Page 113 of Violent Pawn

ANASTASIA

My new cop friend staggers down the cement hallway of holding cells to stop in front of mine. Without looking up, my counting session of every stone in the cell continues—a trick Lev once mentioned from his time.

The cell door clangs as the bolt is undone, the door screeching open. “Petrov, you’re free to go. Someone out there has some pull, let me tell you.”

It was expected the Bratva would come through, so I take my time lifting to my feet, playing the poised game and not showing my eagerness since cops like him get off on that shit.

I pass him with a wiggle of my nails. “Lovely quarters, quite comfortable. As for my freedom, maybe don’t hand out false accusations.”

His stomps are loud beside me as he leads me to the offices down the hall. “Hard to falsely accuse when the weapons were right there. Explain to me how else they got in your basement.”

“I don’t have to say shit, but thanks, Officer.”

We reach the door in time for him to snarl his response. He juts a stubby finger to the desk across the way. “Sign the paperwork, and you’re free to go. Don’t let me see you in here again, Petrov.”

The lady behind the desk finishing the discharge paperwork is a ball of cheer—sarcasm—but eventually, I’m heading out the glass doors in desperate need of sleep, a shower, then my gun so I can go hunting for whoever decided framing me was a good idea.

Someone will pay in blood.

As soon as fresh air greets me, my Pakhan is there, her arms tight around my shoulders. Beside her, the team of Bratva lawyers we keep on retainer are talking quietly amongst ourselves.

“Thanks, Van. Took longer than expected.”

She hooks her arm into mine and draws me closer to the three men. “Tell me about it. Shit’s changed in the government, and it took a lot of verbal sparring. Mainly from them, because my threats were only getting me so far.”

“I had my work cut out for me.” The nearest lawyer shakes my hand.

Vanessa dismisses them to direct me to the waiting car. The farther we get from the precinct, the more my chest lightens. “What a fucking mess. All this during the week of your wedding.”

“Gabriella almost had a heart attack at the thought of moving the wedding to the jail. I told her it couldn’t happen unless you were my maid of honour, one way or the other. I, for one, was quite looking forward to pissing off the force.”

The chief’s face, flushed red with anger, is an appealing image. “Only you’d do that.”

Her car comes into view, and while I’m so ready to get in and get the fuck out of here, a nearby murmur of my name throws my body into a state of confusion, entangled somewhere between surprise and fear—the same sense attached to the tone used. At a standstill, I lift my head only to be faced, for the first time in three months, with whom I’ve missed more than anything.

Nero steps out from behind another vehicle, his gaze catching on my cuffless wrists. “You’re free?”

Years—motherfucking years—spent training to be infallible. To let nothing and no one get beneath my skin. It was probably the only halfway decent good feature Papa brought into my life.

Gone. Crushed and crumbled in the cavern of distrust and heartache he smashed between us, all at the sight of him. Maybe I’m not as infallible as I assumed. Perhaps this is a positive thing since it’ll convince me to grow.

The world stops spinning and time stands still. Distantly, I hear Vanessa get into the driver’s seat of her car, not paying attention to the barriers I’ve spent months rebuilding in preparation to see him at the wedding be shattered. The wedding, while not anticipating, I’m prepared for. But this case, when he caught me not only by surprise but in a moment of vulnerability, no defence kicks in. Nothing but my lungs working overtime and my heart thudding from its cavity trying to make sense of everything.

Of him. No more than three feet away after months apart. With an expression caught between surprise and pain, his hands curl by his side. He’s as lost as I am. Both of us are on the precipice of division between us.

All while being here. In Moscow. Where he shouldn’t be stepping foot inside.

“What are you doing here?”

Having never heard Nero stutter before, my breath catches when he replies, “N-nothing.” He backs up a step, and I move too, a cord connecting us. He takes another step before twisting. “Apologies.”

Then he’s gone.

My hand hovers in the air, reaching for his ghost. The urge to follow drives me forward a step, to figure out why he’s come, what it means, and how to feel about it.

Instead, like the coward I am, I slide into the waiting vehicle. Vanessa is still twisted around to watch out the back window. “Isn’t that something?”

“Why was he here?”