I despise fighting because it takes me to another time, one when stone walls equalled fighting for survival. Like beating on Alessio the other day, sometimes, it’s an unavoidable necessity that goes with this life.
From there, I head to the basement. The sight of Serafina passed out on the futon, legs crossed in front of her, a textbook resting open on her lap, stops me. Her head is held up by the couch’s backing and her shoulder, clearly having fallen asleep studying.
A peacefulprintessa.
An avalanche of feelings bury me—none I completely understand, but each has my finger tapping my pattern against my thigh, the skin of my knuckles split from punching. All those feelings have me unwisely approaching, lowering to my knees beside the futon.
I observed her sleep for an entire night after the party. Then, I was concerned how she’d wake, anxious over Zeno’s arrival, and battling a deep-rooted desire to hunt Vitale down.
At no point did I want to touch her. Even when my growing obsession and ever-present curiosity had me wondering if the rest of her skin was as soft as her thighs, the invisible line drawn across my room made staying away possible.
This time, however, my hand stretches towards face. Imustknow, must answer at leastoneoddity about this woman, since everything else is going to shit.
Being touched by others is horrible. Touching someone else takes a lot of personal workup. With Serafina, it’s without falter, even when she should be the ultimate hesitation.
My index finger brushes her cheek in the most barely-there touch I can physically handle. It’s with my bloodied knuckles, the kitchen sink not doing a great job cleaning the dried blood, and it looks wrong, causing me to briefly pull away. The Cosa Nostraprintessamight have been bred around a life of crime, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one who introduces her into it.
Her skin, softer than a flower’s petal, than the chiffon dresses my sister always goes on about, than a blanket Vanessa bought me for my last birthday, immediately eases the static in my head.
She sighs in her sleep. It matches the very sound I, too, release when my mind, after a long day of hell, completely blanks. Everything but this woman is gone from it.
Peace. True fuckingpeacefor once.
