Page 83 of Violent Pawn

Nero

I’m sorry.

As the jet settles onto the landing strip of the airport in the Cayman Islands, my thumb strokes over his text for the millionth time. It was stupid to pray that once taken out of airplane mode, a follow-up message with more details would arrive.

I assume his actions are behind my chest’s constant clenching, which formed after waking alone and stupidly assuming he was in the bathroom or getting breakfast after our night together. It was disappointing he wasn’t wrapped around me in bed, but I shook that off.

My enthusiasm crashed when I found everyone except Nero in the kitchen. Zeno explained he had to return to Rome earlier than planned for something family-related, but considering he wouldn’t meet my eyes, it makes me wonder how he ever lied good enough to sneak into Vanessa’s life and bed.

Within the hour, his message came. I waited hours for a better explanation, but that was it. Two words, nothing about his apparent emergency. Not even details about what exactly he’s apologizing for: leaving suddenly or that we fucked and I’m not who he wants after all.

Just like that, he reminds me why I disregard relationships. Why Nero was forced behind firm lines and was never supposed to sneak to the other side. He did, and I’m the idiot who fell for it. Was coming to like him. Like him, like him.

He’s decided for us and shattered every belief I had about him being a good person.

It hurts. He didn’t even say goodbye.

As my brother stands from the adjacent couch and shuts his laptop, he glances at the name attached to the text thread on my phone. “You made me lose the bet, by the way. You owe me.”

Sighing, I stand too and follow him out into the bright sunlight the flight crew opens the door to let inside. “You’re making no sense. Not that you often do, but especially not now.”

He waits until we’re both descended the plane’s steps and he’s walking beside me. “We all had a bet going as to when the two of you would finally fuck. Zeno and Dimitri both gave you up until their wedding. Fina bet the Cosa Nostra party. Vanessa won, correctly timing last night.”

“And you?”

“Christmas.”

“That was a month ago. You assumed I’d break that soon?” It’s almost an insult…maybe a compliment.

He shrugs and starts rolling up his sleeves. “How the fuck should I know? You’re a very confusing person.”

As he finishes getting ready for the Cayman Islands, I stride by him in my shorts, tank, and sports bra with a flick of my fingers. “If only you listened to me about your outfit choice back in Moscow.” I warned him that the Islands in the winter are nothing like the negative temperatures and snow of home, but he opted not to listen.

“Yeah, yeah, Fina said the same. Shut up.” He heads to the side, where the car we booked is waiting for us.

“It’s weird hearing you use a casual nickname. Though, I’ll admit, Fina is better than Sera.”

“It’s my name, not yours, so never speak it again,” he says with a bit of a growl that only makes me giggle. I might run from a man’s possessiveness, but on my brother, whose trauma was much different than mine, it’s sweet.

Lev gets into the driver’s seat, as he usually does when we’re going places together, and we begin the trip to our father’s house.

“How are we doing this?”

“Quickly.” His knuckles whiten around the wheel as he taps his pattern along the back of it. “Unless you want to drag it out.”

“You don’t?”

“There’s been enough bloodshed since last year. I’d prefer we tell the old man what we have to, get it over with, and go the hell home.”

He’s tense being this far from Serafina, but it’s alright. I always dreamed of dragging Papa’s pain out, but for Lev to get through this easier and faster and return to his safety net, Papa’s pain isn’t worth that much.

“For the entire flight, a part of me wanted to go home and forget his existence entirely, to not reopen these wounds.” He touches his chest where a tattoo depicts the number of prison stays he survived. “Sometimes I’m grateful he did all that shit because it made me who I am. For a long time, that was someone I didn’t like, but I somehow still won the love of a woman—someone who could do a whole fucking lot better than me. I’m who she chose, scars and all. I wouldn’t change a thing, prison included, if it meant losing her.”

With this single speech, my own twin becomes a stranger.

I rest my hand on his. “Quickly then, but still with a short stretch of pain. You might sorta appreciate his actions, but I still despise the fucker. I need some measure of his pain to cure me.” We both know it won’t, but it could make me feel better.

His eyes cut to my phone on my lap. “Is this about the lack of trust you have for others?”