Page 31 of Violent Pawn

“As long as that’s all that grows.” I throw my elbow into him again, harder.

“Can’t promise you that. Not around you anyway.”

“Do you hear yourself sometimes?”

“Yep.” He pops the P. “And I sound pretty good. So, when should I expect an engagement announcement from you?”

Snorting, I bite down on my sarcastic laugh and shuffle to the farthest edge of my seat to escape him in the most subtle way possible, location considering. “See a man by my side? That’ll be never.”

The same arm around my chair back drops until his large hand encompasses my knee and thigh. “I’m here.”

“Didn’t realize you count.” Not wasting any time, I push his hand, but his grip remains firm.

“You wound me, Petrov. I have a difficult time believing no one’s lined up to wed the prettiest Elite?”

The compliment kills my argument. “There’s no one here because I won’t let them be. It’s not what I want nor need.”

Nero falls silent, even sliding his hand off my leg. A cavern forms between our chairs that I don’t know how to take, how to fill, or if I want to. Whatever caused the change in his demeanour is positive, yet feels like a part of Nero slipped away.

I know only too well what it’s like to hide sides of oneself. Nero shouldn’t have to.

Reaching across that cavern—throwing a rope to him, I twist in the chair until my knee presses into his. “As Zeno’s second, you must have a line of eager women begging for your attention.”

Based on his scowl, filling the cavern doesn’t have the intended effect. He reaches for his glass but doesn’t sip. “I’m no one but a position, and that’s all they see when they look at me. I’m not an heir to a grand fortune, but instead made my own. My future wife will be a woman who wants me for me, not the prestige of my position. So no, no one’s here because I too haven’t let them be.”

Abruptly, he stands, knocking my leg back. Drink in hand, he strides around the table to talk to Vanessa and Zeno. Instead of seeing this as a win, as an escape, I watch him.

Maybe the pieces of Nero aren’t totally shapeless after all. In fact, I might have found a piece that’s the same shape as one of mine.

He glances up from his conversation. A tense few seconds pass with unspoken messages in no decipherable language. Whatever’s in his expression, good or bad, I lift my glass in salute—in the language I know he comprehends.

He smirks, and then downs the rest of his drink in response.

18

NERO

Days after the engagement lunch, I’m back in Rome and going over paperwork in one of the club’s offices. Instead of skimming contracts and other bullshit, my best friend’s upcoming wedding looms.

He can’t marry her until I admit what happened. He must understand why only one parent will be in attendance and the role I played in that. Then he can decide if he wants me there or not.

Which means needing to get rid of the old Elite before the wedding. His order to forget the old Elite barely registered in my grief-addled mind that craves retribution. I’ve obeyed every command he’s ever given me as Capo, but as his friend, I’m giving the middle finger to this one.

Asking Vanessa for information will lead her to questioning Zeno about my intentions. Serafina will direct me to Lev, who probably has trackers or some shit on them all, but that’ll make it back to Vanessa too—and thus Zeno, who’ll figure out I’m disobeying him. Dimitri would probably ignore me, viewing it as inside information only.

Anastasia is my best bet. With everyone paired up, it wouldn’t be unusual being near her so often. With a bit of trust, she may begin opening up. Hell, she already has, so it’s only a matter of time before more of her walls crumble.

The pen in my grip cracks as my fingers clamp tighter. Something twists my insides and blurs my vision beyond anything but her. Her from the past and present. The look on her face when I inquired about her father.

Fuck, this is useless. With a sigh and a hankering for alcohol more than a junkie needs their next fix, I long for a drink.

Guilt. That’s what’s happening to me. Fucking guilt is going to take me out if I’m not careful.

She’s more than we assumed—than I assumed. Of course, we know plenty about the Bratva’s Elite. After Vanessa took control, Zeno learned everything on the next round of leadership, so he knew who was closest to her, who to target. Turns out, our intel didn’t find everything. Nothing of the little things about each of them that make them them.

Anastasia isn’t cold-hearted like the reports have her being. She’s scared. She’s protecting herself from something. Something…I vow to learn what.

She doesn’t hate me, even if she wants to. That’s the most important fact.