Chapter 37
Serafina.
I wish the name was familiar. That scouring old memories of everything Papa’s ever told me revealed something about the person who’s apparently enticed so much animosity and retribution from the Cosa Nostra. If only Ivan finished explaining our history before shoving the dagger in my back.
Fucking Ivan.
By now, he’s probably tried to lord his victory over the soldiers and reclaim them, but Lev and Anastasia won’t let him get that far. I’d like to have faith, the men won’t instantly follow him without proof of my death.
Ivan will get what’s coming to him and I can’t wait to hand him over to Dimitri. As much as I’d personally enjoy taking a sharp knife to his insides until they’re shredded and useless and he bleeds out, his death is long owed to Dimitri for whatever the dark past they’re both hiding is.
Thinking about him, how callously he looked at me on the mansion’s front steps, brings an intense pain to my sternum. Sure, Ivan’s an asshole. Sure, he’s despised my takeover and everything I’ve done since. Sure, we never had a close bond…but he’s still family. One of the few I have left, and wanting me gone—gone-gone— dead —it’s another level I didn’t know he was capable of.
At some point, not sure when, my legs give out and I sink to the ground. Pain and anger mingle in my gut. Not only am I hurt over Ivan’s actions, but also Papa’s. Whatever he did to Zeno, I’m paying the unwilling price, and it pisses me off like nothing before. To think Zeno’s had years to plot his revenge when I had no more than a day’s warning. If only Papa told me about the Cosa Nostra, and why he wanted me to marry into the Famiglia. Maybe, just fucking maybe , I would’ve considered going along with his plan, if it bettered the Bratva for an actual worthy reason. Being a leader involves sacrifice, and perhaps that’s what I would have reminded myself when completing the wedding march toward Rossi.
But he didn’t. And now I’m sitting in a stranger’s home after days of fighting in a battle I didn’t realize was commanded.
Zeno’s another level of my anger. He lied to me in the club. Hell, everything about him was a lie. I might have skipped giving him my name, but everything else that happened was all me. Being used might not be new, but it doesn’t make the pain any less.
Lastly, the slow trickle of information I’m being handed. Zeno mentioned a woman named Serafina, which is the same name I read he and whoever he was texting on the plane talking about. A woman in Zeno’s life with a link to my father seems pretty unlikely. Agitation rolls through me until I can no longer sit still. If only Zeno offered up more answers, or Ivan got to the end of his story quicker, or…so many if s run through my head.
What I do know is that sitting on the ground feeling sorry for myself won’t get me far. Without an accurate method of time keeping, I have no idea how many hours it’s been since Zeno’s attack, therefore no indication of where my Elite are in their plan. Perhaps Dimitri’s made it home by now. Perhaps they’ve begun developing a way to slip into Rome unnoticed.
Even so, waiting for them makes my skin itch, like I need to move. To protect myself. I’m sitting around weaponless, at Zeno’s mercy, which doesn’t bode well with me.
“If you don’t have a weapon, find one. Make one. Become one.”
Dimitri’s words of advice from years ago slip through my mind, lodging right into the front where it’ll be useful. Until I know for sure if Zeno’s lying or not, I need protection in any form I can take. I’ll be damned if he returns to find me lounging around. Anastasia’s advice: “Always understand your environment before attacking.”
Breaking from my actionless daze, I check the doors first, even though I heard the click of the lock earlier. Then the window, but it’s sealed shut without a way to open it, meaning I’m definitely trapped in here.
The ensuite bathroom reveals a path into another room, presumably a closet, but the door’s locked, which is strange for a guest room. Almost like something’s hidden in there that he doesn’t want others to find.
On my way back through the bathroom, a blue bottle catches my eye, and I study the expensive brand of men’s shampoo. Picking it up, the bottle’s half empty, and a quick scan behind the glass shower door reveals more men’s items. Conditioner, body wash of a few different scents…
Is this…? No. This couldn’t possibly be his room.
I glance toward the locked door again, now a renewed wonder of why he’d possibly want to lock up his own closet when he didn’t plan on me being here.
I leave the bathroom more confused than earlier. Zeno, for better or for worse, is an enigma I’d like to solve. There’s too much mystery in all of this.
Back in the bedroom— his room?—I scour behind every painting on the wall, every piece of decor, everything tangible, seeking something useful. Something to use should Zeno’s kindness expire.
As I go through the space, whatever isn’t useful to me—which is everything—ends up in the centre of the room in a pile. For every addition, I smile. Maybe it’s petty, but right now, making a mess of his space is all I got.
Then I start on the bed by tearing off the blankets, sheets and pillows, tossing them right over my junk pile. Once the mattress is bare, I flip it off the bed frame and drag it toward the centre of the room, growing more and more pleased by my creation.
Next, the nightstand. The drawers are empty, which is too bad, since bedside items often reveal a lot about a person. But it’s the nightstand I focus on, as I stand amidst the disarray. Destroying a huge ass bed frame isn’t exactly easy, but a small nightstand…very doable.
I flip the table upside down with the intention of doing exactly what Dimitri once advised. “Make one. Become one.” I lodge one leg beneath the frame’s base and haul every pound of my body weight onto it, using force to separate the leg from the tabletop. It takes a few heaves, but with a loud crack and a hissed, “Yes!” from me, the table leg breaks off. The end is fragmented and sharp, ideal for stabbing.
And then, with my homemade stake in my grip, I bunker down amidst my kingdom of destruction and wait for Zeno to return.
I might be pissed. I might be hurt. But a hurt, pissed-off woman is a vengeful one, and Zeno now has to deal with what he’s created.