22. Nero
NERO
Gabriella flits around the mansion, instructing the hired staff and caterer regarding final preparations. Both amused and endeared, I remain beside Zeno in the foyer’s farthest corner. Venus bounces between us and Gabriella, the dog getting caught up in the excitement.
“She’s different this year,” I muse, hiding my comment behind my glass from her ever-sharp gaze. If she were to look away from her task anytime soon, that is.
Zeno smiles faintly. “She has something more to decorate for.”
Christmas is usually pretty low-key with Zeno only opting to celebrate for his mother and sister. He visits Ostia for Christmas Eve and Day, while I see Padre for our annual dinner, and then join the Mancinis for Gabriella’s delicious home-cooked holiday meal.
She never comes to the villa—ever. She hasn’t since the day she walked away from it and her marriage to make herself a new life in Ostia, at the time pregnant with Serafina.
This year, she stalked into the villa with a team of caterers and an authority like she never left. She claimed a bigger space would be better; that with Vanessa and her crew coming, we all can’t comfortably fit inside her small house.
Gabriella’s invitation extended beyond Vanessa and Lev, as her children’s partners, to include Dimitri, Katya, and Anastasia. She said they’re all Vanessa’s family, and thus hers, all without a care regarding the organization they sold their souls to.
It’ll be a long afternoon of watching Gabriella dominate. “She’s excited by your engagement.”
Zeno rubs the bare place on his left hand where a wedding band will soon sit. “More than I believed possible. Add in the fact she adores Lev. She’s a whole new person this year.” He twists his head in time to watch me swallow another gulp. “Be careful today.”
“Worried I’ll ruin your party?”
“Not mine. Hers.” He gestures to his mother
“I won’t.” Gabriella would cut my head off herself and cook it in place of the main course if I fucked up today. “When are they arriving?”
He glances at the last text sent to his phone. “As of twenty minutes ago, Elio was on his way back from the airfield with them.”
“I still think it’s hilarious your mother sent him to retrieve them before you had a chance to do it yourself. As if she believed you’d abandon your fiancée.”
His responding sigh is painted with affection.
“Pretty sure if we budge an inch from this spot”—he gestures to the small cut-out of the foyer Gabriella demanded we remain by with explicit instructions to ‘not get in the way’—“she’d murder us.
You know Madre and her plans.” He pauses, glancing to where she’s plugging in a string of lights that were wrapped around the banister. “She was like this when I was a kid.”
“Do you think if your padre was still around, she’d have hosted here?”
He purses his lips, nodding slowly. “Pretty sure she would have commanded the villa regardless of whether he was alive or not. She would have told him where to shove it if he bitched.”
“He wouldn’t have supported your relationship with Vanessa.”
“No,” he replies slowly, considering. “The war between the Bratva and us had been going on well before his death, so Ursin was always an enemy. But Madre would have put him in his place. I know it.”
Now I regret bringing Giovanni up. I down the rest of my glass and scan the foyer for one of the many staff who are scattered around to order another. If I’m not allowed to move, it doesn’t mean things can’t get brought to me.
Zeno’s phone vibrates as Elio’s name flashes across the screen at the same time Gabriella rushes from down the hall, her own cell in hand, presumably a duplicate text informing her they’ve arrived.
She yanks her son’s sleeve to drag him closer to the entrance before returning for me, tugging me beside him. “Be nice, boys. Greet your new family.”
“As if we’re children,” Zeno mumbles beneath his breath while Gabriella pulls open the door, welcoming a bluster of cool winter air and then the group beyond.
As a Capo’s wife, this was once her life. She was in charge of the social connections that’d later bring people closer to her husband to form backdoor deals. It was a life she left behind eighteen years ago, yet fell right back into for today.
Gabriella waves Vanessa through the door, clasping one of her hands. “Ciao! Come stai? Merry Christmas!” It’s amazing they only met recently, because then Gabriella yanks the Pakhan down to her height to press kisses to either cheek before pushing Vanessa towards Zeno.
At their feet, Vanessa’s Doberman, Veles, greets Venus, who’s the reason Vanessa even got a dog from Zeno.
“This place looks fantastic,” she compliments the fact that a department store threw up in here. “Thank you for having us.”
One scan of this place confirms Gabriella pulled out every stop possible.
She’s transformed the villa’s entranceway into something strung with ribbons and more lit candles than I believed they made.
