Chapter 34
Once the pilot gets the door open, my soldiers move as one and head for the exit. Only Elio lingers, jerking his chin toward Vanessa with a silent question only my lengthy relationship with the man is able to distinguish: Need help? I shake my head and he trails after the others.
When the plane’s empty, I stand, rubbing a hand down my shirt as my gaze goes out the window and over Rome’s skyline. We’re not too far from the city, on private land the Cosa Nostra owns and uses for the couple of jets stored here.
Just from the breeze that enters the plane through the open door, my lungs expand, taking in the same air I’ve breathed my entire life. While Russia was beautiful, its buildings with colourful and uniquely shaped roofs, it’s not the same. It’s not home. I’ve anticipated returning here the moment I left but never did I imagine my homecoming would bring a Volkov along too.
My past self from five years ago, when becoming a capo, would have rather offed himself than do what I am now. Every promise I made within the agonizing seven years spent from Padre’s death to when the Commission recognized my worthiness, is broken. Crumbling alongside our arrival.
The sun rays coasting in through the window across from our seat fall right on Vanessa, and I can’t help but look at her as she’s watching me. It makes her dark hair glow, the pupils of her eyes expand and mingle with the soft blue.
Bellissima . It might feel wrong to admit, but it’s not untrue whatsoever. I thought it the second I saw Vanessa in pictures, and the first time I stalked her through Moscow, and definitely when I spotted her in the club the other night. No matter what happened in the past, I’d be a fool to deny she’s sexy and beautiful.
Shaking my head of those pesky thoughts, I reach for her. Another time, another day can be for mental betrayal, but for now, I want to get her to my casa and behind a locked door. I grab the short chain linking her wrists together and haul her to her feet, despite how she leans down, trying to make her body weight heavier. The little extra weight pushes down on my leg injury from getting shot, and it stings, even if I don’t show her that.
“Nice try.”
Once she’s upright, I grab her arm and shove her in front of me to walk down the aisle. If I know my soldiers, most of them are still lingering outside, so even if she entertains bolting, she’d only make it a single step before getting tackled.
I nudge her down the stairs, past the soldiers, and through the open door of the black SUV waiting for us. My push is harder than intended and she falls forward, catching herself on bound hands before righting herself. Her glare slices through me, so easy to ignore, as I climb in beside her.
“Guida,” I command the driver to drive, and he obeys immediately, the SUV’s tires rolling smoothly over the tarmac.
Vanessa’s glare remains unblinking even as the vehicle hits the autostrada . It becomes eerie. A reminder that she’s a trained killer and is likely planning something in that head of hers.
Breaking the silence—and maybe even her thoughts—I ask, “Why’d you never leave Russia after your father’s death?”
I imagine the woman beside me exploring all the countries she never got to while growing up. A woman by every means, but one with childhood excitement; widened eyes being opened to the world and all its wonders as she struts through Venice, England, Paris, and all the other magical places.
“You’re that bored, you thought small talk is the way to go?” She flips her hair and gazes out the window, aiming to ignore me.
“Maybe I’m trying to get to know you better.”
She snorts, still facing away. “I don’t give answers away for free. For every question you ask, I get to as well.”
There’s no good reason to entertain this negotiation, and yet I find myself agreeing with, “Okay,” as the curiosity of what she’d possibly ask me grows.
She faces me again, her expression guarded. “I love Russia. Never had a reason to leave.”
“Not even to explore the world?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Answer it and then ask two of your own.”
She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Home is…well, home. I’m sure, even you can understand that sentiment. New York disgusted me. It’s noisy and dirty and packed with traffic and rude assholes who screamed at one another. In that one city, my life changed. Consider me uninterested in getting disappointed by other countries. Besides, as Pakhan, I’m too busy. My takeover wasn’t simple, which I’m sure you’re aware of after all your stalking, and I’m worried that a vacation would invite others to move in on my role.” Without waiting a beat and letting me digest her answer, she jumps into her first question: “My turn. Are you planning on killing me?”
I keep my attention straight through the front window, watching the traffic ahead of us. “No,” I tell her the truth. She’ll wish she was, if I know even a fraction of her.
“What exactly was the deal made with Ivan?”
This time, I do look her way, spotting the flash of anger in her eyes. She’s no longer hurt by her uncle’s actions, but pissed: that much I can make from her demeanour. Letting Vanessa at him would solve another Volkov issue all while giving her a gift she’d beg me to repay.
“To get rid of you, which leaves the organization open for him. In turn for his help, we’d leave him alive.”
She grunts, seeming unsurprised by my answer. “Was that the truth?”
“Not at all. And that was another question, which makes it my turn. Why did you hate your father so much?”
