57. Anastasia
ANASTASIA
Vanessa will be the first Pakhan in history to not have their wedding in Moscow.
It was a decision she came to early in the planning.
For one, Gabriella took charge since Vanessa didn’t want to, and it felt cruel to drag the woman to Moscow where her nightmares could return as memories.
Then, with the Five Families and Commission all in attendance, it was easier for the handful of us to travel to Italy than to allow them onto our territory.
When the Bratva jet lands in Rome, I’m last out of my seat, my legs not holding me steady until a few steps down the aisle.
The trip began stupidly early, and no nap during the trip was restful.
Sluggish, I trail behind the others who are being greeted by the sun through the door the flight crew lowers.
More staff unload our suitcases, as well as the boxes and bags that make up Vanessa’s wedding apparatus, and start packing them into one of two waiting SUVs.
Beside the second one, Zeno’s Captain, Elio, props open the passenger door. “Signora Volkov and guests. Zeno requested I take you to his home.”
“Elio, please, it’s Vanessa. Is he there?” She glows brighter than the sun with her question. I find myself paying attention because if Zeno is at the villa, there’s a good chance Nero will be too.
Elio shakes his head. “He’s at Nero’s house. Speaking of which…” He shifts his attention towards Lev and Dimitri—the former who scowls. “I’m to drive you both there later.”
“Why?” my brother grumbles as he helps Serafina into the back seat.
“Gabriella is old-fashioned,” Elio replies, offering his hand to assist Vanessa into the front. “She sees value in the couple being apart the night before.”
Vanessa glances at me over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “He mentioned as much, but I hoped he’d stay home until we got there. He said after their malchishnik—bachelor party,” she adds for Serafina, “he’ll be spending the night at Nero’s papa’s place. We’ll have the villa alone.”
Elio takes the driver’s seat once we’re all settled and buckled up. Lev and Serafina sit in the far back, while I’m in the middle row with Dimitri and Katya.
Elio pulls the vehicle away, trailed by the other one stacked with our bags, and chuckles. “Not completely alone. He’s stationed a team to protect the villa. They’ll also be accompanying you tonight.”
Vanessa groans. “Zeno knows we can handle ourselves.”
“You can. And Signorina Petrov.” He meets my gaze in the rear view. “The others, not so much. Besides, he’d never risk you. The four of you will be drinking, si? Alcohol lowers inhibitions, and he won’t take a risk.”
Just the thought of tonight’s devichnik—bachelorette party—has me dying inside.
Serafina chose the schedule because she’s determined to bring us to all the places Zeno and Gabriella were too protective to allow her to see.
Being cheery in any shape and form tonight is energy I simply don’t have.
Perhaps after a day’s worth of sleep and a few uppers to get me through.
The deeper into Rome we drive, the more of Nero is in my head, the lower my mood.
The fiery hellscape of my rage has been exhausting. Months of pretending to be fine, undone by a quick look and a short text conversation that I’ve been rereading almost as many times as his explanation from months ago.
At the villa, Elio and the guards unload our stuff into our respective rooms, with Vanessa’s wedding gear stored in a spare bedroom to be hung and sorted at Gabriella’s request (demand), who’ll be along tomorrow morning.
After the car gets unloaded, Dimitri and Lev say their goodbyes and are shipped off to where Zeno is waiting to start his malchishnik, or addio al celibato as the Italians refer to it. Vanessa gave them a brief explanation as to what they’re in for tonight, much to Lev’s immediate panic.
“I’ll be okay,” Katya reassures Dimitri, pulling him closer. “It won’t be like last time, I swear. You heard what Elio said. There’s a team.”
Five, to be exact, which makes one for each of us, plus an extra. It’s a smart formation.
Meanwhile, Serafina’s gripping my brother’s cheeks, who’s looking a tad paler than his usual introverted shade of white. “Text if you need to, but do try to have fun. I know it’s not the right kind of fun, but have a drink. Stick close to Dimitri if you need to.”
He shakes his head against her forehead. “Fun isn’t being away from you, Fina. Weddings and you don’t really go hand in hand.”
“One day they will,” she vows in a suggestive way that has me backing away from the happy couple and heading inside to catch a short rest before the longest two days of my life.
On my way up to the bedroom that’s become mine over our multiple stays here, I pass Nero’s room.
