26. Nero
NERO
Christmas morning should smell like freshly baked goods, hot cocoa, and joy.
Mine smells like gingerbread wrapped in a woman I’m quickly growing obsessed with. Who continues to invade my thoughts.
Of course, I fucked it up. Whatever happened years ago creeps into bed between us, and instead of continuing to build her trust, I’ve shattered what little I’ve gained.
Breakfast is a quiet affair, and if Padre notices the difference in her demeanour, he doesn’t point it out. She thanks him for the pancakes and locally grown fruit and then we’re back in the car, on our way to Zeno’s.
“She’s a sweet girl,” Padre whispered in my ear during his hug goodbye. “Be good to her.”
The trip passes in near silence, this time while I drive.
She hugs herself and scoots against the door, which only sparks worsening agitation.
It felt like I was finally getting through to her, and one small fucking mistake because she felt so right, so good, I incorrectly assumed she’d accept my touch.
Only when I park in front of the villa does she unfold her body, preparing to leave and probably not look at me for the remainder of her trip.
Hand on the door, she pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, so stop treating me differently.
You’ve hardly spoken to me all morning, and I realize I haven’t been doing a great job either, but please, Nero…
don’t look at me differently. I’m not glass to be broken and pieced back together.
It’s happened, and I’ve already rebuilt myself. ”
I doubt it’s the entire truth, but not wanting to push, I simply nod and quickly get out of the vehicle to help her out. She lifts to her feet, pressing between me and the car. The same concern as this morning flickers before she shields it behind her usual smirk.
“Thanks for coming with me. That was fun. We should hang out more often.”
“Or never again.” Her nose wrinkles, but it’s without the usual venom. “Hold me at gunpoint, then maybe.”
“Don’t tempt me. I may take you up on that offer.” Positioning my arm, I offer it to her to prove that, despite earlier, I’m the same man she’s been getting to know. That I’m still worthy of her trust, and when she slides her arm between mine after only a moment’s hesitation, I’ve succeeded.
I lead her inside the decorated villa, where both Veles and Venus jump on us. Anastasia disentangles herself from me with a glance and skitters deeper into the house. Instead of following how I long to, I cut to the kitchen for a drink.
For once, drinking isn’t tainted with Zeno-coloured shame, but a different shade. The kind with the softest blond hair and spitfire eyes which reflected horror and pain earlier. Trauma of some kind.
Hello, friend. I pull down my preferred brand of bourbon.
It’s where Zeno finds me moments later, skipping his typical lecture on drinking and healthy habits. “You really took her to your padre’s?”
I shrug. “Figured she could do with the break from this place.”
“That’s all?” He moves up beside the counter, where I’ve started to pour a drink from the bottle. Only because my original plan of chugging straight from the bottle will open the door for his speeches, and we’re doing so well without.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She used to look at you like dirt on her shoe, and I know you enjoy a challenge. Is that what she is to you?”
The bottle thumps home harder than intended on the countertop. He will find himself a fucking challenge if he keeps talking. “I enjoy a challenge, sì, but she’s more than that.”
His chin lifts so he’s looking down on me with that Capo demeanour I’m positive Giovanni trained him in. “So you genuinely like her?”
“Sì.”
He eyes my glass with disdain, but skips saying what’s really on his mind to shrug. “Good luck then.”
“Won’t need it. Turns out, I’m the precise shade of dirt that looks good on her shoes.”
Zeno howls in laughter.
The afternoon passes in a flurry of holiday activities Gabriella directs us all through. It’s a bit fun, but more importantly, it evaporates the grim mood that took over Anastasia this morning.
I’m slightly jealous Gabriella made that happen and not me.
I’ve spent the day reliving what happened; the good and the bad. Waking wrapped around her was a special kind of bliss, but the trauma she endured didn’t make it worth it. I’d undo it if I could, if only I wasn’t so shitty at grovelling.
I’ve never had a person to grovel over before.
When my phone rings, it rips me away from my stalkerish staring. Noting the number flashing on my screen, I rush from the room and jog down the hallway, putting as much distance between me and the others before answering.
“You’re working on Christmas?”
“Best time to locate people,” the voice of the private investigator I’ve hired, unknown to Zeno, comes through.
“Such as Abrum Angeloff. He never left Russia two years ago. More specifically, he’s living in a small village on the outskirts called Podolsk and is without protection.
His house is small, located at the end of a dead-end road.
Very private,” he reinforces, the man clearly having pieced together my intent for the list of men I sent his way.
“Check your email in a moment. You’ll receive the address and photos of the place. ”
If Angeloff never fled Russia, then he’s hanging close by the Bratva. Basically, he could be a major liability to Vanessa’s rule. She’ll thank me for taking him out before he can strike an attack.
“Any word on Petrov?” I grip the phone tighter, anticipating. If he could locate Petrov without me figuring it out from Anastasia, she and I could go on without the added complication.
“None. But you mentioned his son’s good with computers, yeah? It wouldn’t surprise me if he has systems to interfere with any search of his father.”
