59. Anastasia
ANASTASIA
“You two have never looked more like twins until this moment.” Dimitri gestures between Lev and me from where we’re leaning against the bar. “You could at least look like you’re happy.”
My argument is immediate, a lash of my tongue. “I am happy. For them anyway.”
He replies with raised brows before dragging Katya to the dance floor for what’s probably their tenth dance. He mentioned something about making up a decade’s worth of missed chances.
It’s cute, though sickening.
Lev, his thoughts aligning with mine, also observes them. “We’ll probably be doing this again soon.”
“The massive rock she’s been sporting for months didn’t give that away? At least he won’t want a big ceremony. Katya’s anxiety won’t allow it. Plus, the guest list will be smaller. No Cosa Nostra.”
He blows out a breath, hooking an arm on the bar. “Thank fuck, because two massive weddings in a matter of months are too much.” His expression darkens as he sources Serafina standing beside her mother.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if they do something intimate on the mansion’s property. Or maybe she’ll want to do it in Canada rather than bring her parents here.”
“That wouldn’t be bad. We’ve never been there, and Fina enjoys exploring new places. Between us, her parents, and some of the friends Katya retains from her life there…a few dozen attendees at most. It’s tolerable.”
“Are you two seriously planning the next wedding?” Vanessa pops behind us. Her flushed cheek lands on my shoulder, and her colossal dress embraces our bodies. “You’re barely through this one and already dreading the next.”
Lev toasts his drink in her direction, much to Vanessa’s laughter. It quickly dies, though, when she kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry it’s rough for you guys. You’re both free to go. I won’t be mad. Lev, I know it’s hard, and Ana…”
“I’m fine,” we both chime.
Vanessa snorts. “Sometimes you two are weird. Anyway, if we’re talking wedding planning…” She nudges Lev’s side with her elbow.
I expect my brother to snort, cough, shy away, and deny anything of that being his future despite their brief conversation when he was asking to buy the two pieces of land off her.
Instead, he tilts his head, watching Serafina with Zeno and their mother across the room.
It’s the same expression Nero pointed out months ago at their engagement lunch.
“It’ll be up to her where and when.”
Vanessa smirks at me, our thoughts presumably aligned. It’s best not to comment and interrupt his breakthrough.
She lingers for a few more moments, talking about the night in general, and then she and Lev able off to find their people. I turn to the bartender for a strong drink and wander to the farthest side of the reception hall, towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that drew my attention earlier.
I don’t walk through the door leading to the balcony, instead staring in the distance to where the Roman Colosseum is visible against the night sky. Vanessa may despise the wedding planner, but the woman chose a lovely venue.
Steps approach, and I brace for who it could be. After the forced first dance of the night, I’ve avoided the floor, clinging to whichever family member—mainly Lev—wasn’t celebrating. It didn’t deter the many men who’ve requested a dance, but luckily, my brother’s glare shooed them off.
With a large swig and a deep breath, I turn to face the two approaching men. Broad-shouldered and standing side by side, they fence me from the party. My grip tightens around my drink, shoulders pulling back on instinct.
“Anastasia Petrov.” One dips his head, his thick Italian accent rolling the A’s in my name.
“Hello.” Play nice, don’t kill people.
“There are rumours about Russian women that intrigue me.” The second man approaches, and by instinct, I step backwards. The glass chills my bare skin, but nothing’s more chilling than their abruptness. “That you’re wildcats in bed.”
The lust in his eyes sucks me into the past—to the notebook hiding beneath my mattress at home. They’re the spitting image of the kind of men Papa would push me to seduce.
I hum, smiling and maintaining a polite facade. “Maybe, maybe not. If you’ll excuse me, the bride is waving me over.”
Both move with me, blocking my exit. “The newly crowned Mrs. Mancini and her husband have stepped out of the room.”
“It’s Volkov-Mancini. Get it right and be respectful.” Unfortunately, they’re correct. The beacon Vanessa is in her gown is nowhere to be seen. “Back up and let me by.”
They chortle, nudging one another. “There’s that attitude we suspected you’d have. Wonder what that accent sounds like screaming our names.”
My teeth bite down on air, but it’ll be their throats soon if they don’t back the fuck up. “If you don’t let me by, the only name that’ll be screamed is mine when you’re pleading for mercy.”
