Page 95 of Violent Pawn

“You mean, because it’s a distraction?” Her head lowers onto my shoulder, providing a bit of comfort after basically stating she understands what’s wrong.

Today was necessary, not a distraction. Sure, it was easier dealing with my father’s dead body than reflecting on the previous few months.

“How’s the wedding coming along?”

She lifts her head again and frowns at me. “That was the least unsubtle topic switch. I’m serious, Ana. I’m worried. We should spend the afternoon together and do whatever you want.”

“I have to work.” There’s always work to be done at the clubs. Plus, Lev mentioned a job with the soldiers the other day, though I wasn’t fully paying attention and have no idea what it is.

“No, you’re choosing to work. There’s a difference.” She swings to a stop in front of me, drawing the other two who were walking a couple feet behind us to a stop as well. “Go on ahead,” she murmurs, and my traitorous brother abandons me.

“I’m sticking Sera on him later for this.”

Vanessa barely blinks at the comment before she reaches for my wrists, drawing them out from crossed arms which I have no recollection of folding at all. “Talk to me, please. He hurt you. There’s no point in denying it. Not talking about it is becoming a problem.”

A problem? Now I’m a fucking problem? She must have learned more from our fathers than she claims to. I rip my wrists from her hold and step back, casting the same kind of expression I would a stranger. “Don’t pull the high-and-mighty card on me. You were a mess over Zeno.”

“That isn’t my intention.” She draws to her full height, her expression cooling for something the soldiers typically get. “I needed a kick in the ass that day, and you need one today. It’s been two months, and you’re miserable.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re barely home anymore. You avoid us all. Hell, I’m genuinely surprised Lev got you out here today. You barely sleep—and don’t deny it. I’m not saying forgive him, but figure out what you need to heal from this and let me know. Let me help you.” She reaches for me again but drops her hands, her expression pleading. “I love you, and seeing you like this breaks me. I understand you’re angry, but don’t take it out on me or the others when we’re trying to be there for you.”

She finishes speaking. Stares at me. Sighs at my non-response.

How the fuck do I come up with an answer? It’s practically the truth. I’ve been pushing everything down and away, pretending to be content with things when I hardly know what day it is anymore.

As she turns away, her sigh catching on the wind, I reach for her wrist. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I just don’t know how to answer that question.”

As if the small disagreement didn’t happen, she rests her hand atop mine. “Think about it. You know better than anyone healing isn’t a quick journey, and betrayal is a special kind that lodges deeper than anything else. Don’t spend the rest of your life allowing a second man to control your mind.”

With that, she walks away, leaving me under those grey skies.

And my grey mood that’s quickly darkening to black.

48

NERO

Ineed to fix this.

I need to fix this.

How the fuck do I fix this?

Bottle in hand, I take a swig and continue my circling pace around my bedroom. Zeno ordered me to get out of bed and move a bit more, so I’m moving. Following orders and all that.

I need to fix what I broke, but as I step around a smashed bottle I genuinely don’t recall how it got there, my balance wobbles me straight into the window. The pane pushes into my arm because apparently, the house doesn’t respect me.

The window wins, and next thing I know, I’m sliding to the ground, knees drawn up. A ripped curtain is beneath me, which means my numerous attacks on the room are doing something good.

The place is still a mess. The bedroom door is back on its hinges, which is a win. I never cleaned two months ago when Zeno ordered me to. Or maybe I had, because there’s a vague memory of me picking up clothes.

Since the room is wrecked, it means I did it again and that I don’t recall. Being blackout drunk half the time means time works differently. Hell, until the other day when Zeno told me how long it’s been since my fuck-up, I genuinely didn’t comprehend.

“Really?” a voice drawls from my bedroom door.

Zeno, presumably, but as the fog clears, the voice happens to be older and gruffer—Elio. Leaning against my doorframe with his arms crossed, he lifts a brow.