Page 89 of Violent Pawn

I talk before he can start. “It’s not Zeno’s fault. It’s not really the Cosa Nostra’s either. Don’t let this change anything. Nero…” I suck in the amount of air required to push the next statement out. “Nero killed our father.”

Vanessa’s head whips back and forth between Zeno and me. “What? Why? How did he even find him?”

“We slept together, the night of your party—as you know. After months of avoiding what he was offering, I trusted him enough to let him inside. I like him.” Liked—past tense. “While I was asleep, he went through my phone for Papa’s address.”

“The ex-Elite’s been getting killed one by one,” Lev mutters, putting the rest of the pieces together, which makes Zeno tense tighter than an elastic band.

“Nero’s been going behind my back and murdering more than just your father for months?”

“Seems so.” Lev shrugs.

“Why would he want to? What’s he gain from this?” Vanessa taps her nails along the surface of her desk in no particular pattern.

We all look at Zeno, who’s merely rubbing his forehead. “Fuck me. Months ago, he was going on about Ursin’s Elite being a potential problem, but I told him to leave it alone. It’s not our issue to deal with.” He glances my way. “Minutes before your arrival, he was trying to tell me something. If it was about this, it’d explain his behaviours of late and his disappearance for the past two days.”

And the blood on his collar on New Year’s Eve. The day after, Lev came with the news about Angeloff. The signs of my idiocy were there.

Vanessa slides from her desk to kneel in front of me. “You okay?”

Old Anastasia would lie, but right now, my energy is so low, even faking requires a strength that faded with one man’s betrayal. “I was coming to like him, and he proved to be like every other man. No offence,” I toss towards the two guys, one of whom crouches beside his fiancée.

“On behalf of my entire organization, I apologize. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I’ll see it done.” Solemnity rings in Zeno’s tone, which somehow makes it feel worse.

“It’s not your fault.” I glance between the couple. “You two will have your happy ending. I’ll get over this. It just…sucks.”

Vanessa grimaces and squeezes my hand, seeing right through my shielded comments.

“As for punishment, keep him away from me. I can’t promise I won’t stab him if he were to show up. Except for your wedding,” I tack on, the thought of the happy day shredding my insides. Happiness for them will be a death march for me. “I promise to play nice for that.”

Vanessa stands and hugs me tightly. Years of pent-up strength, of hiding from old truths, embrace her back. Heartbreak slips back, leaving the organ in my chest even more dried up than after Papa finished with it.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours, she hugs me until I release her and stand. “I’ll be at my studio.”

Dancing always makes everything better. Even when it was the activity Papa molded for his own sick uses, he was never able to steal my love of dancing no matter how much he tried.

Practicing reminds me of the latest show I’ve performed: The Nutcracker.

Which reminds me of Nero, sitting in the front row, bringing me flowers, and being his charming self.

Which reminds me of today, when he was on his knees, beat down and broken.

Which reminds me why he was.

The last in my chaînés turns ends with my feet crossed, and when I sink to the floor, I’m already in the perfect position to bring my legs up.

I cry into my knees, officially shattering the promise I made to myself ages ago: to never cry over a man.

So I make a new vow to live and die by.

Nero Amato will be the last man I ever shed a single tear over.

44

NERO

The door to my bedroom crashes open, which is plain cruel, though nothing less than I deserve either. Not after yesterday. The day before?

Actually, what day is it?