Page 93 of Violent Pawn

This becomes the fourth instance.

Only this time, I hope our paths never cross again.

46

NERO

Istare at the message after sending it. It’s probably the longest text I’ve ever sent a woman.

After five minutes, when Delivered doesn’t transform to Read, I shut the phone and pick up the glass resting nearby, much to the brow hike of the bartender. It’s downed in two chugs, and I gesture for another.

“Signore?” Doubt drips from his word, but respect for authority has him grabbing the bottle of bourbon regardless.

Swiping it from the counter, I head deeper into the back office where no one will bother me. I should be interviewing men, determining what the fuck happened to an entire shipment of weapons, but that task means little to me compared to the destruction of a woman’s happiness by the single stupidest action in my entire life.

Over the past week since last seeing her, she’s consumed every inch of my brain during all hours of the day. Vanessa and Zeno’s wedding becomes an upcoming event I’m both excited and terrified for. Eager to see her, while fearing how I’ll crawl away from it even with the slightest stability.

No matter what, for that one day, she’ll still be mine. Or at least she’ll feel like it. She’ll be mine to hold when walking the aisle afterwards, mine to dance with after Vanessa and Zeno.

For now, I drop into my desk chair, pull out my phone, and reread the message.

My drink ends much too quickly. It’s sucked into my body with the rest of what I’ve downed today because alcohol is the bandage for my culpability. Only now, it’s directed at another.

Two days pass since the message switched to Read, and while I truly don’t anticipate her response, I can’t stop hoping for it.

Can’t sleep.

Can’t focus.

Can’t work.

Can’t do anything but plan flights to Moscow and then un-plan them.

And drink.

Alcohol numbs the pain for a short while until I think about her, then it all comes back.

And then it helps rid her from my mind again.

It’s a cycle I can’t end. A ride that never ends. A trip that I need over.

At the very centre is Anastasia Petrov.

PART 4

2 MONTHS LATER

47

ANASTASIA

March

Grey sky.

Grey clouds.

Grey mood.