Fuck you, Lev. “What do you have so far?”
“Truthfully, nothing. Not even a continent.”
I huff into the phone. So close yet so fucking far. “Keep searching.”
Find him before I’m forced to.
The afternoon progresses right into the Christmas feast Gabriella prepared.
She only had help from Elio since she kicked everyone else out of the kitchen.
It’s a much noisier affair than the one Anastasia and I shared with Padre yesterday.
She remains the quietest person in the group, which is unlike her. She’s quieter than even Lev.
She’s seated across from me, between Lev and Vanessa, and spends her time talking to each of them. As supper begins winding down, eventually the others will wander off together, leaving her and me alone again.
As expected, after the food is finished, Gabriella ushers everyone out so her hired staff from yesterday’s celebrations can clean.
Serafina and Lev waste no time before taking off to Sera’s preferred living room since it has the largest TV throughout the villa. Dimitri and Katya join Zeno and Vanessa for a walk outdoors with the dogs. Elio eventually drives Gabriella back to Ostia, who’s opted to not sleep another night here.
As everyone spreads out, I latch onto Anastasia before she can escape too far. Her sigh could be heard from every corner of the house, and having my angelo in a devil’s horns back makes me grin.
“Excuse me.” She attempts to dislodge herself. “I might join my brother and Sera for a movie. You could come.”
“I have something for you.”
Something I’ve been carrying around since yesterday, waiting for the right time to give it to her.
Last night went by too quickly, and she kept Padre’s attention, and I couldn’t take away from that.
Then in bed, we had a moment—whatever that fully means—but after this morning, a present might be seen as an apology gift.
Since the holiday is hours away from being over, I’m running out of time.
I slide my hand into my pocket to take out the gift card to an online retailer of her preferred ballet brand.
“I wish it could be more, or fancier, but you’re a hard woman to shop for.”
Her eyes flick up from the plastic. “How’d you know?”
“Lev. I asked him a few days ago where you buy your shoes from, or if he knows what you need, material-wise. Or if you wanted something for your studio… But he didn’t know.
In fact, my question seemed to confuse him.
So I relied on Vanessa, who at least knew your preferred shop, but couldn’t say what you needed.
You really don’t do a good job of sharing yourself with your family.
Anyway”—I flick the card before tucking it into her hand—“I figured you could buy something with this.”
She stares at it for a long time. Long enough that a sense of wrongness settles heavy on my shoulders, broken only when she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and peeks beneath the fanning of her lashes. “You didn’t need to.”
“I wanted to. Twice now, I’ve witnessed you on stage. You must burn through those flat-toed shoes like crazy, so maybe buy the next ones with me in mind.”
“Pointe shoes,” she murmurs, almost mutely. “Or ballet slippers for the flatter, more flexible ones.” Folding her hand around the card, she looks utterly lost, and it’s endearing. “I didn’t get you anything in return.”
“You can right now.”
Her brows meld together, but before the inevitable question comes, I tilt her head back so she can see the addition that was added to the room sometime after we left yesterday.
An addition that’s about to get Gabriella a brand-new house or literally whatever in the world she wants, for doing me the favour of hanging the sprig of mistletoe.
Her eyes narrow into the tiniest slits as she tilts her chin, digging it into my finger. “You planned this.”
“Did not. Didn’t notice it until we stopped moving. Convenient place, though, no? Like fate. C’mon, Petrov.” My lip curls mockingly. “Can’t skip tradition.”
“I’m not kissing you.” Settling her shoulders, she straightens her spine into the fighting stance I’ve witnessed before. “Ask for something else.”
“‘Something else’ opens up a whole world of possibilities you won’t want me to explore. Besides, it’s bad luck not to obey mistletoe.”
“That’s when you break a mirror.”
Not taking the bait, I bend at the waist, lining our faces up. “I dare you, Ana.” A game different than the bet from Sera’s wedding, but still reminiscent of the old strategies to get closer to her.
She swallows, huffs, and flicks her eyes to the plant before scanning up and down the hallway to ensure we’re alone.
“You’re not breakable,” I remind her of her own words—her own determination to make them true. Maybe I’m a dick for twisting them to my needs.
“Fine.”
Four letters—a single word—have never sounded better. My brain short-circuits in a way similar to seeing her in my shirt last night, or if she lowered to her knees right now and offered a different kind of kiss.
She rests her hands on my chest and lifts onto her toes.
Fingers grasp my chin to hold me in place, as though I’d be going anywhere.
With her hold that has me practically putty in her hands, she jerks my head to the side, presses her lips to my cheek, and in nearly the same breath, releases my face to duck around me.
Her steps rush down the hallway and into another room, but it’s her lingering laughter reassuring me she’s levelled up the gameboard and her running isn’t away but to me. In the indirect most Anastasia Petrov manner she could manage.
“Nicely played, Petrov,” I murmur to the empty hallway, stroking the place her lips were.
She assumes she’s won this round, but the truth is, she hasn’t won a round since the moment we met eleven years ago.
She’s just made herself mine.