12. Nero
NERO
Anastasia’s sweet scent lingers after she runs off, taunting me with what I’ll never have.
I reach for the liquor bottle, intending to burn her scent from my brain.
When I swallow the first sip, it’s easy for my drunken mind to conjure her still seated across from me.
Dancer legs encased in leggings while an oversized shirt drips from her frame.
It was loose enough to be slipped from one shoulder but tight in all the right places.
My cock seems to ignore the liquor for the conjured image of her hard little nipples.
It feels wrong to want—no, to crave the woman behind Zeno’s father’s death. Logically, I know it’s not her fault. It’s mine because I saved her, but talking about the past brings it all back. That if I had done my job, a man might still be alive.
If I did, that feisty ballerina may not be, which would be a worse fate.
Culpability is bricks on my shoulders. It wakes the little voice in the back of my head that chastises drinking isn’t wise. Still, I knock back the bottle and slouch on the couch until the early light shines.
Athump jerks me upright, my eyes heavy and bleary and blinking against the harsh sunlight someone so rudely let into my bedroom. Through the pain, I notice the blurred figure settling on the couch across from me, a large dog curled up by his feet.
Wait.
My neck cracks with pinched muscles, and an empty bottle gets knocked to the side as I straighten, my back screeching after a night on the couch. My legs are numb in places they have no need to be, and nothing feels quite how it should.
Groaning, I rub a hand down my face before curling my fingers in and out of a fist, returning blood to the limb. Between the rubs and blinks, the unimpressed face of my Capo clears.
His glare makes me wish I was still passed out. “Seriously? Couldn’t even make it to your bed?”
“It was only a few drinks.”
It was more than a few. It was an entire bottle of bourbon.
Alcoholism has a few stages. For many, they’re living within denial, refusing to recognize their drinking habits. After all this time, I’m aware of my habit-turned-addiction. I’m mindful that a few drinks for me is way too many for others, and too many for me would be alcohol poisoning for them.
It’s easier to numb memories than face them, this instance being a prime example.
It should be simple to admit everything to Zeno. My failed mission, resulting in no bargaining power and, therefore, not distracting Volkov and his men. He’s clearly moved beyond his hatred of the Bratva. Given who Anastasia is to Vanessa, he might even be okay with my earlier self’s choices.
Too bad I’m a fucking coward.
Because I don’t know how he’ll react. It’ll mean admitting my fuck-up. That I’m the reason he grew up without a father, needing to prove to the Commission for years he’s suitable to lead.
I can’t lose Zeno to this. I won’t. So I live in misery with alcoholism as my friend. The voice in my head becomes my cheerleader to make it through the darker days.
I’m aware my issues are at the addiction level. I simply can’t change it.
He scowls. “You missed the others leaving.”
“They’re gone?” She’s gone. Our conversation from last night feels unfinished, and a part of me—the brave part—needed to go deeper. To figure out why she looks at me like I’m a wounded creature.
“Sì. Ana and Dimitri had meetings they can’t cancel.
Serafina’s still in the hospital with Lev.
I’m headed over there now. She’ll spend a few days in Ostia with Madre, before returning to Moscow.
From there, I’ll be visiting Vanessa for a while.
” He stands, staring down his nose, taking in my rumpled suit, half-unbuttoned shirt, cuffs rolled up.
I lost my jacket sometime yesterday. “Shower and clean up. You stink and have a job to do.”
His abrupt departure hurts as much as Anastasia’s did. Once he’s gone, I gather the empty bottle, staring at it like it’s my new enemy.
The disappointment on my best friend’s face was nearly worse than my conscience.
If only I could fix everything for real. A perfect world in which none of this occurred, but Anastasia remained alive.
After showering, changing, and eating, I spent a day working in an office downtown Rome inside one of our bars.
Zeno strides in and kicks back in the chair across from me.
“Sera’s now in Ostia with Madre. Lev’s at the house.
He wanted to give her time alone with Madre.
I came back to check on you and see if you’d like to join us all later for dinner. ”
“I’m good.” Denying the offer, which probably came from his mother, Gabriella, is a swift kick in the balls because she’s been a second parent to me, but after this morning, I’d rather not face Zeno. “There’s more work to do. I’m helping train some of the new inductees.”
He grunts, his signal for not believing me, but throws one leg over the other. “What’s up with you lately? You’re concerning me.”
For the first time since his entry, I drag my gaze away from the list recently sent over by one of our drug suppliers, ready to listen to all the ways I suck.
“Ever since I went undercover to get into Vanessa’s world, you’ve been drinking more often. Not just more often, but more in a sitting. Is something wrong?” His gaze sharpens in warning—a look so infrequently directed at me.
I’ve been careful when my benders happen, so he’d never notice when the darkness got too shadowy. Plus, he’s correct. Before the Bratva’s proximity, I wasn’t in a state of constantly being reminded of my mistakes.
“Nothin’ like you’re thinking. As I’ve said before, I like Vanessa. The Bratva isn’t what we grew up hearing.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, but the sharpness in his expression doesn’t soften. “There’s more you’re not saying.”
