Page 21 of Violent Pawn

“Serafina. I don’t want…” His chest rises and falls with his shudder, more emotion in that one movement than the last ten years living with him. “I nearly lost her once, and I’ll be damned if it happens again. What’s to say he isn’t in contact with old comrades? If any of this gets back to him—if he learns about Vanessa’s attachment to the Cosa Nostra—he might grow vengeful. He might come for Fina.” His taps cease as he white-knuckle grips the wheel. “I won’t risk her, Ana. I won’t. If he learns about her—what she is to me… If he wants to make our lives worse… If he’s dead, it guarantees her safety.”

The car, even in its slow-ass pace, eventually approaches the mansion. No one’s outside, but habit has me visually sweeping the grounds, catching men walking the perimeter.

“I agree. Girl’s gone through enough.”

“We need to do it together. It’s only right.”

I reach over, covering his hand with my own as he brings the car to a complete stop. “Hey,” I murmur, waiting until he faces me to continue. “You know I’m always with you, even in this. When do you want to do it?”

“After the holidays. It’s the first Vanessa’s spending with Zeno, and Serafina will be here. Dimitri’s sticking around now that Katya’s moved home. Death doesn’t need to overshadow it.”

My brother being considerate to others is unusual, simply because that’s how he is. Lev believes he’s undiagnosed with something. He doesn’t mean to be a dick to others, but it’s how his speech sometimes comes across.

Until Serafina entered the picture and altered his thought patterns to the point I don’t always recognize my twin.

“You really like her.” He loves her, but hearing him speak his emotions aloud has become my favourite pastime. After twenty-seven years of having a statue for a sibling, this lifelike version is so much better.

“I love her. I’d do anything for her.”

I knock his shoulder, giggling that I got him to say the words again, before climbing out of the vehicle. “Even attend parties.”

He groans, recalling the college party she dragged him to during his stint as her bodyguard. “Don’t fucking remind me. One of the worst nights of my life.”

The reminder has my follow-up joke fading because Serafina nearly getting raped by Alessio Vitale isn’t a joking matter. It was a dark night in their history, but a night that started something for both of them—even if neither realized it.

Although my big mouth insists on wondering, “What’s worse: the wedding or that night?”

Lev shudders, following me to the front door. “Both. Don’t remind me of either.”

He disappears to his basement—or his domain, as I refer to it—where Serafina’s presumably camped in their little makeshift living room. I, his own flesh and blood, have only been downstairs a handful of times in the two years since we moved into the mansion, but Serafina was allowed nearly instantly, and he had a TV installed. It says something.

I tread by the basement door and towards Vanessa’s office, still grinning. Serafina’s done what no one else could do. She pried Lev out of his shell to experience life, and for that, I owe her everything.

Vanessa’s on the tail-end of a phone call when I enter, which is good because it’s Friday and we have plans she’s unaware of. In the corner, Veles watches his owner with sympathetic eyes. He was a gift from Zeno after Vanessa bonded so well with his own Doberman, Venus.

She screeches into the phone before her nail violently stabs the screen to end the call. She tosses the device onto the desk and flings herself to her feet, nearly knocking her desk chair into the window behind her.

“Blyat! Do you know who that was?” She violently gestures to her phone before immediately continuing. “Georgy fucking Vasilyev. With the most ridiculous proposition.”

“Who?”

“Businessman who used to work with Papa.” She waves her hand dismissively. “After I took over, he decided he no longer wished to do business with the Bratva.”

As many of them did. “Right. Assuming he’s changed his mind?”

“Worse!” She casts a dark look at the small device as if it offended her. “He proposed. Marriage!”

Laughter chokes from me until I lower myself into one of the chairs in front of her desk. The more I mentally repeat what she said, the funnier it gets. “Does he realize you’re unavailable?”

“And highly not interested,” she snaps, wrinkling her nose. “That’s beside the point because the fucking sexist zasranets thinks I need him. That my father would have been ‘proud’ to make me his wife. His wife, Ana! He’s suggesting a business contract. That he’d get back into bed with us if I get into bed with him. Oh, and he’s insisting—get this—that the Bratva would be better with him at the helm.”

“So let’s kill him,” I offer, kicking one knee over the other. It’s a simple fix and not even worth getting angry over because she, I, and everyone in her employ sees that she’s the best for this role. “At the very least, a bit of torture so he shuts up.”

Her hands drop by her side with a low huff. “You know I can’t do that. He’s too public. Though it’s tempting.”

“You seem stressed,” I comment lightly, using this as a segue for my reason to drop by here. Not to dismiss her concerns, but Vasilyev is a minor issue, all things considered. He’ll run his mouth, and when Vanessa and Zeno eventually wed, the issue will be over. No person would dare go against both organizations if he wants to keep breathing. “We should return to our Friday night outings. At the very least, let’s go out tonight. It’s been forever.”

She’s still tense from her phone call, but my whininess has its intended effect, making her stop and consider something else. “I have Zeno now. Besides, he’s about an hour away from landing and asked me to keep my Saturday evening open.”