Chapter 39
Zeno never returns at any point in the evening, and for all the listening and focus I try to have by sticking close to the bedroom doors and window, it’s absolutely silent beyond the room. Which is damn frustrating.
More so, when my eyelids get heavy and exhaustion begins winning. I can’t sleep— shouldn’t sleep, even if this might be the only time to, given that I’m alone. But allowing myself to drift to a vulnerable place is stupid.
I rub a hand along my face to keep myself up. Considering I’m being held captive, the only thing I should be feeling is the rapid rush of adrenaline, but obviously, my body’s needs are winning. Sleepiness grows until my limbs get heavier and I scoot from the mess on the floor to lean against the bed’s footboard. If a nap is required, it’ll damn well involve me sitting upright.
After a few minutes, my position slips into a slouch, head lowering to the side. The grip around my makeshift stake loosens until holding it requires energy I no longer have, so instead, I rest it on my lap. It’ll be accessible at the first crack of sound.
I’ll rest my eyes for a few moments. A catnap so I’m alert for Zeno’s next onslaught.
A quick nap—not even a nap, because I’m not sleeping.
I refuse to rest…
My hand drifts over his bare chest, tracing the individual ridges of his abs, his pecs, before wandering toward his neck. He tips his head back into the pillow, humming in content.
My hand continues up, thumb flicking over his bottom lip, teasing him. He’s so fun to play with. So responsive. So perfect for me.
For me. It’s a striking thought because until him, there’s never been a man who appealed to me in such a way. Usually, I grow bored after one night, but I feel like I can’t stop touching him. Like it’ll never be enough.
God, I crave doing it all with him. Having him bound to my bed is only one of many ways I want him. I want to see him take it all . To feel how tight he is.
My hand changes direction and nails drag over his chest again, heading toward his waist, dipping into the crevices of his hips. The waistband of his pants stop me, but it’s okay. Teasing him is better than actually touching him, simply for his needy responses.
I continue over his pants, and his breath hikes. I slow my movements when brushing over his cock, feeling him hard and waiting.
“Please,” he murmurs.
I smile, hooking a finger into his waistband while his grip on my hip tightens, pulling me closer.
Closer…
Wait—
This all feels too real.
All at once, I come alive with the realization that I fell asleep. I fucking slept , leaving me vulnerable at a time I need to have a brick wall erected around me.
The warm, morning sun shines through shut eyelids that, before a second ago, were content to remain closed. I’m no longer sitting up against a headboard, but rather lying in bed. On the mattress actually, which is on the floor from where I’ve dragged it amidst my destruction.
I’m not alone.
I yank my hand away, distraught that even in sleep, I went there . That I didn’t hear Zeno’s return, or felt him carry me to bed, and worst of fucking all: to believe touching him was only in my dream.
Zeno grins from beside me and props his head on one arm. “You always this twitchy when you wake?”
Growling, I roll from the mattress and onto the floor, immediately getting to my feet. I scan the room, seeking my makeshift stake, not that it’ll do much good now. I planned on the element of surprise, but he’ll see it coming now.
Zeno slowly sits up, and I hate how my gaze immediately goes to where the sunlight glows across his bare chest. His hair sticks up in a few different directions and his amused smile makes him seem younger and much more innocent.
“In my defence,” he starts before my muddled thoughts form semi-coherent sentences, “ you started touching me, not the other way around. I kept my hands to myself. I really assumed you’d wake to the sound of me showering last night, or at the very least, when I carried you from the floor to the bed. You’re welcome for that, by the way. Sleep any longer in the position you were in, your neck would be kinked by now.”
Ignoring him, I scan the room again, finally spotting my makeshift stake abandoned by the footboard. Perhaps it’ll still be useful in the coming hours or days: however long it takes my Elite to arrive.
“When did you get back?” My question stems from the fact I’m still disturbed I didn’t hear him moving around last night. All my training and what good did it do for me?
Zeno swings his feet to the side and stands, stretching as he does. His muscles ripple in the sunlight and I look away, not willing any weakness to win. His gaze finds my weapon before scanning the centre of the room and the destruction left.
