4. Vasilisa
Chapter 4
Vasilisa
A fter our last class, Luna and I head straight to our favorite café—our little ritual since we started university. No matter how insane life gets, once a month, we carve out time to sit, sip overpriced lattes, and spill every last bit of gossip we’ve collected.
Between our packed schedules and completely different courses, it’s the one chance we get to catch up properly.
Luna’s been my best friend since seventh grade. She knows me better than anyone—probably even better than I know myself sometimes. When the whole school found out I was Maksim Korsakov’s cousin, that I came from Bratva blood, people started treating me like I was carrying a loaded gun.
Not Luna.
She never flinched, never looked at me differently. If anything, she leaned in closer, like she enjoyed the chaos. She loves my family, reputation and all.
We slide into our usual booth by the window, lattes steaming between us, a plate of food already half-demolished as we talk and laugh.
Luna’s brown eyes glint with mischief as she leans in, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
“Can you get us into Exile?”
I pause mid-bite, my panini hovering in front of me. “You know Maks doesn’t like us going to his club without him knowing,” I murmur, avoiding her gaze.
Luna groans, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force. “Please, Vasi.”
Then come the puppy-dog eyes.
“I’ll even ask Maks myself if you give me his number.” She wiggles her eyebrows, grinning.
I snort. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“Obviously.” Luna grins, all confidence and mischief.
“But no,” I say, my tone softening at her persistence. “You don’t know Maksim like I do.”
She shrugs, smirking. “He’s always been sweet around me.”
I huff a laugh. “That’s because you’re my friend.” I lean in, lowering my voice like I’m letting her in on some great secret. “It’s a different story for the women he… dates.” I grimace.
Luna rolls her eyes, unconcerned. “I’m sure I can handle it. What about him?” She nods toward someone behind me.
I don’t have to turn around. I already know who she’s talking about.
Pietro.
My guard. Maksim’s soldier. A shadow that follows me everywhere.
“No.”
Luna sighs dramatically. “Why not? Do you still have a little crush?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “No.” I try to sound casual. “I’m with Jude.”
Luna fake gags, loud enough that the couple at the next table side-eyes us. It only takes a second before we both dissolve into giggles.
No one likes Jude.
Not even me anymore.
I swallow the thought before it can go anywhere, before I have to acknowledge what it really means.
I’d end it if I could.
But Maksim wouldn’t allow it.
I sigh, checking the time.
Obligation calls.
Maksim expects me at the charity event with Jude, and there’s no getting out of it.
As we gather our things, I steal a glance at Pietro.
Maybe I can convince him to talk to Maksim. Maybe, just maybe , I can get permission for Luna and me to go to Exile soon.
A night out with her might be exactly what I need.
***
Jude is rambling, his voice too loud, too eager, filling the back of his father’s town car like an unwelcome echo. The city lights blur past the windows, streaks of gold and red cutting through the dark.
The stench of alcohol rolls off him, thick and nauseating, making my stomach twist. His words slur together, tangling into one long, incoherent mess. I stop trying to follow, letting his voice fade into the background. Instead, I focus on the steady hum of the engine beneath us, the familiar rhythm grounding me.
We’ve been together for a couple of years now, though together feels like a stretch. Ever since he moved away for grad school, it’s been more of a long-distance obligation than a relationship.
His father— the mayor —is in the middle of a re-election campaign, and Jude?
Well… he’s just Jude.
Handsome in his designer suit, sure, but that novelty faded fast when I realized we have nothing in common. His entitled, shallow worldview grates against everything I believe in, everything I know to be true.
But I never chose this.
Maksim asked me to date Jude back in my freshman year—as a favor to the family. And I agreed.
Because that’s what’s expected of me.
Because no matter what I might want, my future isn’t mine to decide. My sister and I have always been pawns, groomed for arranged marriages that would strengthen the Bratva’s alliances.
I just never imagined I’d end up as the wife of a future politician.
That’s all Jude talks about these days—politics, strategy, his grand plan to one day be president. The thought of him at the helm of an entire country sends a shiver down my spine.
I barely register the question he’s just asked, nodding out of habit as the car rolls to a stop. Relief floods through me.
Finally.
I reach for the door, eager to escape, but before I can, Jude moves closer, his lips crashing against mine. His tongue is sloppy, pushing against my lips, demanding entrance.
The taste of vodka and desperation turns my stomach.
I press my hands to his chest, pushing him away gently.
I hate when he drinks .
“I should get inside,” I say softly, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“Of course.” Jude nods sharply, unbuckling himself and stepping out to open my door.
The second I step into the cool night air, his hands are on me—pressing me back against the car, his arms caging me in.
