Now you’re cracking jokes—also unlike you. Tell yourself whatever you want, but be careful.
Me
We’re friends, nothing more. Friends attend shows together.
Annoying Twin
Whatever. Box or front row?
Me
Front row. She’ll like being close.
Annoying Twin
Sure. Next week can’t come quick enough.
Don’t forget, there’s a dress code. Serafina will need clothes since I doubt she’s travelled with a formal dress.
Me
I haven’t forgotten. I’ll take care of her. You worry about you.
Annoying Twin
Now to decide whose side to take when this blows up. Van’s because I actually like her, or yours, since we’re twins. Hmm…
Me
Fuck off.
Iglance up from my phone towards the futon where Serafina has her textbooks and laptop spread out as she whips notes together. The activity looks tedious, but she does it all with concentration, only huffing occasionally as she flips between pages.
If only I could regret yesterday. I did the thing that’ll anger Vanessa and Zeno—aftermy Pakhan specifically told me not to. I wish I had more control around Serafina. For once in my life, I chased what felt good, and Serafina…Fina’s worth it.
There shouldn’t be anything above the Bratva, above my vows and oaths. The organization is fused within my bloodstream, exactly how Papa meant for it to be. He’s succeeded in that much, and once we forced him out of Russia, everything fell into place. Becoming one of Vanessa’s Spies is my identity, my pride. All the work, my friendship and loyalty to Vanessa, my support of her takeover—she brought the Bratva into a new age, and I was on the correct side of it.
For me, nothing—no one—is above my vows.
Some-fucking-how, Serafina placed herself there. She calms my heart, my head, and it’s impossible to consider the fallout. If shit falls apart, Serafina will be kept out of it and not in trouble with Zeno; I’ll take the blame to ensure she walks away from this unscathed.
“You’re watching me,” she muses in a sing-song voice without looking up from her work. “I can feel it.”
“Good.”
Right now, I can, but one day, she’ll be gone, and I won’t have this chance. My world will return to shadows and unfeeling, to constant buzzing and overstimulation, whereas my form of therapy will be in an entirely different country.
It’ll be like the time I came home and found my computers trashed on Papa’s orders. The world felt dark that day. I recall reacting, but nothing I said or did. That was before tapping calmed me down, when I had no healthy coping mechanisms. He tossed me back into prison until I learned the meaning of discipline and duty.
It’s with those thoughts I roll my computer chair to her side, drag her closer for a quick and hard kiss, and then push her back into her school work with a smirk.
“Do your work.”
She groans, sticks out her tongue, and then returns to studying like everything’s normal.
It’s not normal, but it’s fuckingright.
So, so curious.
