Chapter 23
The Cosa Nostra just initiated a motherfucking war for this.
Zeno grunts before disappearing out of my bedroom after my latest shot, making me believe I’ve hit him. I rush toward the doorway, hooking my free hand on the doorframe in time to catch him limping at the end of the hallway, right before taking the stairs.
Based on his unsteady stumbling, the bullet definitely hit him, which makes him extremely catchable.
I whirl around, immediately rushing into action by retrieving a robe off a nearby chair, and then my cell from where I abandoned it earlier with my dress, and text a call-out to any soldier on the premises. It’s the only time I regret not following Papa’s system and keeping many around.
Gun in hand, I take off down the stairs, making it to the bottom right as the half-dozen men gather in my foyer. The front door is wide open, suggesting Zeno wisely isn’t hiding somewhere in here.
“Enemy breached our lines. He’s injured so probably won’t be making it far. He’s somewhere out there.” I nod toward the open door and the two men closest to the entrance angle themselves that way. “Find him. Bring him to me alive. Go.”
They rush out the door and fan out immediately, each taking a different direction.
“What the hell is going on, Vanessa?” Lev’s sleepy voice comes from behind me, and I turn, catching as he reaches the end of the hall leading to the basement door, where half the time, he opts to sleep. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, gun in one hand, his other rubbing sleep-filled eyes. “Your text explained nothing.”
I scowl, crossing my arms over my robe. “You seriously didn’t hear the gunshot?”
“I was busy sleeping, unlike some. Two floors down at that.” He glances at my state of dress, brow ticking up. “You and Anastasia have a good night? You weren’t gone your normal four hours.”
“It’s been a night,” I mumble, biting my tongue through the bitterness seeping into my tone. “The guy I brought home just happened to be hired by the fucking Cosa Nostra. He’s a mercenary sent to assassinate me.”
Lev’s hand drops from his hair, his mouth following suit. “No shit.”
“I wish I was lying.”
Lev watches me from the corner of his eye. “You okay?”
I drag a hand through my hair, catching on the couple of knots formed from all the activity of tonight. “Honestly, not sure. I don’t understand what I did to them, and hate I never saw what was happening before it was too late.” Instead, I slept with a fucking merc whose sole intention was to take me out. I’m sure, there’s some sort of poetic justice in there that I don’t see.
Lev pulls out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. “Send me his name. I’ll see if I can dig up anything on him. As for the why , hate to tell you but you’re running an entire criminal organization. People will target you simply for that reason alone. At any given day, there’s about a thirty percent chance you’ll be attacked by someone who finds issue with you or your policies.”
Didn’t need the stats laid out.
Numbers aside, it hurts . Not being a target—that I don’t really care about—but how tonight went down. I feel…well, used . When I told Zeno that it’s been a long time since I had a submissive man in my bed please me in such ways, it was the truth. Now the entire interaction feels like a well-designed lie, beginning all the way when he was a handsome stranger with bold eyes from across a club.
“I know,” I finally respond. “It’s more than that, though. It’s?—”
The front door opening again stops me, and I instinctually take a step, expecting one of my soldiers to be dragging in an injured Zeno. Instead, it’s Anastasia, whose dress is skewed and blonde hair messy. Her makeup is smudged and her eyes glazed but becomes sharper when noticing Lev and me standing in the entrance.
“Oh, hi, Mama. Papa.” She smirks at her own antics before she jerks her chin my way. “Hope your night was better than mine. Turns out, one of the guys wasn’t single, so his girlfriend walking in and finding her boyfriend with his dick buried in another man and me sitting on his face didn’t go well.” She grimaces. “I felt bad for her, but yeah, that was my night. Yours?”
Lev scowls, cutting me off before I can respond. “Ana. Ew. Not what I need to hear.”
Normally, I’d chuckle at her disastrous night, but I’m not exactly feeling humoured by a lot right now. “Still better than unknowingly bringing home an assassin. The guy was all a trap.”
Her mouth drops open. “Seriously? Yebat' .” The curse is harsh, and she turns her head to glance toward the front door. “That’s why my taxi passed soldiers all over the front?”
“He’s injured and out there somewhere.” Or he’s far away and managed to escape, depending how detrimental my gunshot was. “I should go help them.”