His door is shut partway, but not clasped, and I stop, hovering with my hand over the wood before opening it and facing more memories.
The ones where I slept in his arms Christmas night, which was the start of so much.
The bed is unmade. Articles of clothing are strewn around. It’s his scent, though, familiar and welcoming, that draws me deeper inside, but no further than a few steps. My breath catches at the signs—the cracks in the foundation of what Nero’s mood actually has been.
The cracks on the far wall.
The holes in the bathroom door.
The broken closet entrance.
All of them, signs of violence.
Vanessa’s devichnik is fine.
Just fine.
My black cocktail dress matches the scene. I drink whatever ends up in front of me. My laughter is well-timed with the others. But I’m not having a good time.
Serafina drags us around to three different places, all of whom cater to the sash Katya placed around Vanessa’s body and the plastic crown a very drunk Serafina stole from someone else.
Zeno’s bodyguards constantly linger; four close by.
If one of us breaks away, for the bathroom, to retrieve a drink, or to dance, then one follows along.
The fifth, the extra, remains by the front door, a second bouncer who’s exclusive to us.
They’re all insanely stoic and unblinking and only speak when spoken to, reminding me much of the way Ivan and Papa were known for training Bratva soldiers like they were objects, not people.
While Vanessa and Serafina are dancing, Katya remains behind with me. Her phone’s in her hand, her thumb flicking its case in a repetitive motion. Despite the fact she’s clearly nervous, her question throws me.
“You alright?”
I don’t think I’m doing that bad a job of hiding it. “Fine.”
“Liar. I know better than anyone what faking ‘fine’ appears like.”
Luckily, the arrival of the others saves me from responding. By a spark of pure luck, my phone vibrates too, which saves me from joining in on the conversation that Vanessa strikes up.
Emotionless Bro
He’s not drinking. Not one sip. Hasn’t touched a glass of anything.
Nero, the man I’ve rarely seen without a drink in his hand, is sober at an event designed for drinking? It’s a small fact that feels bigger, like an explanation to a question I’ve yet to ask.
Me
Who?
Emotionless Bro
Don’t play dumb. It’s unappealing. You know who.
Me
You must be wasted. That was two compliments in one.
Emotionless Bro
Don’t search for compliments either. It’s petty.
Me
Another one!!! Who ARE you right now?!
Emotionless Bro
Fine, I’m done talking to you.
Me
Sorry, sorry, come back. What do you mean he hasn’t drunk anything?
Emotionless Bro
I take back the compliments. Reread my message if you can’t figure it out.
Nero isn’t drinking.
Me
Good for him? You’re telling me why???
Emotionless Bro
You make my head hurt. Never mind. I regret saying anything.
How is she?
Me
You worry about her more than her own brother.
Emotionless Bro
Tell me.
Me
Her head will thump more than yours tomorrow.
Emotionless Bro
That bad?
Me
Or good. She’s having fun. She needs it, don’t you think?
Don’t worry, I’ll get plenty of water into her before bed. And meds, if needed.
Emotionless Bro
Thanks.
Me
How are you doing?
Emotionless Bro
I should be asking the same. You’re speaking to me. You’re sober.
Me
Maybe.
Not in the mood.
Emotionless Bro
You’re not doing well if you’re not enjoying yourself.
Me
Nice of you to notice.
Emotionless Bro
Fina’s training me to be conscious of others.
Me
You made a joke!
Emotionless Bro
Dimitri’s demanding I put down my phone. Keep me updated on her.
That won’t be happening.
I too put my phone away at the sound of my name, giving my attention to my best friend on her final night of being single because she deserves a cheerful friend and not a ball of depression.
She tosses her phone into my lap with more force than necessary. “Fuckin’ look at that! He doesn’t get it.”
Hoping “he” is Zeno, I flip the device over and scan the numerous missed calls from an unknown number.
“It’s Vasilyev,” she explains. “Fucking dick won’t leave me alone. Still convinced I’m breaking decades of Bratva tradition by marrying an outsider.”
“Aren’t you?” I smirk, tossing her phone back. “Forget him. He’s one puny man.”
She grins and reaches for the next shot in front of me, toasting it into the air. “Cheers to that.”
We dance, we drink, we go home and do more of it all before passing out.
Then it’s time for Vanessa to wed her ex-enemy.