Chapter 61
I’m lying in bed doing absolutely nothing but staring at the ceiling and going over the conversation I had with Madre earlier when my phone vibrates, the blanket muffling its chimes.
Vanessa’s name flashes on the screen.
Twice in one day. It’s been hours since she called me. By now, I can only assume the job’s finished. A man is dead. There’s one less fucker inhabiting the planet.
“Mrs. Mancini.”
It’s not a snarky greeting I receive, or even a polite one. It’s not a verbal response at all, but rather, a vocal one.
A sob.
Heart pounding a bit quicker than what makes sense, I shoot up in bed, putting the call on speaker to keep my hands free in case I need to do something. “Vanessa, what happened?”
A deep breath comes through the speakers, and then another, this one slower and staggered like she’s putting effort into the natural act. It takes a lot of restraint to remain still and wait for her to start talking, the sudden urge to go find her, hold her, being oddly overpowering.
“H-he’s gone. It’s…over. All fucking over.” Then another sob, which I feel compelled to point out, not quite sure what else to say.
“You’re crying.”
She makes a noise that sounds like the combination of a snort, a huff, and a chuckle. “I know. Fucked, right? After all this, peace should be the only thing I feel.”
“I imagine if I was the one who took out your father, I’d feel the same.”
It would have marked an end to the man who destroyed my mother’s safety. I’ve always pictured ending the Volkov line and healing from that alone. If me and not Rossi murdered the elder Volkov, I’d likely have a similar reaction to years of revenge ending in the course of a day. Being left with no goal, no task, to drive me.
Then there’s the emotional side. The doctors who tended to Madre frequently threw out the term trauma . That the situation left scars on her well-being, and there were different healing methods. Madre never wanted revenge the way I did; the way Vanessa did for her own villain. Being a natural warrior, her instinct was to destroy what caused her pain, and now that she’s done that…
She huffs again. “Yes, I imagine you would.”
“You’re allowed to process the fact it’s over.”
“And what’s next?”
With her responses steady, her breathing back to normal, and no more sobs, I allow myself to relax again, dropping against my pillows with the phone resting on my bare chest. “Easy. You continue as Pakhan.”
“Obviously. I just mean, years of energy were spent on Boris. Feels empty now. Like running the organization won’t be enough.”
That’s an intriguing statement, and one I tuck away. “It’s far from empty. Without the past hovering over you, you’re free to enjoy the future. And if you still think it’s not enough, ask yourself what’ll it take to be.”
She doesn’t reply right away, and after a few seconds, I begin counting. I reach ten before her soft murmur comes through. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Make that your new task, if you’re determined to have something. Figure it out.”
More silence, but this one shorter. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“You’re my wife.”
She scoffs. “That doesn’t answer the question. If anything, it raises another one.”
“Which is?”
“Why are you forcing this? Divorce is only possible if I hand over the Bratva’s businesses. At least you write up a damn good contract.”
Her directness hits at my insides, and suddenly, our pleasant conversation evaporates. I hide the strange sensation by brushing it aside and commenting, “A damn good contract. Sounds almost like a compliment.”
“As if.”
“It’s a punishment, Vanessa. You were supposed to remain in Italy with me, while you’d be a figurehead of the Bratva and I controlled both.” Just saying it aloud sounds horrible. “Then your Elite got you out, and you kept us alive. Despite everything, I suppose...” My throat runs dry, the next words new to even the shadows of my own mind. “...the scales are nearly balanced.”
“Nearly,” she repeats, amusement lightening her tone.
“Considering what your father did?—”
“I know,” she cuts me off. “Nothing will ever make up for that. Well aware.”
Something in that statement feels healing on its own. The simple acknowledgment drives my next words. “I never thanked you for not harming Serafina that day.”
“Don’t.”
I sit straighter at her frostiness. “Don’t what?”
“Do this. Don’t say thank you. No matter what happened, we’re not friends, Zeno. Regardless of telling you about the deal or you finding Agapov, nothing’s changed. This marriage will end.”
