Chapter 25
“You really shouldn’t be sitting here, you know.”
Anastasia’s voice jolts me out of the stare down I’m winning against my herbal tea, in time to see her and Lev walking through the doorway of the spare bedroom. Lev’s head is buried in his phone, his fingers working rapidly as visible frustration rolls off of him. He’s irritated that the Cosa Nostra is so locked down and he hasn’t been able to break through their secrets.
It was only this morning I discovered Zeno injured in the forest, but it’s felt like so much longer.
I drag my eyes from them to the bed across the room, where he is still peacefully passed out, thanks to the drugs the doctor injected into him. After lugging him from his hiding spot in the forest and having others carry him inside, we got the doctor the Bratva keeps on retainer to come and help heal what seemed like a basic gunshot wound, but was much more intense. Shards of the bullet remained behind in his leg, which explained the fever Zeno was rocking when I found him. He’s been in and out since then, delirious from the near infection. According to the doctor, even a few more hours would have complicated the manner further, but since I found him when I had, healing should be fairly straightforward.
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
Anastasia crosses the room, her brother following. “Seems like you’re worried about him, that’s all.”
“Doc said he’s likely to wake soon.” I glance at Lev, using him to change the topic from me and onto his task. “Anything yet?”
“Nope.” His mouth flattens into a line.
Anastasia glances toward the bed. “I still think you should have sent him straight to the mountains and tossed in the incinerators. Would have been more satisfactory than healing him all for him to die.”
“Dead, the truth dies with him. Alive, he can provide answers.”
“Can and will are two different things,” she points out.
“He’ll talk eventually,” I say definitively.
It’s a truth I firmly believe because this whole situation feels larger than what he let on. Whoever hired him to take me out likely wanted a quick job—I would, if I were them—and he could have finished me off easily without major consequences. At the club for example, when my guard was down and the civilians around could have been blamed. Instead, he waited and lured me into a deeper ploy.
“Then when he does,” I finish my earlier thought, “he dies.”
“Well...” Anastasia drops her arms. “...what I actually came in here to say is unless you need me, I’ll be in my studio, practicing for a gig I was hired last-minute for. Some bachelorette party or something. Rich bitches are going classy this round and want a private performance. But who just happens to be attending the event is a certain politician’s sister. This might be another lead on enemy number one.”
Everything with Zeno momentarily melts away as my other goal resurfaces. The Cosa Nostra might be a huge problem, but my personal vendettas also can’t be ignored. Boris will be found, one way or another, so fuck the Cosa Nostra for taking my focus away from that. Seems like so long ago when I had his bookkeeper in my warehouse, but it’s only been a matter of days.
I smile gratefully, unable to convey my appreciation for everything she does in a simple quick glance. “Thank you.”
She nods and goes, Lev trailing behind her, and they shut the door, leaving me with Zeno once more.
After another few minutes, I rest my tea onto the nearby windowsill and stand, slowly making my way toward the bed. Zeno’s on his back, the blanket drawn up to his waist, and his chest has been left bare after I ripped his shirt when dragging him out of the words. His eyes are shut, and he looks completely at peace in enemy territory as his dreams lull him to a safe place. One away from me and what’ll be coming to him.
I hate to admit I’ve been by his side the entire time. My feet became heavy when I tried to go, and an invisible string yanked me back to him. Whatever the reason, and no matter how many times Anastasia suggested I leave Zeno’s temporary room, I couldn’t.
Silly really, which is why I’m eager for him to wake, so I can get my answers and end the mercenary’s life and everything will return to normal.
Well, as normal as bringing war down on the Cosa Nostra will be.
As though my thoughts pulled him from sleep, Zeno opens his eyes, looking past me to the white ceiling.
I smile. Here we go.
He blinks rapidly a few times before groaning and turning his head. First toward the door, on the opposite side of the bed where I am, and then to the side, where his wrist is linked to the frame with metal cuffs.
“Cazzo.”
I might not understand the translation but the general idea of it hits. A harsh curse word mumbled as he finds me beside the bed. His mossy green gaze instantly centres with a single emotion.
Hatred.
I flick my hair over my shoulder and lift my chin, matching his expression with my own. Because now that he’s awake, now that he’s okay and I’ve breathed—an action I won’t even pretend to understand—it’s time to end this. End him and show him precisely who he fucked with.
“You’re alive,” I state, like it wasn’t already obvious. “You had me worried for a moment.”
Zeno rolls his eyes before scanning his body. “I take it, this is the part where I’m supposed to thank you for patching me up?”
I pretend to consider that, folding my lips down in a fake frown. “Sure, since I made the call to our doctor after finding you passed out in my forest. Turns out, my bullet left a few stray pieces inside you, and you were on the verge of infection when I found you. He got the two shards out easily with no damage to your nerves.”
“Whatever.” He jerks on the cuffs, staring at me meaningfully, a question buried in the green. “I’m also supposed to thank you for these?”
“You know what you did to deserve those. Besides,” I grin, bending forward slightly so he can hear me through my lowered voice, “I’m aware how much you enjoy being bound.”
