Chapter 44
Fucking cheater. But that fact doesn’t surprise me. Volkovs have always played dirty.
By the time I regain my footing, Vanessa’s beaten me to the bush. When she shoots me an innocent grin, I decide to not let her win so easily. She won dirty, so she can deal with a sore loser.
I throw a bit of extra strength into my last couple strides, my leg screaming at me for this idiotic outing. I downed pain meds in the bathroom when getting changed, but it’s not enough to combat what I’m putting my body through.
I jump at her, taking her to the ground. She’s trained well enough that as soon as her back hits the grass, she’s rolling to her knees, flipping me over.
I put up a meager fight, curious to see what she’ll do. Everything about this outing has been unexpected. When I figured she’d bolt, she didn’t. This trip out of the villa isn’t out of kindness, but more an insurance policy. She needed out of my room and away from the thoughts about her father’s actions before they drove her mad… er .
Only this morning that might have been fine, but then I saw her hunched in my shower and some switch of stupidity flicked on inside me and I found myself unwilling to allow her to go insane.
Yet.
Although I kick my good leg out to block her, Vanessa manages to straddle me, one thigh on either side of my hip. She grins down at me, flicking her still-damp hair over her shoulder, and she’s never looked more powerful than in this second.
I’ve seen her lord over her organization. Seen her gazing down at me when my tongue was buried in her delicious cunt. Seen her stand up, despite the gun directed her way, to protect her people. But none of those instances had my head where it is now. And where that is, I’m not even willing to admit to myself.
“You cheated.”
She shrugs. “Cheating is important now and again. Ensures I stay ahead, which means I get to ask my question.”
“Your freedom is non-negotiable,” I state flatly, before she considers making that her question.
“Wouldn’t ask for that. I’d just take it.” She scans the property, hinting at how easy it’d be for her to run away.
Then why haven’t you? I don’t dare ask that aloud. Miss Volkov’s playing the slow game, same as me, and I won’t give her the idea, even though I’m one hundred percent positive it’s already crossed through her pretty head.
Without waiting for another prompt, she leans back on her heels, peers down at me and asks, “Why did you wait two years before coming after me?”
Out of all things she could inquire about, I’m surprised it’s this. What surprises me more is I don’t have a good response for it. Not a quick one anyway.
I knot my hands behind my head before I do another equally dumb thing like touch her. “I figured the Bratva wouldn’t accept you as Pakhan and that someone else might do the job for me.”
Another woman might flinch at my callousness. Not Vanessa, though. She merely purses her lips and nods, like she’s agreeing with my decision.
“When you officially took over, I also wanted to see what kind of leader you’d be. If you were like your father.” Further admittance slips out before I can stop the words.
Her head tips slightly, hair dropping to the side. The sunlight over her shoulder makes her glow; something I despise noticing so I’m quick to continue talking.
“In the end, my vow became more important than the differences between you and him.”
Her expression falters, and her gaze drops from my face to my chest. She blinks once, twice, before a deeper rouge flushes her cheeks and pink tinges the tips of her ears in a delicious light cherry colour. Her sudden demeanour switch is explained when she swings herself off me and settles onto the grass beside me.
Although I didn’t exactly mind her weight, I sit up, stretching my legs out in front of me and propping myself up on my palms. The burning in my leg begins quelling. My nerves are strung tight with a tenseness, and I’m ready to be on my feet instantly should she decide now’s the time to drop the friendly fa?ade and attempt escaping.
I’m sure it’s driving her insane trying to figure out my motive, but for me, it’s similar. Vanessa isn’t one to sit idly by, so I make a mental bet with myself that sometime between now and our return to the villa, she will make the stupid but rightful endeavour to run away.
For now, she gets into a more comfortable position and brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her gaze skims over the land, and I’m dying to know precisely what’s in her head. Her escape plan, no doubt. Maybe she’s debating running the opposite way from the main road, figuring the less obvious choice might serve her better. That’s where my head would be at anyway, and I’m finding we’re quite similar.
“Your property is beautiful.”
She says it so quietly, I almost believe it’s merely the wind. A gentle bustle passing by but not lingering. Then she looks my way and her eyes convey the same sentiment.