There’s the Vanessa I know. Shut down. Cold. Limits who sees the real her. I’m lucky, for those few minutes, she let me inside.
“Yet you called me. Thanked me,” I point out. “If we’re not friends, why was I the person you called?” The person you cried to.
There’s a long pause before she bitterly replies, “I don’t know. Once he was gone, I needed someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t on the inside. Since you made today possible…I just, I don’t know. I guess I’m grateful.”
As much as I enjoy her stumbling, I’m quick to talk and end her rambles. “Do you mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean. So remember everything I’ve ever told you, Mancini, because what hasn’t come true yet, will.”
She’s trying to distance herself from anything pleasant between us. This ceasefire. The white flag that’s been raised. All the while, still attempting to induce a battle.
“If you mean everything you say, then promise me one thing.”
“What?” Wariness makes her tone sharp.
“No matter how much you want to forget Agapov and what he did to you, don’t. Today wasn’t about wiping the past away, but moving into the future. Pasts don’t define a person, but they do shape us, and everything he and your father did only added a few lines into your shape. Built you up by laying parts of your foundation, and if you push it aside, then it crumbles ‘til you’re left with a gap. Use today to become stronger. You’ve spent years rising to every challenge the Bratva demanded of you, so continue doing that. Promise me you won’t forget any part of yourself: your past, present, and future.”
Her breath hikes, and for a second, I expect her to hang up and ignore everything I said.
But she doesn’t. And I stop breathing too, unwilling to let such a thing as an inhale mask her tentative reply. “Okay, Zeno. I’ll try.”
“Good.”
“Zeno?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again. For taking my call and…today.”
“You don’t need to thank me for doing what’s right, mia regina .”
Click.
When the call silences, I let the phone fall back to the bed and stand, wandering toward the window. The full moon casts a glow above. Madre, before she lost her faith in religion, used to say the moon was a mirror into God’s eyes. That it shone his light onto the planet, his warmth onto those he cared for the most. That was before she felt He stopped caring. Then the moon simply became the giant rock science has long proven it is.
I recall there being a full moon the night Padre died too. When Elio retrieved me from the club and pulled me away from my father’s body, weeping and shaking, the giant bright spot above caught my eye. I stared at it for the entire drive back to the villa, using it to mask my tears.
It’s fitting tonight, the moon witnessed another loss. This one, deserving death.
With a heavy sigh, I lean forward until my head leans on the glass and my breath fogs it up. It was only a month ago I had Vanessa pinned to this exact spot. A month ago I had her under me. I can see the exact place outside when she gambled her life against me telling the truth about the lack of protection here.
The place I kissed her. When I stopped thinking about every reason I shouldn’t and let myself feel. I assumed the moment our lips touched, she’d jerk away. She didn’t and kissed me back.
I gaze up at the moon again, wondering what time it is in Russia, and when Vanessa will be able to stare at the same moon. I also wonder if she does. If she gazes at nature and uses it to calm her mood after a long day before slipping into bed.
I wonder everything about my wife when all I should be doing is picturing shoving her into a box so I no longer have to acknowledge a Volkov.
Another image slips into my mind. This one bloodier and more depressing. Of me kneeling beside my father’s corpse and dragging his head into my lap as we waited for Elio to save the day. Of course, there was no saving the day then, and when I failed at killing Vanessa, I lost yet another chance. When it began a whole journey of dragging her here, all to lose her again. Even my modified plan of bringing Ursin’s legacy to an end isn’t panning out how it should.
God, I suck as a son. I’m so fucking sorry, Padre.
I failed him the day I watched him die.
The day I fucked up killing Vanessa.
The day she walked out of here alive.
The second I kissed her on the lawn, and every minute before then. Every minute after then. Every moment since realizing not only is she her own person and nothing like her father, but I like her. I like the person she is.
And I want to get to know her better.