Chapter 30
Vanessa’s expression is one I will cherish long after her death.
Witnessing her crumble is a sight too magnificent to pass over. Like an experience I’ll not only glorify for the rest of my days, but it’ll heal the long-given wound inside me that I’ve been trying and failing to patch up since I was fourteen.
Since Ursin Volkov murdered my father fourteen years ago, and forced me to kneel in his blood. I promised him and myself that death and destruction would come to the Volkov line, starting with him.
Vanessa, while included in that list, is a stand-in for who owes me the most. Fucking Famiglia robbed me of my vengeance, and to this day, I still don’t know whether to thank Rossi or not. I’d heard the story of what occurred between him and the Volkovs, and the kill is justified; if I had a wife who was being threatened, I’d be sure the person doing the threatening stopped breathing. But it’s still frustrating to be cheated, especially after year after motherfucking year that bastardo has evaded me. Every time I was close, he somehow was quicker at disappearing.
Five years of hunting him all to learn someone else got to him first.
Ursin or not, I still have three more Volkovs to go through. And two years of planning, plotting, and stalking Vanessa is about to pay off.
I twirl the gun until the barrel is beneath Vanessa’s chin, using it to angle her face upwards. Hatred pours off her in thick, enthralling waves. Her body tenses, her teeth jamming together. She’s nearly vibrating with emotion, and I do feel sorry for her. She’s dragged into a war she didn’t entice, but that’s essentially what her father did to me.
“Capo, huh?”
It was the perfect set up, if I do say so myself. Even if some in the Cosa Nostra thought it was too risky. But I vowed retribution to Ursin’s line so sending a soldier or hiring someone to do the job didn’t feel right. Going undercover as the supposed hired gun saved my ass when I was caught.
I scan the room and count the dead bodies, separating her side from mine, pleased there’s more death on hers. Attacking like this wasn’t the original plan but when I failed to kill her in her room, and ended up in her forest, the call I made put all this into motion. It was only a matter of time before I’d be found, and then walked straight back into the hornet’s nest where we launch an attack. It worked better than I imagined, this, dropping the fact of my real position on her and watching it all come crashing down.
“Zeno Mancini,” I formally introduce myself, dipping into a partial mock bow. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Volkov.”
I can only imagine the thoughts flowing through her lovely head. The regrets. I’d have them if I were her. To find out she had a capo in her mix and couldn’t capitalize on leveraging him is a hard blow for any ego.
I tap the gun’s barrel, reminding her of her place. “Wasn’t so long ago I was in your position.”
Despite everything, her cheeks flushing a light red has me biting on my tongue to prevent from visibly reacting. There’s something strangely erotic, to not only have the power dynamic shift so quickly but to witness her reaction to it. There’s something innocent in her blush; something different from the woman Vanessa portrays herself to be. Something much different than I’d been watching for these recent years.
“A mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life,” she promises, her expression flattening once more and breaking the spell. “And yours, when you’re six feet under after I finish with you.”
My soldier behind her nudges her head with his rifle, but I wave him down. She’s no longer a threat, positioned how she is. Without a weapon and her people under threat, she won’t attack.
“You seem to misunderstand the definition of captive. You’re not exactly in fighting order.”
She jerks her face away, rearing back until free from my gun. “You’re an asshole. A liar. Chertovski glupyy ital'yanskiy podonok .” Her tone implies those are words I wouldn’t want to learn Russian to translate. “This is some revenge ploy against my father,” she adds, genuinely surprising me.
I scan the row of Bratva captives, noting one person specifically missing from the line-up. The only person who’d know why I’ve come, and the only one who could warn her. He’s playing both sides, which is fine for now, because it’s only a matter of time before that game also ends. He thinks he has a leg up on me, but I’ve been allowing that for my own benefit.
“Sì,” I agree, looking back down at her.
“My father is dead, so whatever you want with me is pointless. I had no part in whatever he did.”
I agree, which is more and more reason to consider plan B. Or is it C at this point?
“Whatever he did,” I repeat in a low contemplative murmur. He took everything from me. Mia madre. Mio padre. “It saddens me you truly have no idea.”
Her eyes flash in the streak of sunlight from the blown-out door behind me. “If your attack came three minutes later then we’d be having a different conversation.”
I scan the room again, seeking the man who’d be behind this, looking now at the deceased bodies on the ground but not finding him. That’s too bad. If only a stray bullet happened to accidentally bury inside him, then this nightmare would be even nearer its end.
“I suppose it’s partly from your father locking you in a tower your entire life, right? You were una principessa , only let out when it was convenient for him, so of course you wouldn’t know about your family’s dark past.”
Her anger falters a fraction. So subtle, it’s almost easy to miss entirely, but she falls back slightly, sitting more on her heels than being upright on her knees.
“So tell me and I can fix it.”
“Maybe,” I reply simply. “Or maybe, I won’t.”
She glances at Elio, the man by my shoulder, who for all Vanessa needs to know, is my Captain. But really, he’s much more. Being Padre’s second-in-command, he was a large part of my childhood and later, training. After Padre’s murder, the Commission promoted him interim until I was supposed to take over at eighteen. Eighteen, but he did so until I was twenty-one, by neither of our choices. During those seven years, he became like another father to me, and one of the few who was on the inside of my family situation. He was also one of the few who supported me on my quest, though the Commission tied both our hands, even preventing me from taking over at eighteen, stating they didn’t have faith in my abilities. The extra three years were spent proving myself to them, and once I finally did, Elio self-demoted himself to being my Captain. But he’s more than a mere soldier. He owns my undying respect.
I suppose, I relate to Vanessa in one way. Having to prove yourself to an entire organization all for the crown of leadership is no small feat.
I hate we have that in common.
