Page 45 of Violent Pawn

Suddenly, my lips feel too dry, my chest too tight.

Because he guessed, he figured out the foundation for my wall that separates us. Them. If Nero isn’t like the others, surely he’ll judge me for previous actions. It’ll be like Viktor all over, but worse.

Worse…because there’s a different bond forming with him.

He leans forward, cutting into my view. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

But he did. He means everything. And that is…Well, I don’t know what it is.

Shifting the vehicle into Drive, I back from the house and take off without responding.

24

NERO

Anastasia driving my car makes me want to pull over so I can bend her over the hood of it and show her exactly how fucking hard this has made me.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Everything about this woman is a turn-on.

She effectively handles the vehicle while following my verbal directions, considering she’s never driven in Italy before.

Too soon, we’re pulling into Padre’s driveway, parking behind his small and modest Italian-made vehicle. I offer to buy him better all the time, but he continuously turns me down.

I get out and round the car to help her out, knowing at any second, she’ll ask the very question any smart woman being brought to a stranger’s house would. She drops my hand and adjusts her dress farther down those thighs that are seconds from being wrapped around my head.

“Where are we?”

“A friend’s, as I said.” She’ll realize my lie soon.

Taking advantage of her confusion, I grasp her hand and lead her up the driveway and stone path. I knock once, though it’s not necessary since he’s expecting me. Anastasia as well, after I briefly informed him on the way out of Zeno’s.

The door pulls open to a joyous, “Nero! Get inside.”

I yank Anastasia through the entranceway, which faces the living room with the faded couch I binge-watched TV shows on as a kid, over the carpet I’ve spilled too many drinks on, and through the doorway I once watched my parents share the cooking responsibilities in.

It’s small, it’s modest, and it’s everything opposite of the Bratva’s mansion or Zeno’s villa. She slides off her boots, expression shifting between staring and glaring while never looking more out of place than if I stuck her on the side of a cliff with a rope and told her to climb down.

“Nero…” Pieces begin falling into place, but it’s too late because Padre’s hugging me, his smaller and frailer form being dwarfed by my arms. Then he’s shaking her hand, forcing her to kill the fishy gap-mouthed look she was going for.

“Welcome, and Merry Christmas. Nero forgot to tell me your name.”

“Anastasia. You can call me Ana, though. All my friends do.”

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.

She winks over his head, but the genuineness of the moment is making it easier to forgive her. Especially when she immediately gives my father her attention, even ducking her head to attempt to break down the height differences between them.

“Your accent…Russian?”

“Da.”

Padre looks at me, brows lifted. He’s aware Zeno’s engaged, but not to whom. He’ll be invited to the wedding, having grown up as a kind of uncle to Zeno, but I’d intended to inform him during this visit.

“It smells amazing in here.” She glances through to the kitchen, where Padre has every pot filled with something. He always goes all out even though it’s only the two of us, resulting in leftovers that last forever. “Thank you for having me, and I’m very sorry for intruding. Nero didn’t mention where we were going.” Teeth smashing together, she playfully narrows her eyes at my return wink.

“It’s no intrusion. Always happy to meet another friend of Nero’s. I was starting to think he only has Zeno.” He gestures at the faded couch. “Get comfortable while I finish up. Nero, sit with her.”

Happily.