54. Nero
NERO
When Zeno said he’d help, it began with detox to dry me out. It was a painful few days, but useful to work through the immediate issue.
He and the program staff suggested rehab next, but I insisted on returning to work and making up for everything I’ve slacked on the past few months. Without rehab, my risk of returning to the bottle increases, but hitting rock bottom is my personal protection.
I refuse to go down that path again. While the cravings come and go, I don’t feel rehab is a requirement.
Zeno agreed on the basis that the second my fingers touch a bottle, I have to attend rehab and that I join some kind of support system designed for this in lieu.
Apparently, Vanessa researched alcoholism and relapse statistics, so he and Elio found the current place, shoving me down the stairs to a church’s basement and into the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting after seventeen hard fucking days of being sober since our talk on the couch.
Relapse isn’t possible since I’ll be on my way to winning Anastasia’s forgiveness. Fuck Vanessa and her research. That’s what I told my suddenly overly handsy friend who wanted to ensure my progress didn’t go backwards. What fucking Cosa Nostra person goes to group therapy?
The mood swings are part of the healing, I’ve been told.
Personally, I think I was fine after detox and anything extra isn’t needed. I wasn’t that bad off.
When I first joined, my mind couldn’t wrap around the others who sit their asses on the fragile metal chairs alongside me.
A woman dressed from her nine-to-five job, presumably an office role if her glasses and a pantsuit indicate; a guy who seems to live in an oversized, stained hoodie and ripped jeans with a head of unbrushed hair; a woman with bleached-blond hair and long-ass nails I wouldn’t mind tearing off her for the way they annoying click her cell right up until the time the meeting begins; and then there’s my personal favourite and whom I’m usually seated beside: the retired cop.
What a fucking joke it all is. At least, that was my initial consideration. If only the cop knew—if any of them knew—a Cosa Nostra member was in their midst. Someone who could kill any of them.
Too bad they’re all good people, sharing one commonality.
Alcohol addiction.
No matter how I spun it or what I claimed, the definition doesn’t change, nor the fact my face was plastered onto it.
“Good job today. Very nice insights.” The group’s leader and sponsor, Giovanni, stands to end the meeting.
Yeah. Giovanni. Pretty sure Zeno’s father was reincarnated or some shit and returned to mock me. It can’t be a coincidence they share the same name.
A few people wave goodbye, but I linger until the room clears out and help Giovanni fold up the chairs and stack them in the corner.
It’s something I’ve taken to doing after the first gathering.
The guy gives up his hour to listen to us drunkards yap about our problems, when he’s already solved his own, so it seems the least I could do.
We work in silence, and then he trails me to the door to lock up.
Instead of a quick goodbye, I linger, a question on the tip of my tongue.
It’s maddening how much progress two weeks have taken because it doesn’t feel like enough.
I assumed thoughts of her would solve the issue, but not completely.
Sometimes envisioning her and the fact she’s no longer talking to me sends my panic into overdrive and me hunting for a bottle.
There have been more than one fight in the past two weeks between Zeno and me over the empty liquor cabinet, only for him to remind me I chose to give it up and remind me why. He hangs around Rome more than normal despite his upcoming wedding—one guess why.
Elio has been acting normal but requests a lot of help to train inductees or to keep hunting for whoever stole the weapons and killed our men. It’s obvious he, too, took Vanessa’s point about physical exertion being beneficial to heart.
“Nero?” Giovanni’s voice pulls me back. “Need something?”
“Sì.” I cough into my fist. “What’s the timeline for this to be all fixed?”
He doesn’t even try to hide his pity, which annoys me because I’ve never been someone to pity. “It’s different for everyone, so it’s hard to say. You’re finding alternate means when the craving hits?”
“Sì. The gym mostly.”
“At this point, it’s time. How are you handling the stressors in your life?”
“Some are better,” I reply honestly, skirting the ultimate truth. My stressors consist of the alcohol itself, which is a work-in-progress, and Anastasia—also a work-in-progress.
My phone rings then, Zeno’s name flashing across the screen so I walk through the double doors towards the exit. “Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll see you next week.” Rain pounds on my shoulders so I jog to my car, not picking up until I’m dry. “Yeah?”
“We found the missing weapons shipment.”
“What? Where?” Nothing I’ve done this month has turned up anyone in our ranks. We’ve even had Lev helping us scour through every single employee and soldier’s backgrounds and accounts.
“The basement of one of Ana’s brothels.”
“The fuck? A shipment goes missing here and ends up in Moscow? What are they playing at?”
The conversation between Elio and me returns full force.
This seals the concept that whoever’s behind is trying to drive a wedge between the Bratva and us.
Not only will they not win, but it’s given me purpose.
Something Giovanni’s been encouraging me to discover, besides exercising.
Something to shift my passion into at all hours of the day and focus me.