Anastasia scans my quick put-together outfit, a brow slowly lifting. “Or you can get some sleep and be refreshed for dealing with this shit tomorrow.”
Sleep. She wants me to sleep after this breach? Papa would never, which means I shouldn’t either. The Bratva needs me now more than ever.
Lev drags his gaze up from his phone. “As much as it pains me to admit, there’s a small percentage of times—fifteen, to be precise—that my sister’s right, and this is one of them. I’ll stay awake searching for any info on this guy, and wait for the men to return. If they find him, I’ll wake you immediately. But you should rest because if Italy’s sent one man, what’s to say they won’t send more?”
“But why now? Papa’s been dead for two years. This is the kind of drama I expected back then, not now.”
The Petrov twins shrug simultaneously, but it’s Lev who answers. “Those are the kinds of answers we need, and I’d love to figure it out. But until he’s found, not much any of us can do.”
The logic is sound, even if I don’t want to hear it. Over the past two years, I’d been sure to spearhead much of our attacks or defense, always wanting to be leading the charge and proving to myself and others I’m not some little girl who goes running. But this night did shake me; the ease in being tricked and the news that the Cosa Nostra has something against the Bratva.
With a heavy sigh they know all too well, I concede by turning toward the staircase. “Fine, fine, you’re right. I’ll go text Dimitri too and update him.”
“And then sleep.” Anastasia ticks a finger in my direction, concluding my nightly plans.
Sleep feels impossible, but sure.
Lev scans his sister with a playful sneer. “Uh, yeah, you too. Shower and clean whatever— whoever —you brought back.”
“Funny,” she replies dryly, shoving his arm.
While they continue their banter, I ascend the staircase and head back to my bedroom. On my way up, I notice what I didn’t before in my rush down—faint blood drops. I pause, counting one on every second step, and grow even more annoyed. It’s already seeped into the pale grey carpet, which means it’ll probably require a replacement if the stains don’t come up.
Maybe I do need sleep, if I’m worrying about a carpet of all things right now.
In my room, I shut the door with my back, scanning the space. The bed in disarray, the ropes still draped over the corners. My discarded clothes on the floor. All signs of what began as a great night.
But signs of the shift are present too. The cloth I wet for Zeno, cast off on the ground. The bombardment of memories, starting from when he spoke my name.
With an annoyed grunt, I shove off the door, shed my robe, and head for the bathroom. Hopefully the heat from a shower will relax me enough to help me pass out.
Unlikely.
I stand beneath the spray, staring at the drain where the water rushes down. This used to be my safe space. The only room in this mansion where no one, not even Dimitri, could find or even overhear me when the stress of management got too much, too heavy. Had me questioning my every decision and asking what would Papa do instead? Those questions helped me to stay focused, though, because I’d invent an action he’d likely take, and many times, it’s one I wouldn’t for whatever reason. So it validated the decisions I was making.
The more I undertook during my takeover, the less those thoughts occurred, and it’s been a long time since having them. But they creep up now. Self-doubt mingling with self-hatred, and then just hatred in general. For him, for the Cosa Nostra, until the hatred and anger is all I focus on.
I don’t know how long I remain under the spray, but I finally wash and exit, knowing sleep will evade me the longer I don’t attempt it. After hanging the towel, I return to the main part of my suite and head for bed, climbing beneath the covers before I think twice. Before I consider what last happened in this bed and the anger returns.
I pick up my phone and open my text thread with my cousin, using a conversation to distract me from the scent of Zeno clinging to my sheets.
Mental note: get these washed tomorrow.
Me
Hey. Not sure if you’re up yet, but we have a problem. A breach. Cosa Nostra sent a merc.
I skip over the fact that I’m the one who walked him straight inside the mansion.
Dimitri
Shit. He’s captured, I take it?
Me
Got away. Soldiers are scanning the grounds. Lev’s searching his name to see if anything comes back.
Dimitri
Fuck. I’ll be on the next flight out. We have to contain this before anyone hears about it. And then find him.
Me
Lev and Ana are helping. You have other priorities.
Dimitri
You’re one of those priorities. I’m coming home, no matter what you say.
You okay?
Me
Well enough. Pissed more than anything. I want answers. Do you know why the Cosa Nostra would want me dead? Anything you might have heard from my father’s days, or overheard from your own?
