Chapter 46
Fucking fuck.
It becomes my mantra as I head back down the stairs after depositing Vanessa in my bedroom. The trip might have been to keep her mental state intact, but it only fucked mine up in the process.
Everything about that was wrong . Conversing with her, relaxing on the grass like we’re fucking friends. That was probably all some game to Vanessa. An attempt to get inside my head and unravel me.
It’s working.
With an aggravated groan, I rub my face, trying to wipe away the memory of Vanessa beneath me. Vanessa with her night-coloured hair contrasting with the bright grass. Dark and light. Good and evil. It was there I let myself forget who she is, where she comes from, and the evil in her veins.
She looked up at me like I was the goddamn sun and I fell for her siren tricks. She nearly had me too, if it wasn’t for Venus and Nero. Venus is getting so many treats later for saving my soul. Again, Nero showed up at the right time. First, his earlier text about having the documentation completed and delivered ended our conversation, and then again when he interrupted us in the yard ended what almost was again, and should never be.
I find Nero and Serafina still on the patio. Serafina’s seated on a chair, Venus’ head in her lap. Both glance up at my entrance, but it’s my sister who immediately looks away, her back stiff. She’s obviously still pissed about earlier, but I don’t have time for her at the moment.
“Get your stuff. Nero’s taking you back home.”
After a long moment, just when I assume she’s ignoring me, she twists to face me, crossing her arms. “You’re still an asshole.”
“I’m only doing right by you, Sera.”
“Whatever.” She stands and storms by, Venus loyally trailing, and slams the patio door shut behind her.
I drop into her vacated spot and lift one leg up on the chair across from me, picking at my bandage. Today was a lot on my injury, but I’m an idiot like that. So many mistakes when it’s come to Vanessa. Hissing, I peel up the tape, keeping the bandage on and spotting a trail of fresh blood. Damn, probably reopened the wound.
Nero takes the other chair, kicking one ankle up over his other knee as he regards me. “The feminine energy in this place is…tense.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “I put food in your room for her. Figured if you’re planning on keeping her alive, nutrition would be a good way to go about it.”
Food. Right. How’d I forget? “Thanks. Good idea.” Thank fuck one of us has some logic. After what happened earlier, it’s certainly not me.
He nods and reaches across the table to hand me a yellow manila envelope. Inside, two sheets of thick paper. Two documents, which for all accounts, are legal, even if the route in which he obtained them isn’t.
One, a contract, securing Vanessa to me permanently. Even if given the opportunity to attempt ending the marriage, she’ll have to pay a steep price for freedom. One, if I know her well enough, she’ll refuse to.
Across the top of the second, the inscription makes my stomach flip, but for the precise reason—the emotion behind it—there’s too many possibilities for me to focus on one.
Certificato di Matrimonio . A marriage certificate.
“You sure about this?” Nero asks with a grimace. “It’s not too late to undo it.”
“I’m sure.”
It’s the names signed on the bottom that bind this. Mine, a well-practiced identical duplicate, homage to years and years of Nero feigning my signature when required. And hers. Stolen from documents we’ve tracked down over the years. A perfect imitation, including a couple subtle dents from where the pen nicked the paper in her eagerness to sign. At least, that’s what others will be led to believe.
“This is perfect. Grazie .”
He’s still watching me with an expression only years of friendship can translate.
“Say what’s on your mind.”
“Is this needed?” He winces, like he’s unable to believe his own words, and I’m right there with him. “I mean, I get it. I understand more than anyone how much you despise the Volkovs, but…” He pauses, glancing down at his hands linked together on his lap. “You’ve met the girl. She’s not Ursin. At this point, it feels like you’re chasing retaliation even you’re not entirely sure you want.”
I have no response other than staring mutely at him. Of course, this is vital. Vanessa will be so distraught, and the Bratva will have no choice but to accept what’s so clearly detailed in this certificate. That from here on out, for better or for worse, Vanessa Volkov is my wife, which means the Bratva falls under my leadership. Ursin’s entire legacy—his organization and his daughter—is in the palm of my hand, literally right in the document I’m holding. To loosen my hand and release her means allowing that legacy, which is built on others’ blood and pain, to continue.
That can’t happen.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, gesturing further in the yard where he earlier interrupted us, “if your trip around the property ended with her beneath you, makes me wonder how much you actually hate her.”
“I don’t hate her . Not really. Only who she comes from.” I pause before explaining in a rushed tone, “And she tried to run. I tackled her. That’s the only reason I was on her.”
But in this instance, all I can see is the girl from the club. The free spirit who let go that night, without the weight of being Pakhan. It was fucking beautiful, like she has been today. Seeing her utterly relaxed, like she wasn’t putting on a front.
I shake my head. I’m sorry, but this is the price of the blood-soaked legacy you’ve inherited.
“Zeno?” Nero’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
This must happen. The Volkovs will be seized.
I rest the documents off to the side, needing a momentary break from them. Revenge aside, this is the first time I’ve considered what this all means to me. In a matter of minutes, I’ll be headed up to break the news to Vanessa…to my wife.
I always knew I’d wed for the organization at some point. When Padre was alive, he was already considering possible future matches based on which other organization he felt the best to align with. Without him here, I understand more than ever how vital it is that the Mancini Family has the next heir. But I never pictured a union quite like this one. Isn’t how I imagined marrying my wife.
Nero slaps the table as he stands. “I’m getting a drink. Need one?”
“N-no.” I rub a hand down my face, hating how shaky I said that. Maybe I do need a drink. “Before you do, could you take Sera home, please? When Vanessa loses her mind in a few short minutes, I’d rather she not be around to hear.”
“Sure thing. Good luck.” He slaps me on my shoulder as he passes and heads inside, leaving me alone.
Alone with my future.
I pick up the certificate again, tracing over one of the two signatures on the bottom. Vanessa Volkov.
Guilt prickles in the back of my eyes. When I should be completely victorious, I’m not. Far from it.
Despite what Nero said, it’s too late to back out now. If I do, if I let Vanessa win, I’d regret it within the week. Once the Bratva is seized, I’ll have to figure out what to do with the other two Volkovs. No doubt, Vanessa will beg for her cousin’s life, but I doubt her uncle will escape her wrath. As a wedding present, I’ll let her unleash her rage on him. Family or otherwise, after his recent betrayal, I highly doubt he’ll be surviving much longer.
The back door slides open behind me, and I turn as Nero steps out, his expression pinched. “Hate to say this, but your sister isn’t by the car or in her room. Seems she’s missing…if not for the voices coming from your room.”
Goddammit, Sera!