To Elio, she says, “Your leader is very communicative. However do you manage under his command?” Then she shifts her attention back my way. “You’ve won, Zeno. Is that what you want to hear? You tricked me two nights ago. You managed to get your army across my border and into my land without raising the alarm. I’m sorry for whatever my father did to you, but you’ve clearly already made up your mind about my fate, so there’s no point in me saying more. If you’re hoping for me to beg for my life, give up now because it’ll never happen.”
That’s not a plea for her life or for the others in the room, but she’s also not conceding. More like accepting. Except, I don’t believe for one second that if faced with actual death, she won’t put up one last fight. Hell, I’d want her to. To see the woman I met the other night come alive.
“Your fight is with my father. And me, for his crimes. For carrying on his name. Not them.” She indicates to her soldiers with a tip of her head. “I’m sure, once I’m dead, you’ll wipe everyone out and leave here a victor, knowing you’ve destroyed a part of the Bratva’s leadership, but focus on that statement, Zeno.” Her eyes narrow. “A part of the Bratva. Once I’m gone, another will rise. And another after that…and another after that. We will not fall. We will not die. So if you wish to save yourself a larger battle than necessary, you will leave them be after I’m gone.”
I remain still and silent, taken by her speech. She’s right. With her gone, her uncle or cousin will undoubtedly rise to take her position. And even with them gone, more will step forward. I’ve been aware of this for a while, simply because it’s how organizations function, and the Bratva is no different than Cosa Nostra in this. It’s yet another reason why the possible amendment in my path to vengeance makes more sense.
“And if I say no?”
“Then we all die,” she replies nonchalantly. “But it won’t change the fact that by next week, a new Pakhan will be crowned.”
“Dove sono i tuoi pensieri?” Where are your thoughts?
Elio’s question is followed by his feet shifting. I can hear his shoes dragging over the polished tile. To this day, I respect his opinions and insight, but when it comes to the Volkovs, I’m not sure I want the feedback. Though he’s been understanding through all this, he disliked me taking the place of the mercenary I was going to hire.
“I miei piani per lei sono cambiati.” My plans for her have changed.
During our exchange, Vanessa’s frustration visibly grows as she glances between Elio and me. Ignoring the gun aimed at her back, she positions a foot to stand. I gesture for everyone to stand down before they react. For now, I’m curious what she’ll do.
Once standing, she spreads her arms wide to her side, tilting her face until she’s looking straight at me, like an equal. I’m reminded by her in the club, and then her bedroom later that night, when she gave me every ounce of her attention—and had mine in return.
“Do your worst, Zeno, but I’ll warn you, men have tried to break me before and failed, and you will be no different.”
Her words lift another memory. A recent one, spoken only this morning: “My father was a great Pakhan, I’ll admit, but I’m not the man he was because he made some horrendous choices.”
The two statements could be unrelated but I can’t shake the feeling they’re not. That one of his “horrendous choices” was at the price of her: that he tried to break her.
“I’m sure I won’t be,” I say after a moment, filling the silence with a sound other than my beating heart and the air rushing through my ears. “Men will always try to break what they don’t understand.”
She blinks before shaking her head. “Is that what’s happening here?”
I make a humming noise before answering, “I know you pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”
No response.
Elio shifts behind me again, leaning forward to speak. “Sta prendendo tempo.”
“Maybe she is stalling,” I reply in English so she’s able to understand too, smirking at the way her cold gaze shifts from me to my old mentor. “But this is what the Volkovs do. They try to reclaim power when they feel it slipping away.”
There’s so much I can force her to do. I could demand she kneel and beg me for her life. Kneel like I did fourteen years ago when I had to bury my emotions and make it through Ursin’s mercy. Another fuck you to Ursin.
A comment in Russian comes from down the line and Vanessa and I both glance to see it’s the first guy in the row speaking. Lev Petrov, one of her Elite, and if all my research checked out, then he’s a whiz on the computers. He’s one of the reasons I had my own tech guy scrub the internet of any mention of the Cosa Nostra in recent years. Couldn’t have her learning about my Family before I was ready for her to.
Vanessa murmurs her reply, gaze locked on me, but I watch Lev for his reaction. He releases a frustrated huff that suggests Vanessa didn’t give him the response he wanted.
I reach a hand toward her neck, stroking a finger along the smooth column, reminded by all the other places she’s smooth. Hatred shines through her lovely eyes, but the lines around her mouth even out when I brush a thumb over her bottom lip, my mind regretfully returning to our first kiss inside her car.
“You have no power. Not anymore.” My snide comment is spoken too low to make much of an impact, but still, her breath hikes and lips part slightly, and the heat of her mouth coasts over my skin, painting it with the threats of fights to come.
For a second, everything pauses. Her breath. Her hatred. My plan.
“Guess not,” she agrees. “Doesn’t mean you’ve broken me, though.”
Her words shatter the spell and I drop my hand. “Very well, Miss Volkov.” Turning around, I command Elio, “Take her. Leave the rest.”
Then I head for the shattered front doors of the Volkov mansion, stepping through the entrance and rubbing a palm along the jagged wood. It’s splintered, the dark paint and smooth finish tarnished from the perfection it once was.
I’d like to say the doors remind me of the first time I stepped through them the other night when Vanessa was eager to continue what we began in her car, but they don’t. Instead, they’re a reminder of a memory only shared with me rather than lived. When another captive was dragged kicking and screaming through them, and then later, once rescued, was carried in the opposite direction, stumbling and fragmented from who they once were.
Pushing the past aside, I step onto the front stairs. More of my soldiers are scattered over the grassy yard, guns at the ready in case more Bratva soldiers were called here. The few that were positioned already are deceased lawn ornaments.
Before my next step, I wad up a ball of spit and release it into the doorway behind me.
Fanculo, Volkov.