Page 95 of Merciless Queen

Madre watches me for a long while before standing and heading toward the kitchen. “Well, I’m sure we can all use a drink.”

That perks Nero up, who sits a bit straighter. Madre gets to pouring wine into three glasses and Nero meets her halfway, retrieving mine and his. She takes a long swig of her own and leans against the kitchen island, leveling me with a stare of displeasure that only a mother can master.

“Where’s the girl now?”

“Gone.” The truth tightens my throat a bit more and I stare into the wine glass, seeking something—not sure what—in the blood red liquid. “Her people came for her. They left earlier.”

Madre’s eyes flick to the hallway again, that dip in her brows returning. She’s a wise woman and pieces it together instantly, given her slow blink and subtle nod. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. Let her go. Leave the Bratva alone. Vengeance isn’t worth all this.”

“We’ll see, Madre. Game’s just changed, that’s all.”

Before Nero and I go,I seek out Serafina in her room to check once again she’s okay. She’s seated in the farthest corner of her bed, using the wall on either side of her to keep her upright. She doesn’t look up when I enter; all her attention remains on the notebook she’s furiously scribbling in.

“What’s that?” I take up residence just inside her doorway.

Ten seconds pass and when I assume she’s ignoring me, she peeks between fallen strands of hair without lifting her head. “My journal. I try to write in it at least weekly. Keeps me grounded.”

I’m sure you have a lot to write about this time.

“Nero and I are heading out. Wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Her tone is utterly flat.

I stride two steps farther into her room. “Sera—” But she stops me with a glare colder than death itself.

“Go away, Zeno. What happened today hasn’t changed the fact that I’m pissed at you.”

“I’m sorry, but?—”

“No buts.” She slams the notebook onto the bed beside her, and her pen rolls to the floor but neither of us retrieve it.“Stop rationalizing your decisions when you’re not validating my feelings in this. You don’t seem to understand that I get you’re worried, but it’s not right to expect me to be an emotionless, rule-abiding puppet you can control.”

No, that’s not—“Sera?—”

“Please leave, Z. Please. Like you said earlier, it’s been a day. Just…go. Please.”

For the second time today, a fight ends with neither side winning or losing.

The fact she still called me Z, a nickname only she and Nero uses, is a win, so I slowly cross the room to retrieve her pen and drop it back onto her journal. She watches my every move like a bunny about to be spooked, but doesn’t react when I bend closer and drop an affectionate kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Sera.”

I turn and exit her room.

My movements are not slowwhen I burst through the front doors of my home. After a gruelling plane ride recounting all the events of the past and what happened in Rome, I grew more and more agitated until my thoughts were centred on only one thing: arriving in Moscow.

The more I spoke, the more convinced I became that Lev and Dimitri missed something when they went through his office. Papa was a user, and Serafina was too easy of an in to the Cosa Nostra. A connection forged by blood no one could deny him of, and not that I believe he wanted anything to do with her; he wouldn’t have turned away such an easy tool. That’s all people were to him—commodities.

Deep down, Ifeelthere’s proof that he acknowledged her somewhere hidden.

While it changes nothing now, it’s time to uncover all of Papa’s secrets and hidden agendas. To stop running from his past—and my future.

My Elite follow behind, Dimitri calling out, “Where are you going?”

The one place I said I’d never go.

I turn down the hall and head for the large door that was once so intimidating. It always had me straightening my clothing, smoothing my hair, and fixing my expression before entering. It concealed the monster inside until he emerged to hunt his prey.

My hand hovers over the ornate, metal handle. I’ve never entered without permission. Even with him no longer around, it feels strange to walk in without it. More so, to willingly enter the room I’ve avoided for the past two years.

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