Page 121 of Violent Pawn

Just as my gaze moves, Anastasia looks over. A flick of her eyes that clash with mine in the tiniest second of connection she immediately breaks. The gravitational force behind that single glance changes everything. My trajectory, my direction north…my future.

After today, I’ll never see her again. Not if I have any chance of keeping my promise. I won’t survive life without her, which means removing myself and figuring out how to live as a dead man walking.

This is different from the moment outside the Moscow precinct, which shouldn’t have happened. Confusion, shock, and happiness over her release sucked everything into the cavern formed.

Today, it’s back. Bigger and deeper than before, while I’m standing on the precipice, a second from leaping in or dragging her along with me.

For Zeno, I force my attention down the aisle where Vanessa, in a whole lot of white, is walking with her arm around Dimitri’s. It’s strikingly different than the dark colours she normally wears. Objectively, she’s pretty with her hair bound up and a seemingly typical wedding dress that hugs her frame until flaring at the train, lace sleeves giving her an innocent guise everyone here knows is false. But she’s nothing compared to her maid of honour.

Since beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or some shit like that, Zeno staggers forward like he’s about to either run from her or to her, to drag her away for the private ceremony I wish they’d had instead. He may even keel over from blood loss if his paling skin is an indication.

“Down, killer,” I murmur, much to the disgraced look from the priest.

“She’s…”

I never learn exactly what Vanessa is. She’s a bride—his bride. And in a matter of minutes, she’ll be his wife.

My best friend will have a wife. It’s so fucking weird to think about.

She reaches the end, and Dimitri slides his arm from hers, and with a kiss to her cheek and a murmured statement that cracks her resolve, he hands her to Zeno. Dimitri, being her only male relative, took up the mantle of the father-of-the-bride—something he mentioned a million and one times last night, each instance with pride. Lev, being as sober as I was, explained Dimitri was the one who encouraged Vanessa to take her place as the Volkov heir and not allow systematic gender roles to decide her future, so it was fitting he pushed her into this chapter of her life too.

The priest begins the painfully slow part of the ceremony. Admittedly, I zone out, checking in long enough to complete my part and hand over two rings.

They’re pronounced man and wife. Zeno sweeps Vanessa into a kiss that gets Serafina whistling and the crowd cheering. They begin down the aisle, meaning Anastasia and I need to follow.

She maintains the smiling bridesmaid façade as she links her arm around mine. She’s warm—warmer than all the liquor consumed in her absence. The scent of her fruity shampoo and the intensity of her perfume knocks at my senses, staggering me off my feet.

She isn’t looking my direction, but at least she isn’t shying away either. Regardless, it’s going to be a long fucking night, so I pin her close for the ten seconds she’s mine.

We’re propelled out of the church and down the front steps. The wedding planner almost immediately hauls us away from everyone and towards nearby trees, where she’s already pushed Vanessa and Zeno to. Anastasia disentangles herself, stepping to the side when the rest of our family catches up for the family-mandated pictures.

Serafina approaches, pressing into my side. “She’ll forgive you. Give it time.”

I’ve been giving it a whole lot of time.

“What do you know about it, mini-Mancini?”

She winks and rejoins Lev and the others. Elio and Gabriella stand beside me, while we watch the photographer capture the newlyweds from every angle possible, eventually forcing the wedding party to join in, and later family portraits.

The ones of just Anastasia and me are my favourite.

Italians enjoy going all-out in receptions, but fuck me, if this is destroying me from the inside out. Destroying all my sobriety and my withdrawals—worse than last night—and making me want nothing more than to get blackout drunk because she’s right there.

The entire fucking time, this whole hellscape of an evening, she’s close, yet further away too.

Within ten minutes of the reception, Zeno’s over the entire thing and eager to begin the honeymoon, which I toss my vote into as well. The sooner they leave and end the reception, the sooner I can escape the woman who makes life confusing.

At the same time, if the night could go on forever and I could remain in her vicinity, I’d die a happy man.

Once we arrived at the reception, Anastasia ran off to her family, spending the evening beside Dimitri and Katya while the newlyweds tour the room and greet guests.

Dinner passes as depressing as the rest. I’m seated on Zeno’s left while Anastasia takes Vanessa’s right, and the rest of our family is at a nearby round table. The delicacies Gabriella picked out barely resonate with my taste buds as I chug water to drown out my bourbon craving.

Once dinner is over, I head for the others, dropping into the chair that Gabriella vacates. A bottle of champagne is open and half empty in the centre of the table. I don’t even like champagne, but I’d take it if I could.

“You could at least pretend.” Serafina pouts. “Your depression is so loud, I practically hear it.”

The DJ invites the newlyweds for their first dance, so Zeno and Vanessa lose themselves in those few moments that’ll pave the rest of their lives. It means in minutes, the wedding party will be invited to join.