“Thanks,” I reply, voice gruff and uncertain. What does she get by complimenting my land? “Yours too. Especially that forest. Though, not great for hiding in.”
She snorts, turning her head away. Her mouth creeps up on one side as she hides her smile.
I wonder how often she smiles. Most of the photos I have of her involve a blank expression. From what I’ve witnessed, she only allows her Elite to see the real her, and even them, I wonder exactly how much they’re privy to. Vanessa isn’t only a curiosity, but also a mystery. She’s a mask of all emotions other than hate, never disclosing much.
She wasn’t my focus before Ursin’s death, but a part of me wishes she was. Wishes that I had some sort of idea how different her disposition is now versus when she was under his control and subject to the pain he causes.
Pain such as that politician she mentioned.
“Answer for an answer.”
She turns back to face me, that smile still thankfully present. I find myself leaning straighter just to get closer to her—stupid, I realize. Fantastical lust that has no place among revenge.
And yet, when she dips her head in agreement, I’m fucking thrilled.
“Tell me the story of Agapov.”
That smile vanishes as quickly as a bullet can leave my gun’s chamber. “Why?”
Why indeed. “Call it morbid curiosity.”
“Or your desire to torment me with the memories.”
She says it so passively, I wonder if she actually means it. As she begins speaking, I search her for signs of distress. Reliving the trauma isn’t my focus here. Some kinds of pain aren’t deserved, and this one, especially by her.
“Nothing to really tell that I haven’t already.” She stares down at her borrowed sneakers, fingering the tip of the shoelace. “The expectation was that I was a virgin for my future marriage, so not entirely sure when his thoughts shifted, but one day, he called me into a guest bedroom. That should have been my first clue. Started spouting shit about how being his daughter would be enough to satisfy my future fiancé.” She winces at the term. “And being a virgin wasn’t necessary. Which meant I had other uses. Papa had his men tie me to the bed.” Her eyes flicker, the sunlight reflecting through them similar to a burning flame. “I lay there screaming for help, but no one came, and the next time the door opened, it was Boris Agapov. That was the first and last time I’d ever been tied down.”
She pauses to take a huge inhale, and I realize then how badly I fucked up. Immediately, I reach for her hand, resting my own on hers, shaking my head as the words stop talking claw up my throat. I don’t know what stupid desire to see her opening up drove me to ask about this memory, but she doesn’t need to do this anymore.
She continues, like I’ve unleashed a tornado unable to be reined in. “I begged him to stop while he removed his clothes. As he touched me. In my head, I called him the d'yavol , the devil. The look in his eyes…” She shudders, and I stroke a thumb over her wrist until reaching her racing pulse, but I’m not sure she’s paying enough attention to feel my touch. “Pure evil. You know what he said to me? In that statement, I knew there’d be no stopping this.” Her eyes flash my way and she yanks her wrist away, tucking it against her chest. “‘I like it when they plead.’ I wasn’t the first one he did this to.”
“Vanessa—”
“And then…he did it. Raped me while I cried.”
“Vanessa—”
“You know what the worst fucking part is? That it was Christmas time. Papa destroyed Christmas. It was never the same after that year.”
Christmas changed for me too at one point, when Madre moved out of the mansion. Padre was barely at home, so I spent the day with Madre and Serafina instead. She did her best to bring the kind of Christmas I had as a kid to Serafina, but it wasn’t the same. There was a sadness in Madre’s eyes that even the holiday spirit never could make go away.
“You’ll get him.”
She blinks down at me before scoffing. “How’s that? Until you let me go, he’s a free man.”
I’m not letting you go. I skip answering because I truly don’t have a response for her.
She shakes her head, as though wiping away this entire conversation and spins slightly until she faces me head-on. “My turn. You asked about a shit moment in my life, so I want yours. Tell me why you didn’t become a capo until twenty-one.”
“Going for the kill, huh,” I grumble, repositioning my body. After her story, mine is pitifully normal. A revenge plot that failed even before it kicked off. “Even though I was Padre’s heir, I was fourteen when he was killed so leadership fell to his second-in-command, Elio.” I pause, debating exactly how much to admit to her about the organization’s internal systems. “He’s the one who led the attack on your house, but back then, he became interim Capo. He never wanted the role but held it, knowing it’d only be for a few years. He finished my training, entertained every one of my plots, but the Commission forbade him from retaliating against your father. Given how your father grew stronger before his attack, I think they were scared we’d lose.”
