Page 115 of Violent Pawn

All to hold up the deal we had months ago.

Nero

I’m sorry. I should have listened and stayed away, trusted V to get it done. I’m sorry you saw me. I’m sorry you felt the need to message. I’m sorry for everything, Petrov.

I’ll see you at the wedding.

My thumbs hover over the keypad. His apologies feel recited, but that last text is so final. He’s ending the conversation by distancing himself.

Donations. Flowers. Names of the dead men walking. Willing to be imprisoned.

The phone drops from my hand, though I stare at the spot where more bubbles would appear if he began typing.

They never do.

56

NERO

“You’re an idiot who doesn’t listen. You’re the worst second-in-command in the entire Cosa Nostra.”

My glare passes the metal bar and onto Zeno, grunting beneath the weights. “I’m well aware I’m an idiot.”

After another rep, I rack the bar and use it to propel me upwards. My arms are tender from the time spent on this bench, as well as the other machines cycled through earlier. Exercise, for once, isn’t helping. Not when yesterday, I. Saw. Her.

“You understand how badly that could have gone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have a death wish over that woman.”

My jaw ticks because it’s not something I’m able to lie about. I swipe my water bottle and towel from the floor and head for the changing room. “Don’t say another word about her. Leave it alone.”

He doesn’t leave it alone but instead drags it along with us when he trails me. “My wedding is in two days.”

“I’ll be good, as I’ve promised.”

He huffs. “Fine, moving on because there’s no point in lingering on this. Do me a fuckin’ favour and never disobey me again. Not when it comes to shit like that. Have you discovered anything about the rat yet?”

Inside the change room, I drop onto the bench and start pulling out fresh clothing from my duffle bag. “Annoyingly enough, no. Lev’s been helping Elio and me comb through every employee’s file. We’ve pulled the backgrounds of any soldier and staff member with any ties outside this country or who’s ever seemed hesitant on a job. Lev, mind you, is a damn whiz at that shit so he was pulling addresses and everything we don’t even know exists. In the end, it changed nothing.”

“I don’t like this,” he grits, agitation sending him moving around the room. “At all. Having someone out there, working against us when I’m about to get married… Vanessa and the rest are flying in tomorrow early morning. Spend the day putting a team together. They’re going out for Vanessa’s addio al nubilato.” Bachelorette party.

“Will do.” Already, names of trusted men start filling my mind. No one on my list of suspects. I tug on slacks, studying my friend—the tightening on his jaw and clenching around his eyes. “Nervous?”

“That they’ll be targeted?”

“No, for the wedding. In forty-eight hours, you’ll be a married man.”

With that single statement, stress visibly melts off him. All his worries shift into peace. Vanessa is his good news, his happy ending, and all that shit the rest of us won’t ever find because fucking it up is easier than facing emotions.

Myself being the prime example.

“Guess that answered that.” I return my focus to dressing. “I have a bit to do downtown, then I’ll start gathering a team and running down where the girls will be going tomorrow and what’s expected, etcetera.”

“Grazie.” He waits until I’m standing, bag slung over my shoulder to ask, “You okay with what happened? Vanessa told me you were face-to-face.”

Am I okay with seeing the woman who’s plagued my every thought—good and bad—for months? No. After getting to know her, spending time with her, being torn away from what could be and maybe nearly was over a stupid mistake is an injury without salve.