Page 9 of Violent Pawn

As expected, he ignores me. I assume for good, except when we reach the next doorway, Papa pauses to glance over his shoulder. A paralyzing chill emits as he finally replies.

“Death.”

6

NERO

How does one walk towards their death?

If there’s a manual, it’d be mighty useful right about now. Landing in Rome, there isn’t anything to think or do to prepare me for Giovanni’s punishment when he hears of my failure. I’ll tell him she escaped, which isn’t a total lie, but my gut tells me he won’t care.

As I deboard and turn on my cell, notifications regarding a couple of missed calls from Elio come through, along with a text demanding I call him.

And this is it. This is the start of the end. If only I could say goodbye to Padre first.

Bracing for the cries of betrayal, I call him back. He answers immediately, and without greeting, demands, “Damn plane took too long to land. Get to the Mancini mansion. Zeno needs your support.”

Zeno? “Is…is he okay? What happened?”

Elio takes a shuddering breath. A few seconds of grim silence pass before he murmurs, “His father is dead. The Russians attacked.”

The Mancini villa has always held an ominous feeling, despite the tan outer colour and many arched windows that make it seem more like a vacation home than a mob leader’s mansion.

It’s difficult to explain, but it feels like blood stains the walls, even when it doesn’t. Like agony and terror have flitted through them. Screams that are silent now but weren’t always. Which, probably since it’s been in Zeno’s family for ages, going through quite a few Capos. Countless horrors surely echo in the walls.

As I reach it, a different ominous sense greets me. Silence that propels me down the hallway and into a sitting room where the remaining Mancinis are.

Elio is standing by the window, rapidly typing on his phone. He should be rallying troops, stepping in as interim Capo, and exacting revenge for his leader’s death, but as I scan the room, his reason for lingering becomes apparent.

On the couch is Zeno’s madre, Gabriella, sobbing into a tissue. Gabriella and Giovanni split up around the time of her daughter’s conception, but emotions lingered. At least, for her.

Serafina clings to her left side, her thin arms around her mother’s neck but widened eyes pinned onto her older half brother, who she’s looked up to from the day she was laid in his arms as a baby.

On her other side, Zeno’s bent in half, unmoving, with his head in his hands. Blood coats his arms and clothing, a foreboding sense settling in the base of my gut as I cross the room and kneel in front of him.

What do I say to a person who lost a parent? I don’t fucking know. So I go for silence instead, staring at my hands and waiting for him to show signs of life.

For a long while, no one moves. No one speaks. Serafina occasionally whispers to Zeno about “big emotions,” but she quickly gives up when she realizes now isn’t the time. She tucks herself onto Gabriella’s lap and yawns.

Nearly an hour passes between my arrival and Zeno lifting his head. His face has been rubbed raw, his eyes tinged with red, but it’s beneath the skin that really freaks me out. He’s…soulless. This isn’t my best friend. This is a guy who lost his father. Empty and maybe a bit broken.

Lost.

“He’s gone, Nero. He’s fucking gone.”

Sorry won’t cut it. Nothing I can say will make this feel better, so I simply whisper, “I know.”

“It was the Bratva. They shot up the bar… Killed him right in front of me.” He glares down at his blood-crusted pants, stained with the ghosts of today. “I will kill Ursin Volkov.”

Gabriella shoots me a tight smile, probably sensing Zeno’s impending explosion, and hoists Serafina onto her hip before leaving the room. The instant the door shuts, Zeno shoots to his feet, hands in his hair, and paces the room.

Guess she was correct.

“I want them gone—all of them. The Bratva fucked with the Cosa Nostra for the last time.” He whirls on Elio. “What the fuck were they after us for? What do you know?”

Elio’s brows come together. “Zeno, I don’t think now is the right time to⁠—”

“I don’t fucking care what you think! Tell me what is going on!”