“The Commission?”
I smirk. “How much do you know about us?”
“Less than I’d like. I thought I knew who ran the Cosa Nostra—Alessandro Vitale—but apparently was wrong about that.” Her tongue skates the inside of her mouth. “We have information on all the prominent organizations around the world, except you. How is that, by the way?”
I skip her last question and return to her point about Vitale. “You weren’t wrong about Vitale being a capo, but he doesn’t run the whole Cosa Nostra, as don’t I. The Cosa Nostra isn’t like you guys, or even the Famiglia . We’re not a single unit, but rather five separate ones united under one name.” Though united might be a bit of a stretch for how we function. “Referred to as the Five Families; five ancient bloodlines who’ve led their factions for decades. Overseeing all five was once a single man, the Godfather. History best explains what too much power can do to one person. The feds were scouring any lead they had, and nearly took down an entire Family after he sold them out, so before anything went down, all Five Families turned on him. Since then, they created a Commission of five elected people—one from each family—to oversee us. Vitale is one family. Mancinis another. There’s three others.”
She purses her lips, her obvious distaste apparent. Everything I know of the woman says she’d despise being held by another’s command, even if it’s just how the system works.
“I don’t get names for the other three?”
“Do you need them?”
She scowls but doesn’t answer, so I return to answering her question. “The Commission didn’t want Elio striking against the Bratva and threatened removing him and replacing me if we tried. They’d destroy the Mancini line by handing the organization to another bloodline. But they wouldn’t have the same power once I was Capo because I wasn’t an interim leader. Their power didn’t stretch to that extent.
“That started five years of training, planning, and waiting. My eighteenth birthday came, and Elio and I had a meeting with them. They banned me from taking the position, claiming I hadn’t proved myself enough.” My voice takes on an edge with the memory. “Assholes. They knew I’d initiate a war that afternoon, so they forced Elio in the position for longer. That began three more years of playing good. Doing anything to better the Cosa Nostra and prove to them I wasn’t some mindless, stupid teenager who’d entice a war the moment I was given true power.”
I watch her for this next part, gauging her reaction. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? Changing yourself. Proving yourself. Doing anything and everything to make a point to people who’d rather tear you down. You know what that’s like, don’t you, Volkov?”
One brow lifts slightly, as does her mouth in a muted smirk. “Say what’s on your mind, Mancini.”
I lean slightly toward her, moving into her space, and lower my voice despite us being alone. “Vanessa, I watched you run deals, meet your entire staff, punish the traitors, and train to ensure your father’s Elite would accept you. I also know that one day you changed. Decided to say ‘fuck you’ and did things your way. You concocted new plans for your businesses, replaced your father’s Elite with your own, and ran things how you wanted to. You fought, and fought fucking hard. I’d say we’re similar.”
“We’re nothing alike,” she counters with a haughty air to her tone.
Agree to disagree .
“Finish your story,” she demands in that bossy way of hers, recrossing her legs. “You were twenty-one when you got the position. Then you went after Papa?”
I nod, huffing with annoyance at the memories. “Tried to, but it’s like he knew I’d be coming for him, and he ran. Disappeared underground. No one could find him; wherever he went off to, he hid well. We attacked his businesses, assuming that’d bring him to the surface, but it almost never did. The few times it did work, he disappeared again before we could catch him.”
She snorts, staring into the sunlight again. I search her face for any sign of sadness, given the person at the centre of the conversation. “Hard to picture Papa scared of anything or anyone. He always acted like he was on top of the world. If he was scared of you, makes you wonder how he got the leg up on your father.” Her lips press together in contemplation.
We fall silent for a few moments, both lost in thoughts. Well, I presume that’s where she is, as she gazes off in the distance, looking utterly at peace. Probably more so than I’ve ever seen her before.
Me…I’m not at peace. Not even close.
I’m wondering where my sanity has gone. It certainly evaporated into thin air the second I decided to let her out of the villa. Completely gone when this conversation began.