“Around midnight. Nice job on the room, by the way. Love the mess.”
Then he heads to the bathroom, as though any of this is normal. I’m stuck standing within the mess I’ve created, and the weapon which I pick up, needing the sensation of protection.
When he returns a few minutes later, he’s dressed in a Henley and a pair of faded jeans. It’s so casual, it’s strange to see, considering I’d grown up around men who never dared to wear anything remotely comfortable.
He’s typing on his phone but immediately glances my way, pausing on the weapon in my hand. “Breaking my nightstand was kind of you.”
“Kidnapping me was kind of you,” I counter, bringing the wood up closer to me.
He crosses the room slowly, coming to stand in front of me. I angle the stake out, a silent threat that he ignores. “What’s your plan with that?”
“What’s the plan with me?” I counter again. “I can do this all day, Zeno. For every stupid question you ask, I have one of my own.”
He smirks. “Then I suppose I’ll answer it myself. You destroyed my bedroom in hopes to find something useful. When you didn’t, you made a weapon. It’s inventive, I’ll admit, though I wonder why now? Why now have you decided to protect yourself when yesterday, you walked right through the front door without any hesitation?”
“Return me to Russia and I’ll leave you in peace to clean up my mess.”
He hums, which seems more like a chuckle. “Cleaning up Volkov messes seems to be my full-time job lately. You’ve forgotten the heart-to-heart we had yesterday?”
Of course I hadn’t. Whoever Serafina is, is at the centre of the war. A woman scorned, perhaps. Someone Papa tried to move on with after Mama’s death. Someone from Italy, hence the connection to Zeno. There’s a million and one possibilities and while I want the truth, I want my freedom more.
Zeno takes another step toward me, and I quickly lift the wood, positioning the sharp, jagged tip against his chest.
His left brow hikes slightly. “You do that, you’ll be slaughtered before you can escape the property.”
“Might be worth it. Better than being left in limbo.”
His expression pinches. “Never imagined the Merciless Queen giving in so easily.”
“More proof you don’t really know me.” Despite the years of stalking me, to which he admitted to. But he’s only seen the outside.
“No, guess I don’t,” he murmurs in a considering tone before gesturing to his chest. “Do it. You think you can kill me and run off free, what’s stopping you from ramming that into my chest?”
Nothing. Nothing at all.
And everything.
Because even when making the weapon, I knew I wouldn’t use it. Not that I particularly enjoy waiting around for Dimitri and the others to save me, but I’m practical enough to see that me against whatever army he has hidden in this place means a losing battle. To fight him, to win, sparks a larger war when I only want out of here.
“You’re stalling. Making me believe you’re compliant when we both know you’re everything but.”
Stop. My teeth press tightly together, my grip clenching around the wood. He’s trying to entice my anger, to urge me into action, but I don’t understand what he gets out of this.
“I won’t stop you.”
If he means that, then I can take this risk. In the past…however long I’ve been here, I’ve seen no other soul on the property. Not to say, he doesn’t have them hiding somewhere, but it could be a risk worth taking. Kill him, escape his property and head into the city, and call home. One flight out and this nightmare ends.
So why can’t I take the step and ram the wood through his chest?
“Kill me, Vanessa.”
I angle the wood up toward his throat instead, aware it’ll be an easier and quicker death. The thin skin means he’ll choke on his blood and be dead within minutes.
He smiles, despite the weapon poised at his throat. “There she is. I wondered where the true Volkov queen disappeared to. Despite everything people claim about you, I know you’ll do what’s necessary.”
My hold falters, my gaze unwillingly moving up to his. To study and learn the meaning behind that statement. “What’s that mean?”
The bedroom door opens then and another figure fills the space. I’m about to move, to grab Zeno and use him as bait against the intruder, but lower my arm completely when the person isn’t a soldier, but a woman. More like a girl, maybe: barely an adult. Hardly out of school, if my guess is correct. Her skin is smooth and there’s an innocence floating from her as she takes in the scene with a single, slow blink.
A blink that captivates me in ways no one, not even Zeno, has.