This isn’t about Zeno and Vanessa’s impending marriage anymore.
This is about the fact they dragged Anastasia into it.
“I’d like to know how they got that many weapons into Russia,” Zeno mutters, and I could picture him running a hand through his hair. “One doesn’t just cross the border with that shit.”
“Private plane? We theorized whoever it is has financial backing. What if the backer is a Russian?”
He sighs. “Anything’s possible at this point. I’ll ask Vanessa if she has any ideas.”
“So what’s happening over there?”
“Vanessa’s headed down to the police station with their lawyers.”
“Anastasia was arrested?” I jam my foot on the brake and tap the power of the car, demanding it turn on to drive. Anywhere to be closer to her.
“That’s what happens when cops find two hundred guns hidden in a club’s basement,” he explains dryly. “They arrested her earlier today.”
My little ballerina’s behind bars.
“Vanessa will get her out.” My heart pounds faster, gripping the wheel with the same strength I envision strangling a cop with. “They can’t hold her without evidence.”
“The guns are the evidence.”
The phone grows fragile in my grip. “Sure, but she’s not getting locked up without better proof, Z! What can we do?”
“We wait for Vanessa to do her job. The Bratva’s an old organization. They have ties to their government. With a bit of help from their lawyers, she’ll walk free. It’s a formality and nothing more.”
None of this feels like a formality. Something in my stomach despises the concept of Anastasia behind bars.
“This is fucked. Whoever this is, I want at them after we find them.”
Zeno goes silent for an agonizingly long few seconds before murmuring, “Alright. Van’s calling now. I’ll let you go.”
“Keep me updated.”
“As long as you stay in Rome and don’t do anything stupid, sure.”
Click.
My head falls back against the headrest as the phone slips from my hold and into the car’s cupholder.
I need a fucking drink.
Instead, I head for the gym.
When Zeno’s name pops up on my phone later in the evening, I nearly shatter the device in my rush to answer.
“She’s out?”
“No, Vanessa and the lawyers are getting tied up in every level of red tape there is. The crown is charging her for weapons possession and smuggling. The evidence is damning. Vanessa’s government contact apparently no longer works there, so she’s stuck fighting the law, but the law knows her name.
She has to be careful how much she fights before they go rooting through the Bratva too. ”
“Convenient she loses her contact. So, Z, I ask again, what are we doing about this?”
“All they need is time. It’ll work out.”
A nerve ticks in my jaw. “If it doesn’t? What’s she looking at for jail time?” Anything beyond an hour isn’t happening, but I’ll entertain Zeno by letting him respond.
“Stay out of this, Nero. Your involvement isn’t wanted nor needed.”
My hand forms the fist I picture shoving into his face. “She’s not getting locked up for something she didn’t do, dammit! There’s been enough shit in her life. She doesn’t need this.”
“I agree, and if this goes on too long, I’ll give Vanessa any available resources, but right now, she’s dealing with her own country’s laws and us getting involved won’t help.”
“What if the person we’re looking for is in their government?
What if someone there despises the Bratva, and they’re working with someone from Italy to pit the organizations against one another?
This is obviously a set-up, and Vanessa’s connection disappearing isn’t a coincidence.
If we ignore this, I don’t think Ana’s getting out anytime soon.
It’ll become a court battle their lawyer will be fighting, and a possible longer sentence. ”
He sighs. “I considered that, sì, but there’s still nothing we can do. I have no jurisdiction there.”
“What if we do?” Ideas start knitting together in my mind, each more insane than the last. At the centre of it all is Anastasia’s face, which makes the knot, no matter how tangled, entirely worth the discomfort.
“Somewhere in Italy, the government’s bound to have a few Russian prisoners lying around.
” Prisoners of every background, more likely.
“Russia’s known for their prisoner swaps.
They’d prefer to take back one of their own citizens than keep one of ours locked up.
I’ll go, confess the weapons are mine, that I was trying to frame Anastasia.
They can take one apart and see the Italian manufacturer for themselves.
It’s not far off the mark. She’ll be released, and I’ll be in custody.
Then the Commission can convince their government contracts to propose the trade because you know they won’t stand for Cosa Nostra imprisoned in another’s territory. ”
Silence is stifling for seconds before he utters, “And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then Ana’s not falsely locked up.” I will be.
His inhale is sharp. “It’s a big jump. We shouldn’t hop into this yet.”
“Zeno—”
“You care about her, I know you do, but I’m ordering you, as your Capo, to stay the fuck in Rome. Do not come here until I learn more. Your plan is chaotic at best and thought out in two minutes of consideration. I’m not endangering you over this.”
This is Anastasia, and I’ll damn well endanger myself for her time and time again.
Like he knows where my thoughts have gone, he repeats, “I mean it, Nero. Stay the fuck home.”
When he hangs up, I immediately jump into my car and take off for the airport.