Chapter 31 Lev
LEV
At the top of the driveway, instead of pulling forward into the unattached garage, I complete a three-point-turn and park by the door.
Serafina draws her own conclusions about the differences in this arrival versus yesterday. “Not coming inside?”
“Business to attend to downtown. I’ll be back late. When’s your first class tomorrow?”
She attempts to hide her disappointment, but her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly tells me she’s pouting. Perhaps I’d appreciate that she enjoys me being around if I was allowed to.
“Nine.”
“I’ll meet you out here at eight.”
She hesitates for a moment, hand hovering on the door’s handle. Whyever she needed a moment, she shakes it off—literally shakes her head—and steps out, immediately taking her positive energy and leaving the car a bit colder, reminiscent of winter nights.
And, of course, her blasted perfume lingers.
Every day, I retrieve this same car—mine, even though Vanessa suggested using one of her SUVs—and every day, I regret it.
She’s polluted the other parts of my life; I’m pretty sure the car is the final thing on the invisible list she’s unknowingly working off of.
Once she’s safely inside, I head downtown for the meeting I called with the men.
Probably the shittiest part of my role as one of Vanessa’s Spies—one of two positions of great influence Anastasia and I hold—is that my main job is to manage the soldiers and ensure operations run smoothly.
With Dimitri out of the picture for now, staying on top of things is more important than ever.
When I left for Rome, despite my distaste for hosting meetings, I’d been anticipating returning to this when my job with Serafina was complete. Now, however…I’d prefer not to work.
I want to sit in the basement, pretending not to watch Serafina’s shows with her.
I want to inhale her vanilla and peach scent, stronger than it lingers in this vehicle.
Roles. Responsibility. It’s everything Papa forced into me.
For once, I’m pleased by his insistence to turn me into something more than a technology-obsessed nerd, because the control—the discipline—required to step away from my computers is the same it takes to avoid who I want to be around the most.
The meeting goes as expected, though wondering if Serafina ended up in the basement or not distracted me. I’m anticipating returning home to discover the answer for myself, but when a last-minute report regarding unauthorized gang activity in the area comes through, duty keeps me away for longer.
After texting Vanessa, three guys and I head for where the gang reportedly sets up base.
They end up being fairly amicable after limited physical convincing and throws their allegiance in with us.
While the whole thing takes no longer than an hour, the anticipation of getting back is actually driving me insane.
Once finally home, I head for the kitchen to wash the blood off my knuckles and clean the cuts. My ribs ache from the singular punch the gang leader landed before he started cooperating.
I despise fighting because it takes me to another time, one when stone walls equalled fighting for survival. Like beating on Alessio the other day, sometimes, it’s an unavoidable necessity that goes with this life.
From there, I head to the basement. The sight of Serafina passed out on the futon, legs crossed in front of her, a textbook resting open on her lap, stops me. Her head is held up by the couch’s backing and her shoulder, clearly having fallen asleep studying.
A peaceful printessa.
An avalanche of feelings bury me—none I completely understand, but each has my finger tapping my pattern against my thigh, the skin of my knuckles split from punching. All those feelings have me unwisely approaching, lowering to my knees beside the futon.
I observed her sleep for an entire night after the party. Then, I was concerned how she’d wake, anxious over Zeno’s arrival, and battling a deep-rooted desire to hunt Vitale down.
At no point did I want to touch her. Even when my growing obsession and ever-present curiosity had me wondering if the rest of her skin was as soft as her thighs, the invisible line drawn across my room made staying away possible.
This time, however, my hand stretches towards face. I must know, must answer at least one oddity about this woman, since everything else is going to shit.
Being touched by others is horrible. Touching someone else takes a lot of personal workup. With Serafina, it’s without falter, even when she should be the ultimate hesitation.
My index finger brushes her cheek in the most barely-there touch I can physically handle.
It’s with my bloodied knuckles, the kitchen sink not doing a great job cleaning the dried blood, and it looks wrong, causing me to briefly pull away.
The Cosa Nostra printessa might have been bred around a life of crime, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one who introduces her into it.
Her skin, softer than a flower’s petal, than the chiffon dresses my sister always goes on about, than a blanket Vanessa bought me for my last birthday, immediately eases the static in my head.
She sighs in her sleep. It matches the very sound I, too, release when my mind, after a long day of hell, completely blanks. Everything but this woman is gone from it.
Peace. True fucking peace for once.
Her lips part with the mumble of a single word that should drive me far, far away—except I’m compelled to make her repeat it. And repeat again. And again, in ways that aren’t at all a sleepy mumble, but rather, a moan.
“Lev.”
Despite the desires that make me feel like I could take on the world, I rest my hand on her shoulder to wake her and get her out of here before making a big mistake. Before I throw myself on my own knife.
“Fina, wake up.” I can’t have you here.
There are lines to be laid. Lines her siblings have already laid. Lines I need to stay way the fuck behind.
She continues sleeping, looking entirely innocent, like she isn’t destroying a man’s soul by existing.
Giving up, I tug the textbook from her hand and recline her backwards, retrieving a pillow and blanket, all while both hoping and dreading the position change wakes her. I dim the lights and back away, already regretting not shaking her awake.
Regret it…because I don’t regret her presence. Not at all. Not anymore.
Seeing her warm and comfortable, in my space—my second bed, essentially—does something inexplicable to me. Something that makes my finger tap faster than ever while every sense of overstimulation is miraculously wiped away…all by her.
With a firm shake of my head, I turn for my desk, knowing if I was really wise, I’d shut the lights off, go to my room, and leave her down here. But I’m not smart. Serafina makes me stupid. She unsettles me in ways no other woman ever has. In ways I never wanted another woman to.