Because I’ve seen her before. Well, not her exactly, but parts of her. Her long, brown hair is the colour of chocolate in the sunlight, melting in gentle waves down her back. Her tanned skin and heart-shaped face reminds me of the man in front of me but those aren’t the familiar features.
It’s her eyes.
Bright blue, like the colour of the sky reflecting over a summer’s ocean on a hot day.
My eyes.
Impossible.
Most of my features are from Mama, which Papa claimed was one of the best things to come from my birth because it helped keep her alive. My hair, my face, my skin tone, it’s all her.
All except my eyes. Those are from Papa.
And it’s those very eyes gazing back at me with surprise, but somehow not shock. Not like what I’m feeling when my lowered weapon slips entirely from my slack grip and everything inside me stops working.
“Hi. I’m Serafina.” Her soft voice is paired with a quick wave. Perfect lips with a deep cupid’s bow pull up on one side. “Didn’t realize my brother had company.”
Brother. Which makes her Zeno’s sister. Zeno’s sister is named Serafina.
“Not what. Who.”
“Then who ? —”
“Serafina.”
Zeno’s sister, with eyes identical to my own…and Papa’s.
Impossible. It’s simply…no. It’s—no!
Pretty sure my lungs stop functioning. My thoughts go from sensible to muddled to a giant puddle of goop with no way to piece them back together.
Of all the possibilities of who Serafina could be, this isn’t what I ever considered. Even considered considering. This has to be a sick, twisted joke on Zeno’s part, but to ask him means looking away from her and somehow putting enough coherent thoughts together to form a question.
“You look surprised. Zeno never mentioned a sister, huh?”
Something like that.
Zeno’s next words kill the tormented storm about to ravage the room, even if neither of them are aware of it brewing inside me. “Serafina, go find Nero downstairs. I’ll be there in a bit.”
With a small shrug, she waves goodbye—which I can’t function enough to return—and spins on one heel and disappears down the hall, eventually descending the tiled steps. Zeno breaks away from me to shut the door.
“Your…sister.”
Zeno tucks his hands behind his back as he leans against the shut door and nods once, continuing to watch me put it all together from my place amidst a ruined bedroom.
“Your sister with eyes like…” I can’t even finish that statement. That revelation.
Because it’s not true.
It’s. Not. True.
It’s a coincidence.
Zeno glances away, his jaw ticking. “Nothing gets by you, Pakhan.”
Nothing gets by me. Hah! That’s more laughable than anything I’ve heard in life. Seems like everything’s gotten by me. Him. This entire war between the organizations. And a woman who shares my eyes and Zeno’s features.
The silence between is thick and tangible and I wish I could drown in it. I could—would—if I wasn’t desperate for answers. I swallow my pride, my nerves, and finally push out, “She’s his, isn’t she?”
“No,” he bites out. “She was never his .”
“I mean, she’s…his. As in, his DNA is in her. He created her.”
Zeno’s jaw clicks, his hatred of the fact apparent in his very demeanor. His head jerks once in a nod.
If Papa conceived her…and me…then it makes her my?—
“Is she aware?” Any other question to distract from the fact neither of us has put into words yet.
“Sì..”
Papa was no saint. I’ve known for years. Had the vision of a perfect father shattered pretty early on. He had little respect for women, myself included, but this…to turn against another daughter entirely. No wonder Zeno hates our family.
“Did he?” Maybe it’s a silly question, but I almost hope he didn’t. Hope the villain at the heart of all of this was at least innocent in one thing. Except I already suspect with more than anything that he does. This is the same man that sold my virginity, so why wouldn’t he avoid another child?
Zeno tenses. “Sì.”
“That’s why you kidnapped me then? Why you hate my father. He turned away from her, and I’m being held responsible.”
He laughs once, humourlessly. “ Still , you cling to the notion that he’s a good man even when you’ve lived through his treachery. Stop. Breathe. And fucking think for yourself, la mia regina distrutta . She’s eighteen. Well after you and I were both born, so what do you think truly happened back then?”
At this point, I’m not sure I want to know.