Page 117 of Violent Pawn

Elio pulls the vehicle away, trailed by the other one stacked with our bags, and chuckles. “Not completely alone. He’s stationed a team to protect the villa. They’ll also be accompanying you tonight.”

Vanessa groans. “Zeno knows we can handle ourselves.”

“You can. And Signorina Petrov.” He meets my gaze in the rear view. “The others, not so much. Besides, he’d never risk you. The four of you will be drinking, si? Alcohol lowers inhibitions, and he won’t take a risk.”

Just the thought of tonight’s devichnik—bachelorette party—has me dying inside. Serafina chose the schedule because she’s determined to bring us to all the places Zeno and Gabriella were too protective to allow her to see. Being cheery in any shape and form tonight is energy I simply don’t have. Perhaps after a day’s worth of sleep and a few uppers to get me through.

The deeper into Rome we drive, the more of Nero is in my head, the lower my mood.

The fiery hellscape of my rage has been exhausting. Months of pretending to be fine, undone by a quick look and a short text conversation that I’ve been rereading almost as many times as his explanation from months ago.

At the villa, Elio and the guards unload our stuff into our respective rooms, with Vanessa’s wedding gear stored in a spare bedroom to be hung and sorted at Gabriella’s request (demand), who’ll be along tomorrow morning.

After the car gets unloaded, Dimitri and Lev say their goodbyes and are shipped off to where Zeno is waiting to start his malchishnik, or addio al celibato as the Italians refer to it. Vanessa gave them a brief explanation as to what they’re in for tonight, much to Lev’s immediate panic.

“I’ll be okay,” Katya reassures Dimitri, pulling him closer. “It won’t be like last time, I swear. You heard what Elio said. There’s a team.”

Five, to be exact, which makes one for each of us, plus an extra. It’s a smart formation.

Meanwhile, Serafina’s gripping my brother’s cheeks, who’s looking a tad paler than his usual introverted shade of white. “Text if you need to, but do try to have fun. I know it’s not the right kind of fun, but have a drink. Stick close to Dimitri if you need to.”

He shakes his head against her forehead. “Fun isn’t being away from you, Fina. Weddings and you don’t really go hand in hand.”

“One day they will,” she vows in a suggestive way that has me backing away from the happy couple and heading inside to catch a short rest before the longest two days of my life.

On my way up to the bedroom that’s become mine over our multiple stays here, I pass Nero’s room. His door is shut partway, but not clasped, and I stop, hovering with my hand over the wood before opening it and facing more memories. The ones where I slept in his arms Christmas night, which was the start of so much.

The bed is unmade. Articles of clothing are strewn around. It’s his scent, though, familiar and welcoming, that draws me deeper inside, but no further than a few steps. My breath catches at the signs—the cracks in the foundation of what Nero’s mood actually has been.

The cracks on the far wall.

The holes in the bathroom door.

The broken closet entrance.

All of them, signs of violence.

Vanessa’s devichnik is fine.

Just fine.

My black cocktail dress matches the scene. I drink whatever ends up in front of me. My laughter is well-timed with the others. But I’m not having a good time.

Serafina drags us around to three different places, all of whom cater to the sash Katya placed around Vanessa’s body and the plastic crown a very drunk Serafina stole from someone else.

Zeno’s bodyguards constantly linger; four close by. If one of us breaks away, for the bathroom, to retrieve a drink, or to dance, then one follows along. The fifth, the extra, remains by the front door, a second bouncer who’s exclusive to us. They’re all insanely stoic and unblinking and only speak when spoken to, reminding me much of the way Ivan and Papa were known for training Bratva soldiers like they were objects, not people.

While Vanessa and Serafina are dancing, Katya remains behind with me. Her phone’s in her hand, her thumb flicking its case in a repetitive motion. Despite the fact she’s clearly nervous, her question throws me.

“You alright?”

I don’t think I’m doing that bad a job of hiding it. “Fine.”

“Liar. I know better than anyone what faking ‘fine’ appears like.”

Luckily, the arrival of the others saves me from responding. By a spark of pure luck, my phone vibrates too, which saves me from joining in on the conversation that Vanessa strikes up.

Emotionless Bro