One moves close enough that his hot breath blows over my shoulder. He starts to say something, but the insult fades when he makes a big mistake by placing his hands on me. He snatches my wrist, which means Vanessa’s request for no violence goes right out the window.
Hissing, I jerk my arm. “I don’t give a fuck whose wedding we’re at. You have three seconds before I’m slicing off your fingers one by one until you’re—”
“Gentleman,” a smooth voice cuts between the three of us, seconds before an even larger body grips the shoulder of the one holding me.
Fingers dig into his suit until he flinches, releasing me with a jerk.
Nero’s maniacal grin is the last thing I see before I’m shielded with his back.
“You’re accosting the guests of honour? It was already made abundantly clear that the Bratva are to be respected.
Do anything to hinder that, and I’ll personally speak with your Capo.
Or should I skip to the top and inform Mancini that his bride’s best friend is being harassed at their reception? ”
“N-no.” At least one of the two has the decency to be ashamed.
“Neither would I. So before you give me more reason to tell him, fuck off.”
Nero barely has the words out before they’re scampering off and disappearing through the crowd. His tense back loosens with his deep exhale. It takes another until Nero turns around, his cool expression thawing the past.
“You okay?”
I nod, clenching my now-empty glass harder. He notices, reaches for it, and without touching my fingers, manages to dislodge it from my hand and set it on the ground nearby.
“Air?” he offers, gesturing to the door. Without waiting for a response, his arm stretches to undo the handle until the warm night air sucks me outside.
Late May air blows through the nearby shrubbery fencing the reception hall.
In the distance, the Colosseum is lit up with a glittering of lights that match the sky above and make me wonder who strung lights through the ancient building.
My heels cross the cement balcony to the thick railing, breaking the silence. My palms rest atop the cool stone.
Nero’s steps approach but stop midway between me and the building as the air cools between us. Even nature escapes the uncomfortableness of the moment.
“I had that handled,” I tell him since he isn’t leaving.
“I’m aware. Didn’t mean I’d let it happen.
” His voice approaches, trailed by the click of his shoes before his arms rest on the railing beside mine.
A position of relaxation, except the hard lines of his shoulders and back are everything but.
“Even if I’ve done a shit job of proving it lately, I’m not a man who’d ever let harm come to you. ”
“I know.”
All the walls I’ve built to get through tonight shatter having him so close. Memories of months ago when we were together—on the couches at Christmas while the others went off and seated beside one another at their engagement announcement dinner. The laughs and secret smiles.
The trust I put into those smiles.
The anger over what he stole lingers, but it’s less impactful. It matters…less. Papa’s dead and gone, no matter who swiped the blade. My hatred for him remains, as does our history. Serafina became Lev’s cure, encouraging him to move beyond his trauma. Nero became mine when I allowed him to.
Silence hovers, tense yet not. The party going on behind the glass is muted.
The few inches between us are an emotional cavern, each of us waiting on the other to speak.
It’s soothing, quieting my mind in ways that make me appreciate Sera’s effect on my brother’s well-being even more.
If this is what he feels like, no wonder he grew addicted.
His gaze remains distanced, straight on the Colosseum, urging me to wonder, “You ever been?”
His chuckle sucks me right back to the time I woke in his arms, one tossed over my hip and his mouth by my ear. “If you live in Italy and don’t visit even once, there’s an issue.”
“I guess.” A smile cracks my mouth because fuck, I’ve missed the banter. “Everything in your country is lovely. Now that there’s official peace between our organizations, maybe I’ll set out to do all the touristy activities.”
It’s an opening, an invitation. A distant hope, a flickering light for an offer to take me around. Something to bridge the gap we’ve both created.
“You’re welcome any time.” He turns his head slightly, looking into the shrubbery below.
“Whether you come with Z and Vanessa or on your own, and want to do all the touristy shit, the villa is yours to stay at.” The tips of his fingers turn white from their pressure against the railing.
“I’ll stay at my father’s place when you visit. ”
Months apart broke us. How do I even fix this? Do I want to? My heart and mind are frazzled. I twist, hand sliding over the railing but stopping shy of the wall he’s erected. The one I laid the foundation for when demanding he never talk to me.