67. Anastasia
ANASTASIA
Two Weeks Later
During my week in the hospital, a rotation of visitors kept me on edge until I finally demanded Dimitri and Lev take Sera and Katya home to Moscow, so everyone can return to life and leave me alone.
Lev’s permanently on edge being away from his comfort, Sera has school, and Dimitri and Katya are too polite to say they miss home.
Besides, Nero hovers enough for everyone.
He curses nurses who demand he back away and is suffocatingly patient with me through every cursed healing step.
At this point in our relationship—if we’re calling it that already—it’s much too soon for him to witness the hospital staff draining my catheter, but here we are.
Through all the embarrassing shit, he’s stoic and unwavering, protective and possessive, and dare I say that I like it?
A new level of Nero has been unlocked. Now that I’ve given him my heart, he’s giving me his everything.
With nothing but time, I reflect on the engagement party where he called me his, and I freaked out.
Panic won that day, and while he’s been careful not to repeat it, I see it in his eyes every time medical staff enters my room.
The Cosa Nostra mobster, the protector who’ll defend and fight anyone who harms me.
I don’t hate that anymore. Not when it comes from him and only him. Having a partner isn’t a weakness. Belonging to a man isn’t submissive when he’s mine in return.
Over the days, the bruises go through every imaginable shade possible, and my aches clear up. My nose will take the longest, but eventually the cast gets removed, and after a week-long stay, I’m cleared to go home on bed rest.
Nero took that to mean his bed and refused to allow me to board the Bratva plane to go home, instead locking me in the villa in Rome where he continues hovering.
Plus, I refuse to take “bed rest” as seriously as he is, so after a lot of arguments, I win.
He’s been taking me out on walks around the property, out to the pool to sit by—since it’s still too cool to swim—or sitting out on the porch.
Zeno and Vanessa ended up going to the United States for another wedding. A couple of days after his own, he received an invitation for an impending ceremony of another Cosa Nostra Capo, so yesterday, they flew out for it.
Nero and I bicker about my health, but there’s a lightness as we spend time together.
He refuses to leave my side for work, and the look he gave Zeno said it’d be another argument if he went.
Together, I’ve been learning everything there is to know about him and his childhood, as well as what he’s been doing since the day I walked away from him. All his healing and revelations.
In return, he’s asked about my childhood, so with a lot of mental battles, I open up. I haven’t been as happy and calm as I’ve been this week. Nero goes through every stage of grief in my stories, and more than once, he’s walked out of the room. Sometimes his exit is followed by a crash.
But he never touches alcohol.
He doesn’t leave my side to attend an AA meeting, though I insist he does, to talk through the current stressors. After convincing Elio and Gabriella to sit with me in the villa, he attended one in record time.
Things fall into place with us as my healing continues improving, until finally their private doctor gives me the all-clear to return home and to work, with the recommendation of taking it easy. Nero sees that as more bed rest, but one spat later, he’s trailing me home to Moscow.
Two days after arriving, and now three weeks since Vanessa’s wedding and the unfortunate reception, my body still aches but is overall doing well.
My nose is set correctly, though it shows indication of injury, and Nero learns how far my determination not to be ordered around goes when our next verbal spar ends with him driving me downtown to the brothels for work.
He parks in my spot behind the building and reaches my door to help me out. “I really wish you’d stay home and rest.”
“It’s been weeks since I’ve done anything work-related, and I’m going nuts. Besides, this isn’t really your say. Sasha mentioned an interview she wants me to do, so it’s happening.”
He cups my neck and pulls me to him for a heated kiss that quickly ends the rest of my fight. We haven’t been intimate over the weeks of my healing because I didn’t like how things looked. The bruises and markings don’t say sexy, despite Nero’s argument.
I miss him, though. It’s been too long, and I’m ready to begin the rest of our lives.
Nero fists my hair, keeping me in place.
My nails sink into his shoulders, hauling him closer as his tongue strokes a whimper.
When I’m about to beg him to come inside, to allow me to show him one of the private rooms, he breaks off with a smirk.
“If you insist. I’ll pick you up in a few hours. Call if things start to hurt.”
“As if. It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“Sasha’s watching out for you and has orders to contact me if you’re ignoring your needs.”
My gaze flits to the building behind us. “How the fuck did you—”
He smashes a finger against my lips, silencing me with a crooning shush. “Don’t ask. Your safety and well-being are everything to me, so no matter how many rules I need to break to ensure it, you’ll always come first.”
That burning emotion of affection knocks at my knees again until I’m gripping his shirt. “It’s like you’re a whole new man from the one I got to know. But not one I hate either.”
“I stopped holding back. You could have had this the whole time, Ana.”
“Anastasia.”
“Cara mia.”
“Better.”
He waits until I’m inside before driving off. I turn to watch him leave the lot only to be practically tackled by my manager, who fiercely hugs me and drags me down the hall.
“When your brother called and told me what happened, that it’d be a while until you return to work…blyat, Ana, you took a few years off my life.” She reaches up to rub at a still-healing cut on my forehead with a frown. “Your life is too dangerous.”
“All our lives were.” A vision of her protecting other girls in the cages fills my mind. “It’s all over with now.”
“That sexy man who phoned me yesterday is the same one who visited you months ago before you turned all moody?” She leads me down the hallway, towards the office. We’re hours before opening, so none of the girls are here yet, which I’m grateful for.
“How would you know I was depressed?”
“It was your demeanour. Two minutes back and I can already see a change in you.” She releases me with two snaps of her fingers—by my shoulders and waist. “Go sit. There’s a stack of paperwork I need you to sign off on, and the girl to interview is scheduled to be here in a few.”
“What do you know about her?”
“Only that she fit the hiring requirements you once laid out.”
