Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Anya
Matteo
Can you FaceTime?
My breath catches, reading the new message over and over. FaceTime…a video chat with Matteo. Why does that seem so intense? We’ve already met in person, surely a video call can’t be more nerve-racking than that.
Matteo
You can say no, if you want. I’ve just been thinking about asking for a while. If we try it and you don’t like it, we never have to do it again.
Matteo
In fact, you can hang up on me mid-call and I won’t even be offended.
Matteo
But if you don’t mind it, this could be a good way for you to see the twins, too. They’d be able to start recognizing you and your voice.
My fingers hover above the screen, teeth capturing my bottom lip as I consider how to reply.
I want to say yes, but I don’t know if I can.
He makes some good points. Trying once doesn’t mean committing to doing it again.
If I hate it, I can hang up. And seeing my niece and nephew more will always be appealing.
If I can’t be tetya Anya in person, I’d like to do my best at doing it virtually.
Matteo
Shit, did that sound pushy? I don’t mean to make it seem like I’m using them to coax a yes out of you. Like I said, I’ve just been thinking about it, so I had reasons it could be nice built up LOL.
I laugh under my breath, realizing that he might be just as nervous as I am with all those back to back messages. Keeping that in mind, I finally decide how to respond.
Anya
You’re sure you won’t be upset if I have to hang up?
He replies in an instant.
Matteo
Absolutely not! You can literally hang up if my face annoys you or if my voice sounds weird. Any reason at all, I promise.
I can’t imagine anyone has ever found his face to be annoying.
How could they?
Anya
I don’t think your face is going to annoy me. But I’m not sure if it will be overwhelming or not.
I’m not sure, but I think I want to try either way.
Trying things is a victory whether you fail or not. Progress is a step in the right direction, even if you need to take a break in the middle of your journey.
Inhaling slowly, I straighten my shoulders and move out of my closet to sit at my vanity. I was putting away my folded laundry when Matteo texted—a regular part of keeping my space clean and tidy.
Sending a quick following text, I prop my phone up against my mirror and flatten down my hair on either side of my face. The warm bubble lights surrounding the vanity desk brighten up my reflection; not too stark against my fair complexion.
My text stares back at me as I try to act natural.
Anya
Call now before I talk myself out of trying.
In less than two short breaths, my phone buzzes. The video call chime goes off, and I wait for familiar panic symptoms to hit but nothing comes. My stomach doesn’t drop with dread, and my throat doesn’t go tight. Hands steady and unshaken, I reach forward and hit answer.
Matteo’s face fills my screen in a whoosh, his bright blue eyes capturing my attention before anything else. His roguish brown hair is styled in that almost messy sort of way, and he’s wearing a black button down that’s split down the middle, exposing a small section of his bare chest.
I open my mouth to say hello, but can’t get the greeting out in time.
“Whoa,” he says, his eyes blinking open wider.
“What?” I ask immediately, looking at the small square of my reflection to make sure there’s nothing on my face. When I don’t see anything, I look above my phone at the mirror to confirm.
Matteo shakes his head and clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
My eyebrows draw in. “Why did you say it?”
“I just…you look even prettier than you did at the wedding,” he blurts out awkwardly. “I mean, you looked beautiful, of course. I’m just surprised that you look like a princess sitting in your bedroom in a sweater too. No dress and no makeup needed.”
I blink in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, I’m not being very chill right now. Please ignore me.”
Truly at a loss for words, I do the only thing my brain can think of. Change the subject.
“So, dinner wasn’t what you expected it to be?”
“Right,” he agrees eagerly, seeming thankful for the prompting question. “I said I wanted a fight but I did not think it would be like it was.”
For the next ten minutes, Matteo goes into detail about his family’s evening.
It’s like a reality TV show or a soap opera the way he describes every intense twist and turn that took place only minutes ago for him.
Secrets unveiled, betrayal accusations, and at the center of it all, one girl trapped in a horrible situation.
My stomach begins to ache as he tells me about Rayna Todorov’s best friend.
He doesn’t say her name, and by the way his story seems to skip around a bit, I can tell that he’s redacting some details.
Whether it’s for the girl’s sake or for mine, I appreciate it.
From what he does say, I can tell that it would be upsetting information to hear.
Just knowing that there’s some poor mafia princess out there, likely around my age, being forced into plastic surgery by her parents…it’s enough to make me feel nauseous. The only thing that quells the discomfort is knowing that Matteo’s family isn’t going to let the situation continue.
“But your brother—Elie…”
“Elio,” Matteo fills in, hearing my struggle to remember one of his eight brother’s names.
“Elio,” I agree, continuing, “Elio is going to be able to get her out, right?”
I watch as he bobs his head, the side of his mouth tipping up into a half-grin. “Yeah, definitely. Elio won’t come home without her. He’s pissed. We all are, honestly.”
“You don’t seem angry,” I admit, worrying my hands in my lap.
“I’ve gotten very good at smothering my emotions externally,” he replies with a half shrug. “It doesn’t do anyone any good if I’m going around huffing and puffing—spitting mad. I’m much more useful being the guy who makes everyone feel better, I think.”
