28. Nero
NERO
Having the location of one ex-Elite member is a start, but slipping away to Russia to deal with him is an entirely different matter.
The last time I went alone was for Anastasia’s Christmas performance, which Zeno merely laughed off.
I turned down Vanessa’s offer of staying at the mansion and booked a hotel room so Anastasia wasn’t aware I was in the city.
Being gone for a couple of days while I run off to murder someone will have my Capo asking questions. So Angeloff gets to live until figuring out how to get away. In my position, with Elio and soldiers constantly coming to me, it’s easier said than done.
Days after Christmas—which ended with me being a coward—Zeno offers me to join him in Moscow for New Year’s Eve fun. I’m the first to reach the jet with a packed bag, not wanting the opportunity to get away.
Once inside Moscow, slipping away could pose an issue, but it’s something I’ll deal with if it is. For now, I’m one man’s death closer to being able to admit everything to Zeno.
Vanessa has a car waiting for us when we land since she couldn’t come herself this time, but I instruct the flight crew to call a separate taxi for me. It arrives as our bags are unloaded and placed into the back of Vanessa’s car.
Zeno trails me to the taxi. “What are you up to?”
Hand on the door and eager to get this over with, I downplay the excitement coursing through me with a shrug. “A surprise for Ana. I’ll meet you there later. Text me when you learn where ‘there’ is.”
He watches me climb inside and blocks the door with his leg. “What are you actually up to?”
“I just told you.”
“Then tell me what the surprise is.”
“And have you ruining it when you tell Vanessa? She’ll run straight to Ana. It’s nothing bad.”
Zeno narrows his eyes. “Fine. I’ll text you where we end up, but hurry. Don’t kill anyone or do anything that’ll get me in shit with my wife.”
“She isn’t your wife yet.”
“She’s my wife in all the ways that matter, which is why I’m begging you to not do anything stupid.”
“It’s nothing that’ll hurt the Bratva, I swear.” I reach for the door and this time he lets it fall, backing away from the taxi as I instruct the driver where to go, even showing a screenshot of the address to ensure there isn’t a language misinterpretation.
Zeno doesn’t realize my surprise is actually for him.
Getting to Angeloff is easy due to his lack of security. He’s watching TV in his house, sipping tea in his pyjamas. Certainly an exciting New Year’s and nothing of what he used to do as an Elite member.
How the mighty have fallen.
Without cameras or alarms alerting him to my arrival—idiota—I slip through his back door, knife in hand while edging down the hallway towards his living room. Given the layout of the room, my silent steps only get me so far before he sees me coming and releases a squeal rivalling a pig’s.
He’s slow to his feet. His age is catching up to him along with a lack of exercise.
He reaches behind the couch, and presuming old habits die hard, he’s going for a weapon.
He’s wise enough to learn from his mob days to keep protection nearby, but not to install a security system, which is stupidly amusing.
I’m faster, lunging across the space and jamming a fist into his gut to keep him down. I pull out my gun, with a silencer already attached. This isn’t his intended death, but he doesn’t know that and the threat gets him to stop fighting.
“Who are you?” He’s even sweating like a pig, his skin blistering red with perspiration and fear.
“Your boss once wronged mine.”
“Your accent…Cosa Nostra,” he breathes. His eyes dart to the exit.
His intentions couldn’t be more obvious.
Before his feet even fully settle onto the carpet, I kick his kneecaps, forcing him down.
He gulps, glancing between my knife and gun before his head bows, accepting his death.
“This is about Giovanni Mancini? What do you want in exchange for my freedom? I’ll disappear from Russia—I swear, I will! ”
“Your death is my price.” I twirl the knife around in my hand. “A man’s father is dead because of you and yours.”
Some of that piglike red pales. “The Bratva will—”
My laughter cuts him off. “Do nothing to help you, and we both know that. Vanessa doesn’t care about you. Hell, she’ll thank me when you’re gone.”
