Chapter 29 Lev
LEV
When the fist comes at me, I duck but hold my ground until there’s a prime opening to charge. His movements are sluggish because of the injury to his side, and it’s obvious he’s winded when he whirls on me.
One…
Two…
Before his shoulder makes contact with my stomach, I move sideways so his head slams into the cement wall, barely saved by his reflexes. Blood pours from his forehead, but by the time he straightens, I’m gone.
Controlled attacks always win.
Control is one of the most vital tools in a soldier’s arsenal. When Papa felt I was uncontrollable in my computer fixation, he taught me in a different manner. In prison, against men who were deadlier, I learned to control myself—to win. The one in control remains in control.
That goes for anything. Restraint is key, being able to wait until a prime moment to attack, whether the assault is physical or on an enemy’s network. There’s a reason why I’m patient. Why Vanessa has me on the kinds of jobs the others avoid.
It’s why guarding Serafina, all things considered, is simple. Maintain control until figuring out if her boyfriend was Alessio Vitale. Now, maintain control of myself until she’s able to return to Rome, free from engagements.
Yet…being near her has also been the ultimate test of the very control I’m prideful of. Never in my life have I spent so much time trying to rein it back in. It’s curious, like everything else about her. No one’s ever undone so much of Papa’s work this way.
Twice today, that control nearly slipped.
First, when she was speaking to Andrei. It wasn’t like watching her with Vitale; it was darker. She’s my assignment, meant to be safeguarded—even from soldiers who need to learn to keep their hands, smiles, and eyes to themselves. Seeing Andrei near her turned the noise in my head into a shout.
When he smiled at her, I wanted to kill him.
There’s no point in murdering those loyal to the Bratva. Replacing them takes effort. Loyalty should never be rewarded by death. This is Vanessa’s regime, not Ursin’s, but fuck, if I wasn’t nearly willing to adopt Ursin’s fucked up morals to deal with the issue.
The issue being, I was bothered by it.
The entire time she toured campus, I continued to silently berate myself for feeling that way. It meant ignoring her, which was safer for us both, and letting my head work itself out.
Did it? Not even fucking close, resulting in the second time I lost control: snapping at her, claiming we’re not friends—which maybe we’re not, maybe we are.
Outside of the other Elite, friendships are foreign to me, so what exactly categorizes Serafina and me, I don’t know.
Either way, the hurt that filled her normally bright eyes reminded me of what I found at the party.
It made me feel like I hurt her as badly as Vitale.
I can’t do that to her. Never. I’ll quit before I make her cry like him.
Everything about Serafina Mancini needs to be organized into a password-protected file folder and buried behind firewalls in my network.
This isn’t curiosity anymore. Why she’s able to do what no one else can matters little.
How I react—the control I’m clinging to, though barely—does.
While setting everything up, I’ve been talking myself out of this idea, one born this morning when I found her watching her shows on her phone. There was so much wrong with the image.
Acts of kindness aren’t in my wheelhouse, not when I barely understand the differences between kind and mean. Sometimes, Anastasia chides me for being abrupt; others view it as being rude when usually, I’m simply straight-up about how wrong they are.
So this…this is another reason Serafina’s hold on me is an inexplainable marvel.
When the basement door cracks open, my eyes rove over my work for a final inspection. It’s too late to undo anything, and my hands curl, pressure keeping the swell of emotion at bay. Anxiety, I think.
Serafina, dressed in the same jeans and shirt from earlier, minus the cardigan, pauses at the bottom of the stairs. Her mouth slips open as she takes in what I’ve stupidly done.
Open space and a bare wall have always been beside my desk.
It’s never bothered me, but it’s proven to be the ideal place to hang a flatscreen.
The futon’s been pulled closer to the screen, a small table added with charging cords compatible with her phone so she can complete her usual social media checks while she watches.
“Since there’s no TV anywhere in the mansion, and it doesn’t seem enjoyable to be using the smaller screens of your laptop or phone, I figured this might do.
It’s a Smart TV, so it has easy access to all your required apps.
” An unfamiliar sensation snakes down my spine as she approaches, steps echoing through the empty places in my head that she’s filling more and more each passing day.
“I sent Andrei and a few men this morning to get it. It’s down here so you’re not alone in an empty room upstairs, but I can easily move it all to yours, or wherever, if you want. ”
I don’t know why I set this up in my space.
Well, I do, but I shouldn’t have. She should be far away any time we’re not in class.
“If there are any technical issues, I’m right here to fix them.” That’s not the reason. Not even remotely close. “And…I’ve gotten invested in the damn shows.” That’s one of them.
She comes a few steps closer, continuing to stare at my living room set-up. Her silence stretches my lungs, filling the cracks with uncertainty. “You…you got me a TV. To watch my shows.”
“I’ll be in and out, working, but you’re free to come down whenever.”
What strange words. Vanessa might own the mansion, but she doesn’t visit if I’m not around. Neither do Ana or Dimitri. Soldiers don’t have access to the mansion’s interior. This is my area—my safety.
Not only is she tainting it with her sweet scent—albeit, at my request—but if she spends a lot of time here, this place will be hopeless when she leaves. I’ll never get my sanity back. The basement will be forever changed.
Yet, I hung the screen, knowing full well what it’d mean.
She destroys my control just by breathing.
