Epilogue
ANASTASIA
One Week Earlier
After the wedding from literal hell, Zeno drives the rest of us back to his villa, leaving Lev at the hospital with Serafina while she’s healing from the worst honeymoon known to man.
Not that I’d ever admit it to Vanessa, but as I exit out the villa’s back entrance for much-needed fresh air, I consider how Zeno’s place would make a fantastic vacation spot.
I adore the Russian landscapes and forest surrounding the Bratva mansion, but the openness of his property is invigorating in other ways.
It isn’t stuffy, reminding me of what it feels like to dance across a stage. No audience, just me and the music, moving to the sound of my mental happy place.
My elbows drop to the railing on while gazing across to the massive pool—also a benefit of this place. Maybe I’ll convince Vanessa to install an indoor pool in the mansion.
My peace only lasts a moment before the back door slides open then shut, heavy steps lumbering outside.
If I remain still, maybe he won’t see me.
Of course, that’d mean he’d be ignoring me, which won’t happen. No, he enjoys obsessively paying me attention for some reason. Maybe because I’m determined not to let it deter me, so he feels more determined to push through my snub.
If I paid him attention, memories I’ve long buried would be dredged up, and life is going too well for that to happen.
He falls against the railing beside me, suit jacket askew, tie undone and hanging limp around his neck—as limp as the bottle dangling between his thumb and forefinger, which he brings up to his mouth and guzzles loudly.
Healthy.
Whatever’s in that bottle only adds to the decent amount he consumed during the reception.
When the rest of us shared a single bottle of champagne, sipping while remaining cautious and aware, he downed an entire bottle on his own.
Granted, champagne isn’t as strong as the clear stuff he’s now consuming, but still.
I hate I noticed any of that.
He straightens, only to slide close enough his arm brushes mine. “You still owe me that dance, Petrov. We had a bet, you and I, and you ran off.”
Scowling, I shuffle a few inches to the right to gain back space, which he immediately steals back. “For Sera and my brother. Saving her life mattered a lot more than a stupid bet.”
He hums, tilting his head to lock his sapphire-shaded eyes on me. I quickly avert my own back to the pool, the vast land beyond, anywhere that isn’t him or his brown curls or perfect fucking face I want to punch.
“Never said it wasn’t. Doesn’t change that you owe me. In fact…” His tone lowers into a purr, and my heart races. “You owe me for quite a few favours now, don’t you?”
Bracing from the truths that threaten to come crashing down, I shove away from the railing—running from them, running from him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Good night.”
He darts, sliding between me and the door with a surprising grace, considering his alcohol consumption. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, though you insist on pretending otherwise.”
“There is nothing to pretend otherwise for.” I shuffle to the right, angling myself around him. “I’m going to bed.”
He moves with me again, the arm gripping the bottle held straight out. “Is that why you’ve been pretending we haven’t meet before?”
Images of that night push against the barrier they’ve been locked behind for years, when presuming I’d never see him again.
The barrier began shaking when, some months ago, we rescued Vanessa from this place.
We had him and Zeno kneeling, and I couldn’t believe it.
Right there in front of me, it was him—my blue-eyed—
Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
“Again, not sure what you’re talking about. Might I recommend sleeping off the liquor?”
For a long moment, he simply stares down at me. A curl slips onto his lips as he brings the bottle up and chugs more, all without looking away. As he pulls it back, stray drops remain, and his tongue sweeps the spot.
Just when my stomach burns with old emotions, I duck around him again, this time reaching the door. Fingers clasp the handle like a lifeline, yanking it open into the cool AC escaping from the kitchen when his voice halts me once again.
“I will get that dance, Anastasia. I promise you that. And once I do, you and I will finally have that chat.”
Flicking my hair, I brace myself, adopting old attitudes that have kept me safe. “Men have made me promises before and have regretted it. Don’t be another one. That’s your only warning.”
I slam the door shut and escape into the house, running by his open bedroom door to the guest room. I shut and lock it before allowing my lungs to take in a complete breath. The smooth wooden door is chilly against my back—or is that simply how hot my skin is after that conversation?
Nero Amato should be no one to me.
No one more than my Pakhan’s boyfriend’s—or whatever we’re calling Zeno these days—second-in-command. The first time we met should have been when my brother and I rescued Vanessa from captivity. That’s what the others assume.
But it isn’t the truth.
The first time I met Nero, I was sixteen years old.
When he saved my life.