His face scrunches, his plea for life slipping behind his decade-old judgment. “That bitch is marrying Mancini’s son. Fucking disgusting.” He spits between my legs, but I spare the offending goo a mere second’s glance.
“That bitch will spit on your soul on its trip into hell. Speaking of, don’t you have an appointment there shortly?”
I lunge and slash my knife against his throat, creating a deep enough line of red to ensure nothing will save this man’s soul. It’s a quick death, where he bleeds out on his couch, head back and mouth open in a silent scream.
One down. One less Elite. One more person closer to being able to lay out all my sins to Zeno and pray he sees these kills, these offerings, as an apology.
Maybe then, the monster on my back will fuck off, and sobriety will conquer.
Now, I need a fucking drink.
Ifind her instantly. My little ballerina angel-turned-sinful siren.
She’s in the centre of the dance floor, only twenty minutes to midnight, surrounded by Vanessa and Zeno. Despite the crowd of flashing colours and sparkling outfits, she’s easily the brightest star—the single person in the entire room whose attention is a beacon for me.
It’s been days since the mistletoe incident, where I lost my mind in a bottle of vodka and needed sobriety by her hands. Fuck me, I needed her that night, and the only thing that would have stopped me was her telling me no.
But she didn’t. She let me inside her room.
Let me kiss her, hold her, touch her, and then sleep beside her.
I wanted everything and more—which is what woke me at five a.m. to escape.
After making up some excuse to Zeno, I hid in the gym and then later work, only returning in the evening, well after the plane flew them back to Russia.
I felt more in our kiss than anything else ever with another woman. What went from a game to determinedly earning her trust might be the very thing I lose if I’m not careful.
Standing inside the club, disregarding the swell of bodies, she’s impossible to ignore. After the recent murder, she’s my north star, guiding me into a new direction, a better life.
I’m four steps into the arduous journey before Zeno intercepts me, redirecting me through the thick New Year’s Eve crowd towards the bar. He slams his hand into my shoulder, shoving me against the bar top. The bartender throws a dismayed look our way but ignores us.
“Tell me the truth. Where did you actually go, because I don’t believe the bullshit you spewed.”
I straighten, forcing him back a step. “Told you. Errand in Ana’s name. It’s not a crime to get someone a gift.”
His gaze drops to my hands. “Show me.”
Vanessa pops up beside him, earning herself the best damned wedding present for distracting him with her glassy gaze and unstable balance. “Hey.” The word is dragged out to levels I never knew a Y-sound could make. “Finally, you’re here. She looks great, huh?”
She doesn’t need a name for me to know who it is. She has been on my damn mind every day since Christmas.
Her lips against mine. Her warmth. Her curves. Her little moans as she gave me a taste of heaven only to make me a starving man once more. In that second, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol anywhere on this planet that’d give me a fix better than her taste.
She’s wearing a black dress infused with sparkles or some feminine shit that complements the roving lights. It wraps her neck and frame in some Grecian-style thing I wish I knew the proper title for. Her hair is bound up, baring the neck that gets me so hard.
I’m not the only one who notices.
Jealousy isn’t something I’m used to. My tense nerves, the way I’m envisioning dragging every man here away and locking them in a basement until forgetting about them and they die wasting away.
Fuck, I won’t survive tonight. Hell, I won’t survive her—ever. Because so far, I’ve been doing such a splendid job at it—sarcasm.
I gesture to the bartender for a shot. Standing beside a Volkov certainly helps the influence she carries everywhere.
Zeno’s gaze remains sharp. He’ll be the sober one of us all by the end of the night, probably to protect Vanessa being so open in public—despite her guards positioned by the entranceway.
He won’t let tonight go, and there will be only so much time to keep him off my case, which means finding the rest of the ex-Elite members soon and ending this before he realizes I’ve been disobeying him.
After downing the shot, I wink at the couple before heading to the dance floor.
She’s lost to the music, and I push between sweaty, gyrating bodies.
It’s the same yet so different from the last time we were in a club together.