His face smooths until he’s expressionless and his eyes dart behind me, and then farther around the room. When he looks at me again, his brows are slightly dipped. “A lot of mercy being shown from the Merciless Queen. I’m surprised I’m not hogtied in a cage or bound to a chair or some shit.”
“That you can thank the good doc for. He insisted you lie down to rest. You’re lucky I had no spare torture tables around to strap you to.”
I keep my face blank through my joke, even though I wish it wasn’t. Anastasia’s idea was to clear one off in the basement and lock him there since the doctor never specified where he should be lying down. Lev recommended using a different tactic than fear with him, given the unusual circumstance of how Zeno appeared in my life. He thinks playing nice will change his willingness or something. We’ll see. I’ll try Lev’s methods and when that doesn’t work, I’ll go with Anastasia’s.
“Besides,” I continue with a small shrug, “it would have been more merciful to let you die from blood loss. Saving you isn’t an act of kindness.”
Zeno licks his cracked lips, the dip in his brows deepening. “Why do it at all?”
“You’re no good to me dead.”
“Because you want answers you’re hoping I’ll hand over.”
“You won’t? That’s bold.”
Zeno lifts his head off the pillow, trying and failing to adjust his body into a better defensive position. After a few grunts of frustration, he gives up, half slumped against the bedframe and glares my way. “How’s it feel to never quite be the Pakhan your father was, to always be living in his shadow? I’ve studied you long enough to know you’ve been fighting to prove yourself.”
He’s trying to get beneath my skin but he wouldn’t be the first to pull comments like that, and he certainly won’t be the last, so they’re easily brushed aside with a smirk as I pace back a few steps, wandering to a nearby wall.
“It’s wonderful,” I tell him the truth, partly for my own amusement. “My father was a great Pakhan, I’ll admit, but I’m not the man he was because he made some horrendous choices and that isn’t me.”
Surprise flickers in his gaze and for a moment, it seems like he stops breathing altogether when he asks, “What makes you say that?”
The harassment.
Boris being on top of me, after paying to be.
The marriage negotiations.
The emotional abuse.
“Does it matter? I’m not the one answering questions.” Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms and ask, “What’s your name?”
“No threatening weapons, Volkov? I’m not very impressed with your hospitality.”
Resisting from rolling my eyes, I demand again, “Name.”
“Told you. Zeno.”
“Last name.” I keep my tone flat and cold, partly from frustration. “Answer wisely, because nothing will save your soul. You claim you’ve been watching me for some time, so you should know that much.”
He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, speaking to it rather than me when he answers. “There’s no good reason for me to disclose information.”
My brows lift with his cockiness. “Your life isn’t good enough?”
Zeno scoffs. “My life is over the second I tell you, so consider this my leverage.”
Interesting choice of words. “Why does the Cosa Nostra want me dead?”
“Your father pissed off the wrong people. You should know as well as anyone the influence a name can have on a person’s life. When I said you live in your father’s shadow, I didn’t necessarily mean it in a bad way. You’re stuck living with everyone else’s memory of him, which means taking on all his debts, his enemies, and his failures.” He rolls his neck until he’s looking my way again. “Don’t ask me what he did. Mercenary, remember? I only know so much.”
“So you really are useless to me then.” No counter to my point comes. After a moment of silence, I ask the other nagging questions; the ones Anastasia recommended to let die but after the day of waiting for him to wake up, I just can’t let go. “Why sleep with me? Once you got here, we were alone. Would have been easier to finish it then, no?”
Zeno’s bright gaze rakes me up and down, landing on my chest. A shiver nearly slithers through me, but a bite on my tongue manages to hold it in. “Yeah,” he agrees slowly, “but where’s the fun in that?”
With my arms still crossed, it’s easy to make fists and hide my irritation. Fucking user.
“Your failure brought war to the Cosa Nostra,” I tell him casually. “I’m sure your employers won’t be too appreciative of that.”
He shrugs. “That’s their problem. I got paid already.”
Money. If his freedom isn’t enough, then monetary benefits are the currency mercenaries dabble in. He’s a paid merc, sent to complete a job, which means they’ve already written him off, and are waiting for news outlets to catch wind of my death before celebrating. No one will be looking for him, therefore he’s up for sale to the highest bidder.
“If money’s what you’re after, state your price. What’ll it cost to get everything you know? Whatever Vitale offered you, I’ll triple it.”
He freezes. “How do you know that name?”
“You think I don’t do my homework? He’s the capo of the Cosa Nostra. I’m assuming he hired you, so give me a number.”
“There is no number.”
“That’s interesting,” I muse aloud but don’t explain. It’s interesting because if he’s only a hired assassin, why have any loyalty to the Cosa Nostra? What do they have over him?
I shove off the wall and pace by his bed without looking his way. I’ve done all I can for now. Let’s see what starvation, loneliness, and the increasing promise and potential for death does to his mental and physical state.
“Well, when you decide an amount, let me know. For now, consider where your loyalties can lie, if you play this correctly. Rest up, Zeno. We have more work to do.”
Keeping my spine straight, I head for the door, still without glancing his way although the weight of his gaze follows me out. Only the door shutting breaks the prickling effect he has on me.
And the shaky sensation that something isn’t right.