There’s a lot more. Shit I’ll probably never be able to admit.
I glance at the door, imagining the bar and its liquor somewhere beyond it. It’s tempting to wipe this conversation from my mind, but it won’t be smart because I truly am training later this evening.
“Nero.” He snaps his fingers.
I need something plausible and maybe related, but nothing that’ll piss him off.
I have no idea how my exhausted, hungover mind comes up with it, but the rambles pour from my mouth without further thought.
“I’ve been thinking… You targeted Vanessa before understanding she had nothing to do with her padre’s choices, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Bratva is at fault for your padre’s death.
The old leadership, anyway. Ursin’s gone.
Ivan’s done for. But the former Elite members are still out there.
You can’t say none of them weren’t aware of the attack. ”
It was an excuse for my behaviours, but it was true. The old Elite who are still living could be punished, which may give me something productive to direct my attention to.
Zeno’s argument dies on his tongue as quickly as it begins, his mouth slowly and comically shutting. Realization settles him further backwards as his gaze grows distant.
A silent conversation seems to occur within him before he shakes his head. “It can’t matter,” he murmurs after a few more seconds. “I have to move beyond it, for my future with Vanessa. I can’t keep chasing the past, especially if it leads nowhere.”
But I need you to. Maybe, just maybe, if everyone involved in that day was wiped from the earth, I could admit my part in it.
Fuck, I need a drink. Instead, I inhale air, knowing it’s nothing close to what my body begs for.
“She’d understand,” I mutter in a last-ditch effort. “Bet she’d hand over the names of the old Elite. Didn’t she send them packing? I doubt she’d care what happens to them now.”
That sharp look is back as he straightens. “I’m done, Nero. Leave it alone. Will this be an issue?”
“No.” It’s the only response he’s looking for, so it’s the one I give, even if it’s furthest from the truth.
With a deep sigh, he lifts to his feet, one hand sliding into his pocket. “Good, because...” He tugs his hand back out, this time gripping a black ring box which he tosses my way.
I catch it with one hand, guessing what it’ll reveal before popping the lid to see an engagement ring made up of diamonds and rubies.
The last time we spoke about this, he was having divorce papers drawn up to end the marriage we illegally signed her name onto, to tie her to him for his own gains.
They formally divorced afterwards all so he could eventually ask her properly.
“Pulling the trigger again, then?”
He lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“I love her and want it official again. After Sera’s wedding, the rest of the Cosa Nostra are aware of our relationship.
They don’t like it, which is every reason to prove my seriousness about her and our alliance.
Plus, word is, there’s cartel issues in the US, even while they’re vying for more Famiglia-controlled states. ”
“Are the Romanos stupid? They can’t fight a war on both sides.”
The Romanos are one of the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra, based in the States. They control half, and the Famiglia has the rest.
“Which is why it’s more important than ever to establish that no matter what happens, we”—he circles a finger in the air, indicating him, me, and his branch of the organization—“are staying out of it. Regardless of what the Commission demands, I’m not joining the Romanos against the Famiglia, who have a truce with the Bratva. It’d turn ugly real fast.”
When Erico Rossi, the Famiglia Boss, murdered Ursin Volkov nearly three years ago, we expected a war between him and the Bratva. As the years under Vanessa passed, we learned she made peace with them.
“Rossi will crush them,” I comment the simple fact.
“Exactly, which means the Commission is more likely to encourage the rest of us to step in and help. Romanos versus Famiglia could go either way, while the entire Cosa Nostra against the Famiglia is something larger.”
“So you’re marrying your girl to avoid conflict.” An uncontrolled smirk creeps onto my face. “Romantic.”
He snags the ring box back, muttering something that translates to moron. “It’ll happen either way, but when organizations everywhere are gearing up for something, there’s no point in waiting. Life can be fleeting.”
“Sappy, Z, real sappy. When are you popping the question?”
“Sometime before the holidays.” That will be within the next month or so.
“Damn.” I slap the desk. “Maybe she’ll say yes this time.”
“You’re a dick. Keep it up and someone else will be my best man.”
I fling a pen at him, purposely missing but making my point. “No one will replace me. You know that.”
“I do.” Amusement melts as his brows come together. “Which is why you’re concerning me. I need you alive. Don’t lose yourself to the bottle.”
With a final look, he leaves, shutting the door.
The conversation, while ending on a higher note—minus his final comment—swirls in my gut, my head, until I’m pushing away from my desk, doing the one thing he asked me not to.
A command from my Capo, if he wanted to, one my vows are trained to obey… but I don’t.
Downstairs, I signal for a drink, and the server quickly rushes one over. I carry it back to the office, downing half of it in one go. With the alcohol comes old feelings of blame…and the points I made to Zeno. At the moment, they were rambles, but after some time, they’re becoming the truth.
Vanessa and Anastasia and the rest of the Elite might be saved from retribution, but the Bratva who murdered Giovanni Mancini lives on.
With them gone, my soul can be cleaned, and maybe I can find a semblance of peace.
Zeno’s orders to leave it alone be damned. If I figure out who they are, then I’ll determine where Vanessa’s hiding them.
And I’ll end this for good.