I lower onto my desk chair and open one of a few preferred PC games, one where the sound isn’t important because, despite owning headsets, I’d rather not miss a second of my stupidity; of every sleepy sound she’ll make.
Each one will be yet another decibel condemning me for not sticking to what I swore to Vanessa our first day here.
An hour passes before she makes noise—a slight whimper, causing me to tap pause on the game. By her second whimper, she jolts me back to her side.
“Fina?” I lightly touch her shoulder, and she immediately snaps awake, staring at the ceiling and then me. Her breathing’s rapid but slows as she sits up.
“S-sorry. I think I fell asleep.” She scans the blanket, her brows dipping, but if she realizes I’m the one who put her in that position, she doesn’t comment.
“Nightmare?”
“Alessio.” The sound of his name on her tongue sends familiar regret through me—regret I didn’t end his sorry fucking life when the opportunity presented itself.
“It doesn’t even make sense. I was remembering that night, and suddenly, I’m in a church, in a wedding dress and—and you’re there.
And Vanessa, and Zeno, and Nero, and Anastasia.
And so many people. And Alessio. There’s chains around my wrists, and he’s holding the other end and—”
“Hey.” It’s without thought I cuff her wrists with my hand, despite what she’s described. It ends her ramblings, which is precisely what I needed so my head could cease picturing Vitale’s death.
“I know it’s ridiculous.” She jerks, and my fingers slowly unpeel from her so she can fix the hair falling into her face. “He didn’t actually rape me, so—”
Once again, she needs to stop talking, to stop diminishing her own traumas. “Hey,” I repeat, “it’s okay. He took advantage of you, and that’s no small thing.”
For once, I wish it wasn’t me by her side, but someone like Vanessa or Anastasia. Even her brother. Someone who’s better at understanding emotions to talk her through this, because I have nothing. Comforting people is…odd.
“Has this happened before?”
“Kinda, but not about him. For the first few days after the kidnapping, I kept dreaming Ivan’s face. I haven’t since school began. Maybe because you were next door?”
Blyat. She’s been through so much shit lately.
“How am I going to marry Alessio?” she whispers harshly, sparking more rage inside me. “If Z can’t break the contract, that’s my future.”
“No one here will hand you over to him.” Me included.
Doubt swirls in her eyes. I’ll do anything to erase it, to prove she’ll be safe—even admit what’s in my head.
“On my vows as a Bratva Elite…as your friend, I swear I’ll kill him before you march down the aisle to him.”
Her tongue makes a small appearance, wetting her bottom lip. It’s an act my dick notices all too well, not having gotten my multiple messages that she isn’t for us.
“We’re friends?” she breathes.
We’re something. We shouldn’t even be friends, but to continue denying it, to push her away, is like fighting the constant buzzing in my head. Impossible and draining.
By the time she returns to Rome for good, she’ll have had drained me of every ounce of control, sanity, and sense.
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice thicker than normal. “After everything, we can at least call ourselves that. After all, not just anyone sleeps down here.”
Her previous sadness fizzles away for a growing smirk, and a sense of victory streaks through me. While I don’t understand how comforting people exactly works, I think I’ve managed. For tonight, at least. She’s smiling, so that’s a win.
Her gaze snaps to where my hands rest on the edge of the futon. She spots the leftover dried blood and reaches for me. I quickly return them to my side. Touching her is one thing, but her comforting me?
It’s not—it can’t…I wouldn’t survive. Being comforted isn’t typical. Ana and I were raised without a mother, and Papa certainly never did anything remotely warm. Even our nanny was instructed precisely how to care for us, since Papa didn’t want us raised with certain ideals, like love and affection
I still recall what it felt like to have broken ribs and a bruised face during my first-ever prison trip, when I didn’t win against the men who attacked me.
The guards dragged me back to my cell and, following Papa’s instructions, no medical professional was allowed in to see me.
I was meant to endure—to grow stronger how he deemed it.
“What happened at your meeting?”
“Meeting was fine. Issues afterwards. Nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing?” She goes for my hands again, swinging her legs to the side until her feet touch the floor. With her alright and upright, I return to my desk. “Lev, you’re bleeding.”
“As I’ve said, it’s nothing to worry about. It was a minor issue I took care of.”
“You’re not hurt?”
“No.” My ribs claim otherwise. “Just a few minor cuts.”
She purses her lips. “After spending so much time with you in class and like”—she glances towards the TV—“this, it’s easy to forget what you are.”
“That bother you?” My heart pounds for inexplicable reasons. It should bother her. If it does, she can add a line to the one her siblings drew, another for me to stay behind.
She damns us both by shaking her head. “You’re like Z. He might be a Capo, but he’s also my brother. You’re a Bratva member, but you’re my friend.”
Friend.
Do I have friends? Soldiers aren’t friends. Anastasia is blood. Dimitri and Vanessa, I suppose, but I’ve convinced myself they’re family. A better family than my papa, for certain.
When a loud yawn that’d be annoying from anyone else but is somehow charming on her, she ends it in a sleepy chuckle. “I should head upstairs and go back to sleep.” She tosses the blanket to the side and stands, stretching as she goes. Her back arches, her breasts popping out from her shirt and—
I look away. Serafina walking around in a towel from the bathroom to her bedroom in the dorm didn’t affect me this much. The boundaries were still erected because we were not friends then.
She reaches for her textbook, bringing it up to her chest to act as a much-needed shield—another line. If only she knew how much she truly needed it.
“Thanks for letting me sleep…and being here.”
“Anytime.” It shouldn’t be the answer I give, but it doesn’t get taken back.
She walks away up the stairs, shutting the door.
My thumb strokes over my cut knuckles, her concern lingering in the air, mingling with the fruity scent I’m about to buy stock in.