“What you said in the car…”
“It came out wrong. I’m just—” On the fucking precipice of losing every fragment of control. “I don’t say this often, but I am sorry. It wasn’t meant to come out how it did.”
“Then what did you mean?”
That you need to let this go. “Fina…” I trail off, unsure where my warning was going but hoping my sharp tone does the job. There are few instances in life when I forget my words. Every single one has been around her.
“I’m confused, Lev.”
Me too. “Don’t be. It’s just a TV.” Needing her off the subject of feelings, I turn for my desk and open the top drawer, where I retrieve the cell phone I’ve been also getting set up. “I need your phone.”
Despite everything, she hands it over with little hesitation. “Why?”
“So I can sync it with the new one so your pictures and contacts carry over.”
“My new one?”
I hold up the newer but identical version of hers.
“One with a Russian number Vitale isn’t aware of, so he can’t ping it.
I’ll have yours destroyed, but if I do my job right, you won’t even notice there’s a difference.
And if I’m not mistaken, you have another episode to catch up on. ” That’ll distract her.
At first, it seems like she’s about to argue, but she simply shrugs in agreement and settles onto my futon. I focus on my task rather than how the puffy cushion swallows her, making her look smaller than she is, and she locates the controller to choose her streaming service.
Her perfume is about to pollute my second bed. Soon, I’ll be sleeping standing up like a damn horse to escape it.
I focus on setting up the new cell, logging into her accounts so her pictures and contacts sync while her show plays in the background. When a woman is eliminated from the show, losing her opportunity to be the guy’s future wife, I mutter, “Guy’s an idiot.”
“Why’s that?”
For the first time, I look over at her. Something unfamiliar knocks at my sternum at the sight of the Cosa Nostra printessa bundled in the blanket previously draped over the back of the futon, legs drawn up.
“She was the better option. She held a proper job and had hobbies. Personality. He seemed comfortable around her.”
Her smile is a slow spread, suggesting I’ve messed up again, but this time, I’m unsure how. “So you enjoy your women with a personality?”
My women. Sure, there’s been the odd one in the past. Alcohol usually makes sex possible. It’s the only way I can stand another’s touch. There have been far and few of them, by choice.
“Mindless idiots are boring. I have no time for those.”
Her smile grows a bit wider, like I’ve uncovered some secret. She drops one leg to the floor and leans an elbow on it, blue eyes twinkling like the night and day sky have converged. “Then what am I?”
Extremely fucking dangerous and forbidden.
“Not an idiot, or I wouldn’t have done all this.”
She hums. “Why did you? Considering my stay here is temporary.”
That’s where she’s wrong. Vanilla and peach will linger far too long after she goes. She’s never been temporary. She’s a permanent mark on my control and sanity.
“Consider me invested in the stupid things.” Better to tell her half a lie rather than the truth: that seeing her smile is worth it, no matter how long or short her stay will be. “Upstairs on your laptop means not being regaled with the drama these shows love to invent.”
She giggles before getting comfortable again. “I’ll accept that. Thank you.”
Once the show resumes and her attention has shifted, I allow myself to smile, masked by the screen’s glow.
Acouple hours later, she switches off the TV and stands to leave, which I’m thankful for.
It’s worse than her dorm room. That was her space, easier to ignore her. Here, she’s everywhere, and it’s impossible to focus on anything, to the point I nearly destroyed my own infrastructure because I wasn’t paying enough attention.
Every joke made on the show resulted in a breathy chuckle my fixation has recorded to replay later, when trying to sleep.
Every movement was a reminder she’s actually down here and not in my head.
Every murmured comment was taken in, just in case I wanted to reply.
After counting to five and inhaling sharply, doing my best to hold my breath, I face her. “Heading up?”
“I’m hungry. Plus, I’d like to shower and rest for tomorrow. Finished with my phone?”
“Hours ago. But you were distracted, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
” Hers has been since shut off and put away until a time I can have it destroyed.
I hand her the new one. “All your apps and pictures were transferred, plus most of your contacts—minus Vitale. I noticed Vanessa’s number in there, but I added Ana’s too.
I’d rather you be able to reach any one of us. ”
She takes it, unlocks and scans through the identical looking set up. “Thanks for this. Good idea. I wouldn’t have thought about him using my phone to find me. Makes sense you would have.”
“Most people wouldn’t have.” I shrug. “I noticed your friend’s number…” I’d read her texts to Amara, curious when noticing none of them seemed to go through, so I’d taken her friend’s number down to look further into but maybe Serafina already knows something.
“She’s pretty good at responding, but ever since starting school, she’s been weird. Different.” She rolls the phone between her palms before shrugging, except her expression isn’t something to shrug off. “I don’t really want to talk about it, though.”
With the number, I’ll do my own digging. “When do you want to leave tomorrow?”
“My first class is at ten, so however long it takes to get there?”
I quickly calculate the trip and propose a time, to which she agrees to before waving goodnight.
“Thank you again. What you did was really nice. You didn’t have to.”
“TV’s yours. Movies, shows, anything. Feel free to come down whenever you want.”
If Vanessa learns of this offer, I’ll have questions to answer for. Questions I don’t have answers to.
Serafina turns on the bottom step, her beam so gorgeous and genuine, it’d knock me on my ass if I wasn’t already there. “I’ll remember that. Have a good night.”
I haven’t had a good night since you’ve come into my life.
“You too, Fina.”