Chapter 38 THIRTY EIGHT

Chapter 38 THIRTY EIGHT
SERGEI'S POV      

The way Anya Vescovi could go through a ton of emotions within a few minutes was something that'd never not amuse me. But now, all I felt wasn't amusement at the fact that she'd been fiery hot only a few seconds ago, her tongue sharper than a sword as she endlessly spluttered, and now her cheeks were hot pink and she looked like she was about to melt into a puddle in the seat.

The memory of the last time still clung to me.

And honestly, as long as this car was still being used, I'd never be able to scrub the imagery of yesterday off my mind.

She spluttered over her words. "I — I — I —" nothing intelligible escaping her lips as I scooted towards the edge of the chair.

"You never learn." It was a dry chuckle but I could see how affected she was by the humorless sound.

"I swear I wasn't listening —"

"You swear when you lie?" I asked.

She shook her head speedily.

I wasn't even mad at her. I was more troubled that she'd caught something about the doctor's visit. That was the most crucial secret that only I and the people in my innermost circle knew about. Cheryl, Ova, Rus, Rose, Pavel. No one else knew about it. Anyone else knowing I constantly had to pay a visit to the hospital would be a danger to me. Before, I hadn't exactly known I had enemies other than Vescovi and his men, and now that I knew, any crucial secret of mine would stay and die with me. No one else could find out other than the people I trusted, and now that the mole in the group was dead, I could be at ease that it wouldn't.

But the look in Anya's eyes — fear tinged still with curiosity — made me almost afraid she'd find out what I'd been struggling with for over twelve years of my life.

"The hospital visit…" I said.

"You will never mention it."

"Y — y — you're not mad?"

"Mad that you eavesdropped. Not mad that you're curious."

"You're not —"

"I know you have questions. And it's only a matter of time before whatever lid you have over that curiosity bursts open. But there are things I can never tell you. Things I can —"

The car sped over a bump enough to have me shake in my seat. It was just a tiny ruckus, but I was far from relaxed, looking over my shoulder at Tim, the driver, who didn't even seem moved by the bump. Maybe I was overthinking things and just needed to calm down a little.

I'd asked Ova and Rus to check every single part of the car before I dared put Anya into it. If Pavel had been on their side, selling them information, I couldn't risk just shoving her in cars without checking twice that the damn brake stopped when you wanted it to stop.

Anya's eyes were wide when I looked back at her. "Is something going on?"

I hadn't expected the question, but it was only logical she asked.

"No."

"You keep acting like something is."

I tilted my head, trying to play it off. "How so?"

"First… and maybe not even related…"

"Okay?"

"….You always have on a mask and that…" she hesitated. "Cap."

"I don't always have it on."

"In Boston…. You had it on our way here…"

"Anya…." I frowned. "You know I have a scar."

For a few ticking seconds, nothing.

And then:

"That's not it, is it?"

The car hit another bump.

This time it was almost enough to throw me from my seat, but I didn't pay any attention to it.

"I see you're being stealthy," I said. "You're trying to poke around to see why —"

"Dark rooms," she cut in before I could finish.

My fingers gripped my knees through my jeans. "This is another part of you."

I clicked my tongue. "I see you've been studying me…"

She didn't let me land. "As you’ve been studying me for years. Tell me, Sergei… does this make you uncomfortable?"

I reclined into the seat, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. She was scared, sure, but the Vescovi blood in her wouldn’t stop pushing until she found an opening. It was the tactical instinct of a mafia daughter; I’d expected her to inherit her father’s iron will, but seeing it directed at me was different.

"Discomfort isn't in my vocabulary."

"And I'm supposed to believe that? That nothing ever puts you on edge?"

My eyes narrowed. "Where is this going, Anya?"

She pretended to think as my eyes catalogued every tiniest gesture she made. Her fingers were gripping the seat. Anxiety. She was perched at the edge. Nervousness. She was trying to be slow with her words but each time it slipped, I caught the way she tripped over one word or the other. Fear. She was still very afraid, and maybe not even of me this time — she was scared of returning to her father's house.

Even if it was for just a few minutes to see her mother before we took off.

Rus and Ova were going to be waiting with a jet ready for our immediate travel after moving Rosie from the house in the woods. It couldn't be any safer now that the men had gone there after an attack, and I wanted Rosie in one piece even if it meant moving her to another country's safe house without prior notice.

Anya and I were going to be in and out of Nichols Hills.

Like we were never there.

Marino was still out there, breathing and alive as any other enemy that could be watching from the shadows.

Anya continued to put together her analysis. "The dark house in Boston…"

"What has that got to do with this?"

"Everything."

"Everything with what?"

"About whatever reasons you might be needing to visit a doctor so often."

She was ticking me off again. "Nobody mentioned that I had to be at the doctor's so often…"

"Your man said it like you were on the verge of dying."

I didn't give her any reaction to work with. "Dying or not, what has that got to do with you? Or with… this…. I —"

She cut me off. "Is that why you suddenly changed your mind?"

She didn't even need to finish the sentence. I immediately knew what she was talking about. "Is this about the contract?"

"No." She shook her head. "This is about you in general. YOU. Everything is about YOU."

"What about me?"

In the pocket of my jeans, the sudden vibration of my phone ripped my attention from her.

I shifted in the seat, digging the vibrating phone from my pocket as we blurred past the stone pillars of Nichols Hills.
Anya hadn't noticed we were here.

I was sure of it.

If she had, she probably would have stopped her endless talking to throw up on my shoes. But instead, her eyes were glued to me, brown and wide, watching as I successfully removed the phone from my pocket and flipped it over to peer at the screen.

The name flashing on it was Cheryl.

I'd been expecting a call from her ever since we left the house, as she'd sent men to do a perimeter search of the Vescovi estate to see if it was safe enough to get in and out within minutes. Or if we needed a plan B to make sure Anya had a chance to sit with her mother before we left.

But the urgency in her voice the moment I placed the phone to my ear told me both our plans might have been burned to cinders. 

"You've got to go back." She panted into the phone.

"What do you mean?"

The harsh pant of her voice, her heavy breathing, the occasional sound of what sounded like heels kissing tarmac told me she was speed walking.

"You need to go back." She stressed.

I didn't move in my seat, but Anya sat up in hers, confrontation paused mid-conversation as she kept her eyes on my face. Not on the windows. Not on the mansions we sped by as we drove deeper into the old street. But on my face.

Cheryl's heels clicked harder. She was running now.

That alarmed me.

I sat up immediately.

"Did you go there yourself?"

"Sergei, I wanted to… I wanted to…"

"I told you not to go by yourself."

Anya flinched from the yell. "What the fuck is happening?"

"I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to check on her… but listen, listen, listen… oh, god —"

"Cheryl." I was genuinely worried. Worried for her. I yanked the mask off my face while Anya continued to watch me, tracking every tick of my jaw, every strain in my face, as if she was trying to pick out something from my expressions. "I think we're twenty minutes away…"

Her eyes snapped to the windows.

"Are you there?"

I heard her gasp.

"Why are you there? I told you to send men, not you. Why are you there?"

"Sergei," the franticness in her voice matched the agitation rising in me. "Don't come here. I'll tell you everything later…."

"No, now."

"Later… but first, I need you to turn back right now. Don't come here. NOW. TELL THE DRIVER TO TURN AROUND."

"Why….'' My strained voice screamed into the phone. ''why?"

She didn't give a direct answer to my question; the last I heard of her panting voice was, ''In all you do, don't let her come here.'' Before the call ended.