Too close.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his breath thick with alcohol. “I just miss you so much, and every time I’m home, we have to make these appearances for my family. Please, move to Seattle. Live with me.”
His lips find my cheek, trailing downward along my jaw.
I turn away, trying to maneuver out of his hold, but all that does is give him access to my neck.
I place my hands firmly on his chest, pushing slightly. “I have two years left of school. And my family—you know they have opinions.”
Jude pulls back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing.
“But they arranged this, they arranged us.” His voice is quieter now, edged with frustration. “Why would they have a problem with us being together? With you moving in with me?”
His eyes darken, searching mine for something I can’t give him.
I exhale slowly.
Jude only knows half the truth when it comes to my family.
He doesn’t know about the real reason Maksim picked him. Doesn’t know about the clandestine dealings, the hidden alliances, the unspoken expectations that come with being Bratva.
And he never will.
I press harder against his chest, and this time, he finally steps back.
“Let’s discuss this another time,” I say, avoiding Jude’s intense gaze as he pleads with me. His emotions hang heavy between us, thick enough to suffocate. “It’s not as simple as you think. I need time.”
His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean? You know how much I care about you.”
I take a step back, trying to put distance between us. “I know. But please, I just… I need time to sort things out.”
Jude’s expression shifts in an instant—his frustration flaring as he closes the space I just created.
“Is there someone else?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I just need space to breathe. ”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they aren’t entirely true.
Jude exhales sharply. “Fine then.”
His tone is cold now, clipped. He steps aside, finally letting me pass. I don’t look back as I walk up the driveway.
This is always how it ends—with Jude dropping me off at the gate, leaving without a second glance.
I greet the guards with a forced smile, relieved by their presence as they push open the gates. As Jude’s town car pulls away, another set of headlights rolls up—an SUV with its engine rumbling low and steady.
Pietro.
He’s late.
He must’ve made a detour with that pretty brunette from the charity event.
The window on the passenger side slides down, revealing his lopsided grin.
“Get in, gorgeous.”
“Pietro!” I scold, climbing into the vehicle. The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around me, soothing in a way I don’t question. “The other guards can hear you. And Maksim would not like that term of endearment.”
Pietro chuckles, the sound easy, familiar. “What? Maksim knows I adore you. We’re close in age. And it’s all platonic… unless you don’t want it to be. ”
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips.
I slap his arm playfully, and he gives me a gentle shove back. The easy familiarity between us lingers as he drives down the long, winding driveway toward my home.
Silence settles between us—not awkward, not heavy, just… comfortable.
Until he parks in front of the house.
And doesn’t move.
The ignition stays on, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual. He doesn’t reach for the door, doesn’t throw out another teasing remark.
One look at his face puts me on edge.
Something is wrong.
“What is it?”
Pietro exhales slowly, a few strands of blonde hair slipping from his top knot, framing his sharp jaw. His hand lifts, cupping my face so gently it makes my chest tighten. His piercing eyes lock onto mine.
“I’ve been reassigned.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, his touch lingering like he knows what this means for me, like he knows I’ll hate what comes next.
I shake his hand off, my pulse hammering. “No. You can’t. I’ll call Maksim, this isn’t fair—”
I fumble for my phone, but my clutch is missing.
Of course, Pietro already thought of that. He reaches into the back seat and hands it to me. “Maksim is the reason I was late to meet you.”
My stomach drops.
“When you go in there,” he continues, pointing toward the front door, “your father will have news for you. You will take it. And you will make us proud.”
I know what that means.
I’ve always known.
This moment has been looming over me for years, and yet, somehow, I thought I’d have more time.
But knowing doesn’t make it easier.
The sting behind my eyes comes fast, the lump in my throat growing thick, impossible to swallow. But I force it down anyway, willing the tears to stay put .
This must be it.
They’re making me marry Jude. They’re making me a politician’s wife.
This can’t be happening.
Despite my efforts, a single tear escapes.
Pietro catches it before it can fall, his hands framing my face again. He presses a firm kiss to my forehead, the warmth of it steadying me, even as my world shifts beneath me.
Then, just as quickly, he releases me.
He steps out, walks around, and opens my door.
I take a few short, sharp breaths, trying to push down the emotions clawing their way to the surface.
Shoulders back. Chin up.
I unbuckle myself, stepping out of the car, nodding at Pietro in silent thanks.
Then I turn toward the house.
Toward my fate.
As I step inside my home, I pause, taking in the inviting golden glow of the interior. The walls, adorned with precious family portraits, paint a picture of warmth, of love, of home.
