Page 18 of Violent Pawn

12

NERO

Anastasia’s sweet scent lingers after she runs off, taunting me with what I’ll never have.

I reach for the liquor bottle, intending to burn her scent from my brain. When I swallow the first sip, it’s easy for my drunken mind to conjure her still seated across from me. Dancer legs encased in leggings while an oversized shirt drips from her frame. It was loose enough to be slipped from one shoulder but tight in all the right places.

My cock seems to ignore the liquor for the conjured image of her hard little nipples.

It feels wrong to want—no, to crave the woman behind Zeno’s father’s death. Logically, I know it’s not her fault. It’s mine because I saved her, but talking about the past brings it all back. That if I had done my job, a man might still be alive.

If I did, that feisty ballerina may not be, which would be a worse fate.

Culpability is bricks on my shoulders. It wakes the little voice in the back of my head that chastises drinking isn’t wise. Still, I knock back the bottle and slouch on the couch until the early light shines.

Athump jerks me upright, my eyes heavy and bleary and blinking against the harsh sunlight someone so rudely let into my bedroom. Through the pain, I notice the blurred figure settling on the couch across from me, a large dog curled up by his feet.

Wait.

My neck cracks with pinched muscles, and an empty bottle gets knocked to the side as I straighten, my back screeching after a night on the couch. My legs are numb in places they have no need to be, and nothing feels quite how it should.

Groaning, I rub a hand down my face before curling my fingers in and out of a fist, returning blood to the limb. Between the rubs and blinks, the unimpressed face of my Capo clears.

His glare makes me wish I was still passed out. “Seriously? Couldn’t even make it to your bed?”

“It was only a few drinks.”

It was more than a few. It was an entire bottle of bourbon.

Alcoholism has a few stages. For many, they’re living within denial, refusing to recognize their drinking habits. After all this time, I’m aware of my habit-turned-addiction. I’m mindful that a few drinks for me is way too many for others, and too many for me would be alcohol poisoning for them.

It’s easier to numb memories than face them, this instance being a prime example.

It should be simple to admit everything to Zeno. My failed mission, resulting in no bargaining power and, therefore, not distracting Volkov and his men. He’s clearly moved beyond his hatred of the Bratva. Given who Anastasia is to Vanessa, he might even be okay with my earlier self’s choices.

Too bad I’m a fucking coward.

Because I don’t know how he’ll react. It’ll mean admitting my fuck-up. That I’m the reason he grew up without a father, needing to prove to the Commission for years he’s suitable to lead.

I can’t lose Zeno to this. I won’t. So I live in misery with alcoholism as my friend. The voice in my head becomes my cheerleader to make it through the darker days.

I’m aware my issues are at the addiction level. I simply can’t change it.

He scowls. “You missed the others leaving.”

“They’re gone?” She’s gone. Our conversation from last night feels unfinished, and a part of me—the brave part—needed to go deeper. To figure out why she looks at me like I’m a wounded creature.

“Sì. Ana and Dimitri had meetings they can’t cancel. Serafina’s still in the hospital with Lev. I’m headed over there now. She’ll spend a few days in Ostia with Madre, before returning to Moscow. From there, I’ll be visiting Vanessa for a while.” He stands, staring down his nose, taking in my rumpled suit, half-unbuttoned shirt, cuffs rolled up. I lost my jacket sometime yesterday. “Shower and clean up. You stink and have a job to do.”

His abrupt departure hurts as much as Anastasia’s did. Once he’s gone, I gather the empty bottle, staring at it like it’s my new enemy.

The disappointment on my best friend’s face was nearly worse than my conscience.

If only I could fix everything for real. A perfect world in which none of this occurred, but Anastasia remained alive.

After showering, changing, and eating, I spent a day working in an office downtown Rome inside one of our bars. Zeno strides in and kicks back in the chair across from me. “Sera’s now in Ostia with Madre. Lev’s at the house. He wanted to give her time alone with Madre. I came back to check on you and see if you’d like to join us all later for dinner.”

“I’m good.” Denying the offer, which probably came from his mother, Gabriella, is a swift kick in the balls because she’s been a second parent to me, but after this morning, I’d rather not face Zeno. “There’s more work to do. I’m helping train some of the new inductees.”