“If they look scared or nervous, bring them in. If they give you any sense that they’re running from something, we can be the place they land. Everyone needs a bit of support without the million questions. If they can do the job, we’ll become their family.”
The people who often seek sex work are coming from rough backgrounds and need money or to release trauma.
Whatever their reason, I’m not here to judge, within reason, since I’m protective over my girls and my business.
Lev completes any required background check, gathering enough intel to give me comfort that I’m not hiring anyone dangerous.
As I settle behind the desk, my phone chimes with a check-up message.
Nero
I miss you.
Me
You’re needy. Go away. About to start the interview.
Nero
Make me.
Me
Want me on my knees ever again for you?
Nero
You win.
A knock on the door comes before Sasha leads in a young woman who’s probably at most twenty years old.
The potential hire enters with her chin held high and a stride hinting of coaching, reminding me of the lessons Papa once forced me into.
Her striking regal features belong in a previous century.
Her face card alone will appeal to the club’s clientele, but what doesn’t fit is the rest. Her jeans are dark-washed and clearly new.
Going by the logo, her shoes are from a brand only found in high-end boutiques.
The diamond bracelet I clock on her wrist tells enough of her story.
She stops a couple of feet back from the desk and completes the demure guise she’s building by placing her hands behind her back.
Everything about her sets me on edge because she appears too perfect. Most of the girls who come through here come from lesser financial means. Never has someone who comes from money tried to get hired.
Sasha moves to the side of the room, tilting her head with a see what I mean? expression. Sasha was given hiring power a few months ago and only has me interview the ones she flags.
I gesture for the girl to take a seat, paying particular attention to how her knees remain together, hands clasped together on her lap. She flicks light hair over her shoulder and plasters on a smile. Again, too primly to ease me.
“Privet. My name is Anastasia Petrov. I run this establishment, so welcome. Please, what is your name?”
“Ella Debois.”
Jolted by her voice, I flick my eyes to Sasha, silently responding, Yes, I do see.
“Your accent isn’t from these parts. North American?”
She bobs her head, and that smile falters ever so slightly.
“The United States, to be specific.” Her fingers press into her knees until they flush white.
She sucks at hiding her nerves, which tells me to pay more attention to the next few responses since I doubt she’s moved across the world to work at a brothel.
“You’re far from home.”
Ella shrugs. “I wanted to explore the world, so figured I’d start here.”
“Right.” Bullshit. “Alright, let’s begin…” I pull over the sheet of standard questions, asking about her experiences and comfort levels, and emphasizing the importance of consent and the ongoing testing I have done on the staff to ensure everyone stays healthy and safe.
Ella nods to everything at the appropriate times, her smile never once faltering. She answers everything with an easy confidence that continues to raise my internal flags.
My final listed question is one that often gets skipped until getting to know the potential hire better. Trust works both ways, and those who come through my door may need time to recognize I’m not out to get them like the others in their life.
With Ella, every answer will be picked apart.
“Tell me about yourself. Hobbies. Your family.”
“I have no hobbies,” she replies, winding a finger around her bracelet. It isn’t the first time she’s done this, and I’ve noted which questions make her nervous or that she may have lied answering. “My family is dead to me. Haven’t seen them in years.” Another fiddle of the chain.
Liar.
“Alright.” I pause, letting the unknown of my response linger. “We’ll call you with our decision.”
“Thank you.” Her grace continues across the room to take both our hands in a well-practiced handshake that draws my attention to the diamonds again. She leaves with a final wave, and Sasha follows her out, watching her exit the building from the doorway.
Once she gives the sign that Ella is gone, I call Lev.
“What?” he barks in a manner that would trigger a snarky reply if I wasn’t so focused on the situation.
“I finished interviewing a potential hire for one of the clubs that I want you to look into. She’s American.”
“Alright.” Clicking comes through the speaker. “Name?”
“Ella Dubois.”
“Give me a bit. I’ll see what I find.” He hangs up, and I return to reading over her answers, trying to make sense of everything within them. Every letter, searching for something about this girl.
Wealthy and running away from her problems or something much more sinister?
Lev calls back within ten minutes, and I throw it on speaker so Sasha can hear his report.
“The few Ella Dubois in America are either dead, too old, or too young to be your hire. I checked Canadian databases too, figuring same continent, but nothing came up there either. Youngest I have is thirty. Were you off on her age?”
“Nah, she’s definitely closer to twenty than thirty.” Sasha nods, backing me up on my opinion. “No more than twenty-five.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
No, something isn’t right. I feel it in my gut. “Check again.”
“How about I don’t and say I did. You don’t believe my systems?”
“I do.” Responding any other way earns me a Lev-level rant, which my head doesn’t need. “Just…this can’t be accurate.”
“What if Ella isn’t her real name?” Sasha offers, tapping her finger on the desk. “Think about it. American girl, probably running from someone or something… You wouldn’t give a real name.”
If so, this whole thing could be more complicated. “We have her cell number, Lev. Maybe you can find something with that?”
“I’ll give it a go.” He sighs, but more typing starts up as Sasha recites the digits.
After a tense few seconds that have me literally clinging to the desk, he grunts. “Nothing. Seems like a burner phone, so this is looking more likely she’s a runaway.”
Fuck. “Thanks, Lev.” My gaze lifts from the screen to Sasha, standing in front of my desk.
“Hire her for now, to keep her close. Have her begin work immediately and shadow one of the girls you trust to report back to you about every move and everything she says. Vanessa returns tomorrow, coincidentally, from the States, so I’ll see how she wants to handle this, if at all. ”
Sasha nods and disappears to make things happen. Once alone, my lungs contract with a long breath. “Why is nothing simple?”
“Simple is boring,” Lev replies before hanging up.