18. Nero #2
Pretending not to see nor understand, I wave my hand. “We got reports, but I’m asking about you specifically. The little things we wouldn’t know. Like you disbanded your father’s Elite to make room for your own, but where’d they all go?”
Zeno kicks me hard under the table. “You don’t need to—”
Vanessa, two drinks in, starts. “It was an ultimatum of retirement or death. They were loyal to my papa, which means I couldn’t trust them.
They were part of another time, and it was one I was trying to distance myself from.
If they remained, they’d question my choices and probably try to usurp me at every turn.
The Elite are supposed to be trustworthy close confidants, which is exactly what they wouldn’t be.
The only one who remained was Ivan, but given he’s my uncle and Dimitri’s father, it was different and understandable.
We had him more or less managed.” She pauses, rolling her lips together.
“Turned out to be a mistake, since the minute I didn’t strike war on you guys, he went behind my back. As for the others, they scattered.”
“Lev and Ana’s padre is one of them, sì?” My hands are sweaty for the first time in years, with the anticipation of answers so fucking close.
“Where’s this coming from?” Zeno grinds, staring at me.
Vanessa barely spares him a glance before shrugging. “His fate was left to them. Figured it’s only fair.”
“Where’s he then?”
“That’s it.” Zeno stands suddenly, grasping Vanessa’s hand to tug her up with him. “Let’s take a walk or something. Nero’s annoying me.”
She glances between us, stumbling to keep up with his speed. “What did he do…?”
They disappear so I don’t catch his response.
I’m on the precipice of something big.
Today was the strangest combination of preparing for the wedding. Vanessa didn’t really tell me anything of substance, but confirmed that getting close to Anastasia might have a few benefits.
Long after Vanessa and Zeno go to bed, I nurse a bottle of whisky on the back patio. Tonight, drinking isn’t to bury the emotions but to celebrate them. Progress is happening, and I hold the bottle up in the air in an imaginary toast.
As it’s lowering back down, a hand comes into view and swipes the bottle away. My sluggish reflexes don’t react fast enough.
“You’ve had enough.” Zeno drops into the seat across from me and lowers the bottle to the ground. “You’re drinking a lot more these days—as I’ve now mentioned to you a couple of times over the past few months. What the fuck is going on?”
“Nothin’.” I reach for the bottle, though it’s not on the table, so my attempt goes nowhere. “Go back to your bride.”
I need to stand. To become a mountain, firm and tall, and steal back my liquor.
The ridiculousness of that thought makes me laugh.
Zeno sneers as I stumble upright, only to fall back down, drunker than I believed. “Whatever the fuck that was earlier—stop. I mean it, Nero.”
Lucky for him, I’ll be too drunk to remember this conversation later. Alcohol pushes me to believe my actions are still for the good.
I try again with hands braced on the table to stabilize my wobbly steps. My hand slips, nearly sending me down until Zeno grips my arm and tosses me onto the chair. Without another word, he strides away, liquor in his hand, and returns to the house.
I tip my head backwards to watch him, but that only brings the alcohol higher up my throat in a bitter taste of vomit. He disappears, which probably means he’s giving up.
I would too if I were him. He also didn’t need to take my pain’s bandage when he did.
Now, I have to get my drunk ass into the kitchen and somehow reach the high cupboard he insists on the staff storing the alcohol in, all without making the world turn sideways, puking, or dropping the precious liquid.
He returns though, expression still blank, and hauls me upright by my arm.
Normally, I have a few more pounds on him and generally win hand-to-hand, but he’s wiping my ass and cleaning up the mess by the time I even think to dig my heels into the ground.
A fruitless attempt on the tile, and he all but throws me against the island counter.
Then he grabs a glass and fills it with water from the fridge before sliding the offending liquid over. Clear liquid, besides vodka, is disgusting. Vanessa will need to bring the delicious liquid gold of her homeland the next time she visits.
“Drink this. All of it.”
For him, I take a sip. “Go to bed, Z. I’m fine.”
“Not until I see you drink that.” He nods to the glass. “When I said all of it, I’m not fucking kidding.”
Scowling, I tip the glass and drink it like a shot. It’s nowhere near the potency of my craving, but if it gets him to leave me alone, then I’ll do it singing fucking showtunes.
“Happy?”
“I’d be happier if my best friend didn’t drink himself halfway to death all the time.”
“That’s only a problem if I die.” Chuckling, I walk the edge of the counter to abandon the glass, then turn to the adjacent one with the liquor inside it.
Hence my issue. A huge problem. Gigantic. Letting go of the island will probably result in me falling on my face. Hm… Maybe Z will help me out.
With a deep sigh, he utters, “Fucking Christ, Nero. No. Go to bed before I toss you into rehab myself. This is getting too much.”
Bed. Bed I can do. I think. Not rehab, though. Fuck that shit.
“I’m fine. No program.”
“You’re not fine, and my threat was actually a suggestion.”
“I’ll break out of wherever you shove me.”
He sighs. “I know, and that’s the problem.”
No, the problem is that to get to bed, I’ll need to make it to the far wall. From there, I can use it to exit the kitchen, then eventually reach the stairs. Crawling those will get me to my room.
I can do this.
He sighs again and comes up beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Let’s go. Sleep this shit off. That’s an order.”
With little struggle, he gets me into my bedroom and drops me onto my bed. Once he sees I won’t roll off, he turns to leave.
“You’re a good friend, Z. Vanessa’s lucky. Your dad would be really fucking proud to see the kind of man you’ve become.”
His silence fills the room when he shuts the door, and it’s in that silence I finish my sentence.
“If only I didn’t help speed along his death.”