Dimitri
I would have warned you two years ago if there was something.
I need to go. Keep me updated on what you find out. See you soon.
Me
Will do. Thanks.
I plug my phone in, roll over, and channel my anger into something productive: sleep.
But all the while, I stare out the window at the bright moon and make a single promise to Zeno.
You will not be shown mercy.
By the time dawn comes, I managed maybe a solid three hours of sleep. So when I get out of bed, my body is heavy and exhausted, but still, I dress in my usual sports bra, workout tank, and leggings for my daily morning run.
What used to be a way to train after Papa’s death became a routine I haven’t once missed in seven hundred and thirty days, and I don’t plan on starting now. If anything, this run is needed to clear my mind and refocus on a direction as to how to handle the Italians. Since my shower and tossing and turning in bed half the night certainly didn’t provide answers.
First, I head down to the large dining room where, if I know my Elite, Anastasia and Lev will be.
And sure enough, they are. Anastasia’s nursing a coffee while munching on a muffin and scrolling on her phone while Lev’s clacking away at a laptop on the table in front of him, bowl of oatmeal abandoned to the side.
“Anything?” My voice jerks them both out of their tasks.
Lev’s grimace tells me what I need to know. He barely spares a glance to respond before ducking right back into research. “The men returned after an hour of searching and couldn’t find him. They think he managed to escape. If his plan was premeditated, he could have had a car nearby. As for my research…can’t find anyone named Zeno linked to the Cosa Nostra. I’d say it might not be his real name, but as usual, there’s not much whatsoever about the Cosa Nostra coming up. They clearly have people working to scrub them off the internet.” I gain another quick glance for him to ask, “Dimitri tell you anything?”
“Nothing useful.” I sigh, flicking my ponytail over my shoulder as I turn away. “I’m going for my run. See you both soon.”
Outside, the morning air is crisp. Fresh. Nature at its basest. It’s one of many reasons why I’m pleased my ancestors made this place the home of the Bratva. Reason one million and ten I’d be miserable if Papa had his way and my name would currently be Mrs. Rossi. Being inside a city—New York at that—would make me want to kill myself every morning having to run through smog.
I step off the mansion’s front steps until reaching the cement driveway, where I stretch and pace toward the grass, which is where my runs always begin. My jog starts slow as I head toward the farthest visible section before the grass mingles with the forest. It’s there my speed picks up to a more comfortable pace that’ll work my lungs and muscles.
I stick about five feet away from the tree line, running in the centre of two different views. One, the forest with the morning sun seeping through the trunks, and two, the grassy yard to my right, the dew glinting off the light.
A few blissful and quiet moments pass. I never run with music, preferring the sound of birds’ wings flapping, their cheeps, the squeaks of squirrels, the balmy morning breeze, and the crunch of twigs and grass beneath my feet.
It’s familiar, welcoming, and peaceful—opposite of how last night ended.
That is, until a new sound cuts through, this one not at all natural. Not from the land, not from an animal, but something entirely man-made.
A groan.
My run slows to a stop, eyes scanning the nearby tree line, seeking anything amiss. Even tired, I know my brain didn’t make that sound up, so I walk a few feet closer to the trees, just in time for another soft groan to greet me.
I follow the noise, keeping my steps slow and light, fists ready and available since I have no weapons. The sun shifts when I do, and nestled between three tree trunks, I discover the noise’s source.
A man propped up on one with his leg stretched out in front of him. His head is tipped backward against the trunk, and his eyes are clamped shut in what appears to be pain.
Zeno.
This whole time he’s been here, in sight of my bedroom at that. Clearly, my soldiers didn’t check around well, since he wasn’t that hard to find after all; something that’ll certainly be talked about later on.
I approach. He hasn’t looked my way, or given any indication of knowing I’m here. Based on his red-stained hands, the blood darkening his jeans, and his obvious pain, he isn’t coherent.
“You stupid fool,” I murmur, crouching. “You should have run far.”
My voice seems to jolt him, and his clenched eyes open, landing on me instantly. They’re bold in the morning sun; more than when I met him last night. A mossy green reminding me of my lands at twilight, right before the sun completely dips down and the bright colour becomes a duller version of itself.
And then he whispers, “Il mio angelo custode.”