But it’s all a lie.
A carefully curated illusion meant to hide the truth.
I was born into this world not as a daughter, not as a sister, but as a pawn—another piece in the high-stakes game of power and control. My sole purpose? To marry into a powerful family, to secure alliances that would strengthen the Bratva.
I always knew marriage was inevitable.
But this soon?
To someone I didn’t even like?
And worst of all—to lose Pietro in the process?
Maksim always kept me in the loop—or at least let me believe I had some say. When he wanted me to date Jude, he told me himself, assured me it was just a means to an end. That I was helping the family, that it was temporary .
This?
This feels different.
Rushed.
Like a door slamming shut before I even realized I was walking toward it.
There is no love, no passion, nothing between Jude and me except his selfish desires and his relentless hunger for power. He will do anything to get ahead, to climb higher, and he expects me to be his stepping stone.
That doesn’t bode well for a marriage.
With a heavy heart, I reach my father’s study and knock.
“Come in.” His voice is steady, familiar.
I push open the door to find him sitting behind his desk, a folder in hand. His smile is practiced, polite, but I sense it immediately— something is off.
I close the door behind me, forcing my shoulders back, my expression composed as I lower myself into the chair across from him.
Without a word, he slides the folder across the desk.
“Congratulations, Vasilisa.” His voice carries no warmth, only finality. “Maksim has informed me that he has found you a husband. This will be a powerful alliance for our family, one that you should be proud of.”
I nod stiffly, my fingers curling around the folder.
“I know. Jude mentioned it.”
I open it, bracing myself for what I expect—a contract, a marriage certificate, a one-way ticket to Seattle.
Instead—
I’m greeted by a photograph.
A man.
Handsome. Sharp features. Dark hair. Dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit.
He doesn’t look like a politician.
Doesn’t look like a Jude .
He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine.
Not in an arranged marriage.
“Jude mentioned what?” My father’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
I tear my eyes away from the photo, my pulse quickening as I try to find the right words. “He mentioned… me possibly moving to Seattle.”
The second the words leave my mouth, my father’s expression hardens.
“Well, that’s certainly not going to happen.” His voice is firm, absolute. A decision that was never mine to make. “You can take your folder now and go. Everything you need to know is in there.”
I barely hear him. My fingers tighten around the edges of the folder as I scan the name printed on the page.
Santo Amato.
Cosa Nostra.
Not Jude. Not a politician.
But something worse. Something far more dangerous.
This isn’t just an arranged marriage. This is a power move—an alliance between two of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world.
My stomach turns.
I wasn’t ready to belong to Jude, but at least I knew him. Knew his selfishness, his ambition. His hunger for power was predictable.
Santo Amato, though?
He could be anyone.
And the unknown is far more terrifying than the familiar.
“Wait,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The walls feel like they’re closing in around me. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
My father doesn’t even blink. “There is no waiting, Vasilisa. Maksim has arranged this, and you will do it.”
I linger, hoping for something—a moment of hesitation, a shred of warmth. A sign that this matters to him beyond the business of it.
But there’s nothing.
Just the dismissive wave of his hand, as if marrying me off is no different than finalizing a deal.
Like I’m an asset. A transaction.
I swallow hard and rise from my chair, clutching the folder like it might ground me. Without another word, I leave the office, my heels clicking against the marble as I make my way up the stairs.
I hold the tears back until I reach my room.
Then, the second the door closes behind me, I let them fall.
I hate this.
I know my duty. I know what’s expected of me. But that doesn’t make it easier.
I toss my clutch onto the dresser and collapse onto my bed, my fingers still gripping the folder like it holds the answers to a future I never wanted.
With a shaky breath, I open it again.
My eyes fall back to the photo.
Santo Amato.
The man I’m supposed to marry.
He is strikingly handsome.
The kind of man who looks like he was sculpted for power—broad shoulders, sharp angles, deep gray eyes that seem to see right through me. His jawline is strong, defined, a silent promise of determination.
His dark hair is a perfect balance of control and chaos—the sides neatly trimmed while the top is left just a little longer, styled in a way that looks both deliberate and carelessly tousled.
It’s unfair, really. The kind of effortless suaveness that makes it look like he never has to try at anything.
The expression in the photo is blank.
Not warm. Not cold. Just composed .
I wonder what kind of man he is behind that stoic facade.
He looks perfect. Too perfect .
Men like him don’t need arranged marriages.
Whatever reason Maksim had for choosing him, it wasn’t because he lacked options.
My gaze flickers to the information sheet beside his picture—details about his family, his education, his career in technology . That explains the alliance.
A man in search of power.
