Page 41 of Violent Pawn

“Why are you being like this?” Hands in his chest, I push and dislodge from his hold. “I told you from the beginning⁠—”

His scoff cuts me off. “C’mon, everyone here knows you’re a whore who’ll take it when ordered. Why am I any different?”

Red.

Rage.

Revenge.

The knife from my leg holster—something Papa commanded I always wear—is in my grip before I fully comprehend my reaction. I blink, my vision tunneling but unfocused, and then there’s more red.

A scream.

Blood.

The knife is sticking out from his throat, and then it’s in my hand again, and then back in his neck.

I blink. The knife slips from my grip, clashing to the ground right beside the fully grown man on his knees, clutching for breath while life seeps from him.

“What the…did…”

Blyat. I step back, tripping over my shoes to escape. His blood follows me, a trail of horror from me to Viktor. A trail of proof I am like Papa.

I’m a killer.

I’ve been a killer for almost two years on his orders, but never of my own accord.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think. It was a reaction—anger that drove the weapon into his neck, stabbing it three times in a row to prove to him and anyone else he spoke to about us that I am not a whore.

I’m a woman without choice. There’s a big difference.

As he falls dead, a sob bubbles in my throat. I drop to my hands and knees, scrambling for my phone and then jamming every button imaginable until my brother’s voice comes from the other end.

“Lev, I did something...”

Afterwards, I realized I never actually cared for Viktor, but I was trying to. I was aiming to be normal, to have a relationship that wasn’t a ploy. To eventually have sex because I wanted it, not because it was ordered. I allowed Viktor to get close enough that he got some of my true personality, hopeful he’d be the one to change my future.

Instead, he was another man who let me down and proved to be a monster behind a mask.

In the few months of interacting with Nero, he’s gotten closer than Viktor ever did.

Which is why this must end now. He can’t bury himself deeper inside.

22

NERO

Gabriella flits around the mansion, instructing the hired staff and caterer regarding final preparations. Both amused and endeared, I remain beside Zeno in the foyer’s farthest corner. Venus bounces between us and Gabriella, the dog getting caught up in the excitement.

“She’s different this year,” I muse, hiding my comment behind my glass from her ever-sharp gaze. If she were to look away from her task anytime soon, that is.

Zeno smiles faintly. “She has something more to decorate for.”

Christmas is usually pretty low-key with Zeno only opting to celebrate for his mother and sister. He visits Ostia for Christmas Eve and Day, while I see Padre for our annual dinner, and then join the Mancinis for Gabriella’s delicious home-cooked holiday meal.

She never comes to the villa—ever. She hasn’t since the day she walked away from it and her marriage to make herself a new life in Ostia, at the time pregnant with Serafina.

This year, she stalked into the villa with a team of caterers and an authority like she never left. She claimed a bigger space would be better; that with Vanessa and her crew coming, we all can’t comfortably fit inside her small house.