There’s even a small Christmas tree in the corner—not to be confused with the even grander one in the living room.
Gabriella greets the others—first her daughter, who she hugs tightly, and then the comically stiff Lev. Vanessa takes over to introduce Dimitri and Katya, and finally Anastasia, who enters last. She focuses her attention on Gabriella, greets Zeno, and ignores me.
It’s been a bit over a week since my trip to Moscow for her show, and I’ve resisted texting her beyond that night. It wouldn’t surprise me if she blocked my number, and my pride didn’t want to figure it out.
The couples begin moving throughout the space. Elio trails Gabriella deeper into the house, which leaves Anastasia hovering alone. She passes me, chin lifted, trying to make a point that only has me chuckling.
I follow her to the grand living room, where Gabriella insists everyone start eating from the simple—her words—buffet of snacks and holiday treats she had the catering team set out for their arrival.
Anastasia edges by the group to the side of the room and leans against a wall by the window. Seeing it as my chance, I wander up beside her, eyeing the off-the-shoulder red dress that has me feeling like a bull. It bares her neck, the taste of which has been lingering in my mouth.
“You okay?” I ask in a low voice.
“Should I not be?”
“You look miserable. Drink?” I shake mine in front of her.
In a tone chillier than the outdoors and eyes just as frosty, she glares down at my half-empty glass. “For you or me?” A frown immediately replaces the twist of her lips as she scans the others. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”
With a wink, I shove off the wall and head down to the kitchen, which has been cleared out for the evening. Gabriella has insisted on cooking Christmas dinner tomorrow, claiming she’ll do it the “right” way for her first year hosting what she’s already deemed an annual event.
The quiet and hesitant taps of Anastasia’s steps come up behind me. I never asked her to follow, but she did. Agreeing to be alone with me, essentially.
I tug open the door to my liquor cupboard, gesturing. “Pick your poison.” My poison, on the other hand, is still on the counter behind us. So while she scans numerous glass bottles, most of which are more empty than full, I refill my glass. Tonight and tomorrow will be trying.
“You carry more alcohol than a store. You realize how unhealthy this shit is, right?”
As unhealthy as guilt can be.
“I’ve felt your version of healthy for myself.” Partly for my own amusement, partly to see if she’ll squirm, my eyes caress the curves I’ve been missing. “Gotta say, I approve. Besides, you can’t fully judge without seeing my body.”
I swear the tips of her ears darken, but she shakes her head too fast, hair covering them. Still, victory lightens the darkness in my heart when she—unwillingly—studies my arms, then my stomach.
“Don’t be gross.”
“Factual. There’s a difference. Pick.” I gesture to the cupboard again. “Your show is finished for the year, and it’s the holidays. Besides, I’ve seen you at a club. You drink even if you pretend not to for your health.”
“Drinking a couple at the club is different. I plan for it, put in extra work, adjust my diet.”
“It’s one drink, Petrov. I’m not asking you to chug everything in there.”
Scowling, she reaches up for the bottle of Patrón and hands it over. As I pour her drink, she moves to the island and props her elbows onto the surface, chin on her hands. Hair falls over her shoulder, baring the place on her neck I once nipped, the cheek I’ve kissed.
My Christmas wish is to do it all again.
I slide the glass over to her before tapping my own against it. “Cheers, Ana.”
“Anastasia. For a moment, you were getting me to like you, but then I remembered what an ass you are.”
“Only to the people I like.”
Anastasia’s lips part with a response, but motion in the doorway has us both straightening, the moment shattering when Serafina pops her head in. “There you are! Madre lost her mind when she realized you guys were gone. C’mon, she’s determined to stuff us all with cookies.”
When we’re alone again, I grin at Anastasia and push off the counter, offering her my hand. “Let’s get real sugar into your diet.”
She spends the afternoon chatting with Serafina and Lev and devouring cookies, continually returning for more when she thinks no one’s paying attention.
Two people are, however.
Gabriella, who monitors every bite someone takes, every sip of a drink, every smile. She’s cataloguing Christmas goodness as her own personal measure of success. Zeno will probably hear the detailed breakdown later on, complete with spreadsheets and presented through a speech, if I know her.
And myself. Because I can’t stop watching Anastasia, no matter who else I distract myself with. I find myself repositioning to keep her in view.
How else would I capture the slight smiles she tosses my way every so often?