Just like every other man in my world.
A sharp knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
I blink, wiping at my cheeks, forcing myself to breathe as I straighten. “Come in.”
The door creaks open.
Mimi.
She lingers in the doorway, her expression hovering somewhere between concern and curiosity.
Dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, she looks even younger than fifteen—especially when she smiles, her braces flashing, making her seem more like the kid she used to be.
She steps inside, shutting the door quietly before padding over to me.
I sit up, the folder still clutched in my hands.
Mimi doesn’t hesitate—she never does.
She just hops onto my bed like she belongs there, like she always has, giving me a small, apologetic smile.
“I heard Mom and Dad talking… are you okay?”
Mimi’s voice is quiet, hesitant, and it cracks something inside me.
She still has time.
A year, maybe less, before Maksim starts arranging her future—lining up potential matches, setting her up with the sons of powerful men.
And I envy her for it.
For the short-lived freedom she doesn’t even realize she has.
Wordlessly, I hand her the folder. She flips it open, her eyes widening as a long, low whistle escapes her lips.
A blush creeps up her neck, blooming across her cheeks.
“Wow, Vasi. He is really hot. You lucked out.”
I chuckle, shoving her playfully before snatching the folder back. “He’s handsome, but he’s a stranger .”
Mimi shrugs. “Did you want to marry Jude instead?”
I grimace. “Definitely not.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I exhale, setting the folder on my nightstand. “I just… I wanted to know the man first.”
Mimi tilts her head, her gaze turning knowing. “The way you know Pietro?”
I freeze for half a second.
“There’s nothing between Pietro and me. He’s just my friend.”
“A friend that you had a crush on.“ Her smirk is infuriating.
“Had. Past tense.”
Mimi sighs, studying me for a moment before her voice drops. “He’s here, you know.”
My stomach tightens. “Pietro?” I shake my head. “No, he said he was reassigned—” I trail off as she bites her lip, suddenly avoiding my gaze.
“Yeah. He did.” Her eyes flick toward my bedroom door.
A sudden, urgent pull drags me forward.
I rush to the door, yanking it open.
And there he is.
Pietro.
His gaze meets mine, heavy with something I don’t want to hear.
An apology.
“I was told to let Mimi know, so I came back,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “But I’m leaving for the night. I just wanted to let you know as well.”
I don’t think.
I move.
Throwing my arms around his waist with enough force that he lets out a quiet grunt before wrapping me up in return.
“I thought you were reassigned to another family!”
I pull back just enough to swat at his firm chest.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Ow, Vasi.”
“In my defense, Maksim didn’t tell me who I was assigned to until after I dropped you off,” he says, glancing toward Mimi, who now stands beside us, watching the exchange.
“See you tomorrow, Pietro.” She flashes him a quick smile before darting off to her room.
Pietro’s eyes don’t leave her until she’s safely inside. Only then does he turn his full attention back to me.
“You okay?”
I exhale slowly, my grip tightening around the folder still in my hand. “I don’t know. I’m apparently marrying Santo Amato.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I knew you were arranged, but I didn’t know who to.” His head tilts slightly, expression shifting. “He’s a big deal, Vasi. This bodes well for you. A powerful man like him, in a powerful family… no wonder I was reassigned. You’re going to need more security.”
My stomach twists. “More security?”
Pietro immediately softens, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t worry, Vasi. This is good for you. And for the Bratva.”
His hands find my shoulders, grounding me, steadying me. Then, slowly, they slide up—one resting against my cheek, fingers tilting my chin up until I have no choice but to look at him.
“Breathe.”
I inhale shakily, focusing on the quiet intensity in his gaze—filled with concern and something more, something unspoken yet palpable.
Pietro has been my protector, my confidant—the one person I can count on when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of my control.
He knows me better than anyone.
Knows my fears. Knows my hopes. Knows me.
And right now, standing in the dim glow of the hallway, with an arranged marriage hanging over my head and an uncertain future waiting for me, he’s the only thing that feels familiar.
A rush of emotions crashes through me—gratitude for his unwavering loyalty, anxiety over what lies ahead with Santo Amato, and something else.
Something I can’t place.
Pietro’s thumb brushes against my cheek, a silent reassurance.
A promise.
No matter what happens, we’re in this together.
“You’ll be fine, Vasi,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “I’ll make sure of it.”
A sense of calm settles over me. “Thank you, Pietro,” I whisper. For a second, I let myself lean into his touch, wishing, irrationally, that it could be him. But wishing is dangerous, and in this life, it’s useless.
“Goodnight.”
Pietro makes his leave as I go back to my room and prepare myself for what’s to come.