“I—”
“Besides,” he interrupts before I can fully form my reply. “I have a feeling it would be pretty difficult for me to look mad when I’m talking to such a beautiful girl.”
What?
My brain short circuits, lips popping open in shock.
The sound of my door banging open completely cuts off whatever reply I was about to squeak out.
Matteo
A loud thud comes over the video call and Anya’s head snaps to the side toward the noise. Her hair swishes so fast that it blurs with movement.
“Dad?” She almost gasps. “You didn’t knock.”
“I heard you talking,” Anton replies in a rough voice—as if that excuses his barged entry. “You didn’t tell me you would be calling him.”
Anya gapes at him. Even though she isn’t facing me, I can see her jaw become practically unhinged. “I didn’t call him.”
“You’re speaking.”
I mean, semantics.
“It’s a FaceTime,” Anya informs him defensively. “And he called me. He’s telling me about dinner tonight. Something happened.”
“He’s calling you beautiful because something happened at dinner?”
Oh, shit.
Well, there goes my head. Anton is about to request it on a spike.
“I...” she trails off, mouth opening and closing in disbelief. “You’re spying on me now?”
“It’s not spying to overhear a conversation.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Believe it.”
Holy awkward. Who knew a compliment would make the man so salty?
Actually, I could have probably guessed that it would.
This is totally my fault.
Hesitantly deciding to speak up, I clear my throat. “Uhhh, maybe I should just hang up and let you talk—”
“No,” Anton barks. “Anya, give us a minute.”
Oh, this can’t be good.
“We’re in my bedroom—” she protests, only to be cut off.
“So?”
“Are you telling me to leave my own room?”
“Anya, a minute.”
Well, this really can’t be good.
She looks at me, forcing a smile. “You can hang up on him if he’s rude.”
I fight so hard not to laugh, my chest literally aching from the force of holding it back. I want to comment on how brave she is when it comes to her father, but I refuse to do anything to piss the man off even more.
“You cannot,” Anton tells me gruffly, picking Anya’s phone up off her desk to bring me in closer. He waits until she leaves the room, for the audible sound of her bedroom door to click shut. “What are you trying to do here, Moretti?”
His tone leaves no room for humor or teasing.
“Um, what do you mean exactly?” I ask, smiling weakly.
“You tell her that you wish to be friends, I reluctantly agree to let you communicate with her, and now I overhear you calling her beautiful as if you are trying to court her. So I ask again. What are you trying to do here, boy?”
Okay. Don’t love being called a boy as a twenty-one-year-old man.
But I doubt he would appreciate being told that.
“Sir, I don’t mean to sound like a disrespectful little asshole.
..but your daughter is beautiful. I’m not telling her that for any reason other than it’s the truth.
Friends compliment each other all the time, at least where I’m from.
You should see how close Ivan and Jade are.
If you think a compliment is suspicious, you’d probably have a heart attack watching those two interact.
They cuddle so much that my dad thought Ivan and Dmitri were sharing her. ”
His eye twitches. Like no shit, twitches.
He doesn’t find me amusing, because of course he doesn’t.
“I do not trust you, and I do not like you.”
“I assumed as much,” I admit, trying not to frown.
“I’m really not trying to do anything untoward.
I like Anya. She’s cool, and nice. But I’m not looking to date or court or whatever you called it.
I don’t think she would even be interested if I was.
I’m not exactly a hot commodity for her.
I live several thousand miles away, I’m a ninth son, and I definitely don’t deserve her. ”
Anya is like a diamond as far as I’m concerned. More akin to perfection than she probably realizes. And I’m far from a precious gemstone.
“I’m not sure how to get you to believe me, Sir,” I add honestly. “I’m afraid that this is the kind of trust that you just have to wait for. If I could do anything to reassure you, I would.”
He grunts, and I don’t know how to interpret the sound.
“I will put you on probation.”
He pauses, saying nothing else to clarify.
“Uh, am I supposed to know what that means?”
“It means I will be watching you. Carefully. I will be watching my Anya, too. If I see anything that I do not like, I will have you sent to my cousins in Russia who will make you wish you never asked my daughter to dance.”
Goddamn, the man knows how to make a threat.
“Understood,” I say, doing my best to sound sincere. The last thing I need to do is to piss him off with some sarcastic quip.
“Good,” Anton grunts, firm and final.
“But Sir?”
“What,” he all but snaps.
“Nothing your cousins do to me could ever make me regret offering a dance to your daughter. Not torture, not fist-fighting a polar bear…not anything. And if you think I’m wrong, then you clearly didn’t see the way Anya was smiling while we danced.
Nothing could make me want to erase that moment from my memory. ”
As if struck dumb, Anton Morozov blinks at me.
I wait for a proper response, but it never comes.
“Anya will talk to you tomorrow.”
The screen goes black as soon as the last word leaves him, and I can’t stop myself from grinning. Somehow, him cutting the conversation short, threatening me, and hanging up on me still feels like victory.
What an odd evening.