So much has changed between the games I played then and the race I’m running now.
Men hover, most rushing away at my glare, until there’s space for me to sidle up behind her. As I press into her back, a sparkling gaze meets mine over her shoulder, and her lips curl up, confirming one thing: she’s drunk. Sober Ana isn’t this thrilled to see me, regardless of the kiss.
“There you are. I assumed it’d only be a matter of time before you came along.”
“Is that why I found you luring men to their deaths?”
She scoffs before winding her arms around my neck and twisting in my hold. “Does it matter what I do? If you’re jealous, don’t leave me next time.”
It’s not only a test but with the underlying proof that makes me feel like scum. Actually, no—I am scum. I’d also be dumb to ignore the communication she’s gifting me.
Addressing my Christmas errors isn’t something for the club, so I push reality aside for her sweet scent and trace my nose up the back of her neck and around her ear. “That sounds like you want me to be jealous. Why should I be when I’ve already won?”
She leans back, smirking, but the faint blush around her collar tells me she’s lying to herself. “My, aren’t we full of ourselves.”
“Simply stating facts, cara mia.”
She turns, winding her arms around my neck, and her fingers sink into my hair. She’s soft against me. Thank you, liquor. It never does me wrong.
“Maybe you shouldn’t assume. Men who assume never win.”
“Is that why you’re in my arms and not theirs? Are they the ones you kissed the other day? The ones you moaned for. The ones who—”
“I did not!” Her screech yanks her from my hold and calls attention to a few nearby people.
I grab her hand before she starts making a bigger fool of us and drag her to the opposite side of the floor, arm sliding around her waist to ensure she doesn’t bolt. “Deny it all you want, but I know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”
“Wait.” She digs her heels into the sticky floor as we near the door. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“But it’s New Year’s—we can’t go. Van…”
I glance over the many bodies, finding Vanessa in Zeno’s arms close to the bar where I left them. “Vanessa is perfectly fine. This is no different than your Friday night adventures when you two would separate anyway. Allow me to make it a better experience. Do you trust me?”
On bated breath, she finally murmurs, “Don’t know why I do, but da.”
“Then”—I grasp her hand—“come with me.”
We pass the Bratva guards, and when one steps forward to intercept, she waves them down. Despite being an easy ticket to get away from me, her arguments continue right out the doors. “Us being alone is a bad idea. Besides, you want to leave behind alcohol?”
For once, yes. I want her more than liquor. It’s New Year’s Eve, and my emotions can fuck off for the remaining few hours of this year in order to spend them with her. She’s more potent than any drink.
“Why’s it a bad idea for us to be alone?”
“Because we kissed.” She hiccups, her gaze as glassy as Vanessa’s was.
For once, I have someone to take care of.
Someone I want to take care of. I’ll be the sober one between us and prove I can be—for her.
“The more time we spend together, the more I like you. But I hate you because that can’t happen.
Nero, I can’t like you.” She grips the base of my shirt, her fingers silk against my waist. “You understand? I won’t survive. ”
Ah, the sweet truth-telling serum of liquor.
“I don’t understand.” Yeah, I’m digging, but this might be the most honesty I’ll ever get from her.
“You remind me of them.” She brings both hands up to my face and squishes my cheeks together in a manner quite painful. My cheeks jam into my teeth from the inside. “Your pretty-boy looks and cocky attitude remind me of who I hate, so I can’t hang out with you any longer.”
If only I understood what that actually meant. Someone’s clearly hurt her before. She said as much in my bedroom. Hearing there are multiple someones sends a fire through my veins with the need to know everything.
Asking while she’s openly talking is so. Fucking. Tempting. But the words don’t leave my tongue, the emotions I’m drowning in for the past eleven years becoming thicker, muddier—tainted with her. Her secrets are hers…and I can’t trick her this way.
I lift my face from her hands and lead the way down the road, while maintaining my hold on her. “Maybe the more time you spend with me, you’ll see I’m not them.”