Vanessa sniffles and instantly turns her body, facing the window and the city of Rome we’re soon getting sucked into. We’re three blocks away from the Coliseum, and based on her lean to see at that precise angle, it’s what she’s looking at.
She never speaks. Never answers. Guess I’m not getting that truth…yet.
I watch her for longer than I’d care to admit, as she takes in my country. I can all but see her cataloguing the differences between Rome and Moscow. She’s pressed far to the other side of the vehicle, and if she wasn’t cuffed beside a locked door, I’d be worried about her rolling out. I’m becoming jealous of the window she’s leaning into.
The trip takes another thirty minutes before my driver pulls off onto a country road, and Vanessa lets out a low gasp as my villa, as well as the lands it sits on, comes into view. It’s not much smaller than her own, but more open. While her property is surrounded by forestry, mine’s a vast open grassy field.
The car stops right where the road connects with the grass, where a stone walking path will take us the rest of the way. Madre never liked when cars drove up to the front door, and it’s a pattern I kept long after she moved out.
I slide out the back door, brushing a hand over the gun I’ve had against my hip the entire trip. Always in reaching distance in case she decided to try something. Surprisingly, in the time it’s taken me to get out, she’s also slid to the edge of her seat, a foot coming down to rest beside me.
A low breeze blows through the emerald grass and greets us. There’s nothing better than Italian landscapes and air, though I’m sure the woman beside me would disagree.
“Come.” I take a step toward the path, expecting her to disobey. Instead, her shoes make a soft thudding noise as they land on the pebbled driveway, and that’s my first mental note. She hasn’t fought since the plane, which makes me wonder why she’s not even trying.
I lead her up the path and toward the sandy-coloured villa. The pillars and arches by the front entrance never fail to make my heart sting. The flash of a woman clinging to them, sobbing and breaking down as her impossible grip refuses to release them in fear of returning there flits through my mind.
Shaking my head, I push the image away. For once, it’s okay because now, the villain behind the trauma is burning in Hell, forced to witness his enemy steal his daughter.
As we approach the villa up and over the slight hill, I study the length of the outside, the nearby pool, and the garden on the other side, seeking Nero. I’d hoped he stayed away because I plan on isolating Vanessa for now. She’s tricky, and believing there’s people here to manipulate could be an annoyance for me, though entertaining to watch when Nero doesn’t take the bait.
Vanessa whistles as we get closer. Her attention is locked on the large pool by the side before returning to the upper floor of the villa. Unbeknownst to her, she’s staring right at my bedroom window.
“Too small?”
She blinks, and for a moment, her expression softens as she shakes her head. She reminds me of the girl snapped in old pictures taken shortly after Ursin’s death. Younger and more vulnerable.
“No,” she replies, and I believe her.
My casa isn’t small by any means, especially compared to regular, middle-class homes here in Rome, but when measuring up to her castle-like mansion, it’s merely the gardener’s shed.
“It’s lovely,” she continues, and based on the edge in her tone, she’s returning to defensive Vanessa. “Much prettier than what I pictured my cage looking like.”
“You’d know all about the ugliness within a pretty item.” I shoot her a meaningful look, causing her to scowl, her steps to slow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means, we might project one side of ourselves but within, we have to be ruthless for the good of our organizations.”
Her head draws back. “ We. You’ve included yourself in that statement.”
As we near the front door, I angle my body, prepping to run after her should she take off. She’s been playing along so well but like a temperamental animal, who knows how long this behaviour will last.
Distracting her from our path, I keep her talking and reply, “Of course. It goes for any mob leader, wouldn’t you agree? We all have a role to play and ours is at the top. Mine. Yours. No matter what happened in the last seventy-two hours, Volkov, you’re a much better Pakhan than your father ever was.”
Shit. No. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Talk about playing my cards.
It wasn’t supposed to slip out. Any relatively positive perception of her needs to remain locked up tight before she finds some way of utilizing that to her benefit. But it’s out now. In the breeze that swirls around us, forever reminding me of yet another error I’ve made where Vanessa’s involved.
The sad fucking thing is, it’s not a lie. It’s not even due to the fact that Vanessa’s done nothing to my family, unlike her father who did everything. It’s what my spies and I have dug up over the last couple years. The changes in Bratva businesses might not have been accepted by all, but they’re honourable. The soldiers follow her out of choice and not fear. Other than Ivan, the Elite Ursin kept by his side have a history of disloyalty, even if he maybe wasn’t aware of that. Those men would turn on one another instantly all while continuing to spout bullshit about loyalty, while the three people closest to Vanessa, I firmly believe, would die for her. And she them, which today proved.
Ducking my head, I pretend not to see her shock, and squeeze the black metal handle until the front door pops open.
“Get inside.”
She hesitates in the doorway, glancing over the landscape, but only for a second. Another feeling of dread creeps up because she’s following along too well.
Why?