6. Santo
Chapter 6
Santo
A couple days at NovaRael, and I’m already in my element. I’ve met with every department head—development, security, finance, engineering—all the way down to sales.
The cybersecurity and finance departments are the only ones privy to the actual business operations. The rest? Just a front for the successful empire that is NovaRael.
With WesTech as our only real competitor, I have very little to worry about as I settle into my newly decorated office.
Miroslav’s abrupt departure only serves to benefit me, as I insisted that that the large wooden desk be removed before my arrival.
Now, sitting behind my sleek glass desk with multiple monitors perched on top, I survey the finances and operations of the company that is now under my control.
As I dig deeper into the files, one stands out. QUEEN. A single word, locked behind a firewall I can’t crack. My attempts to access it are denied, sending a flicker of irritation through me. I don’t like unanswered questions.
I search through Miroslav’s email for a hint—nothing. No mentions. No passwords. No explanation. Just silence.
I don’t trust silence.
I grab my phone and call the head of cyber security. “Find out what the hell ‘QUEEN’ is,” I order. “I want answers before the week is out.”
He assures me that his team will have answers soon. A sly smile creeps across my face, reveling in the satisfaction of being king over this vast empire. I have everything I want. Angelo gets the title he wants, I don’t have to run Cosa Nostra, I throw a credit card at my vapid bride, and I run surveillance intel for both Cosa Nostra and the Bratva, life could not be better right now.
Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, a persistent knock breaks through my concentration.
“Come in,” I answer as Luca walks into my office, a folder in his hand. The paper rustles slightly as he shakes it, causing me to tense up in anticipation.
“I got the information you wanted on Vasilisa,” he says, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk and handing me the folder. He kicks his feet up onto my desk with a smirk. “We followed her to a charity event, she went with Jude Olsen, the son of the standing mayor. Apparently, they have been together for a couple of years.”
I open the folder to find it filled with photos and phone records. I quickly scan the first photo, seeing Vasilisa, trapped between a car and Jude Olsen, wearing a black dress that looks uncomfortable on her petite frame. The next photo shows her getting into an SUV, but I can’t make out who is sitting beside her.
“Who is she with in the SUV?”
“Pietro Ivanov, her former guard,” Luca answers. “He was reassigned to her sister that night according to Korsakov.”
I flip through more photos, each one showing Vasilisa with either Jude or Pietro by her side. In one photo, Pietro even has his lips pressed against her forehead, sending a tingle of unfamiliarity through me.
“What exactly is their relationship?”
Luca chuckles, “As far as I know, just a guard. But he did accompany them to the bridal store.”
I raise an eyebrow and move on to the next photo, which shows Pietro admiring my soon-to-be wife as she tries on wedding dresses. A flash of anger washes over me before I take a deep breath to control myself and continue flipping through the folder. There are more photos of Vasilisa, shopping with Cassandra, some with her family… nothing out of the ordinary, but the ones of her alone with Ivanov give me pause, in some photos, they’re holding hands.
I slam the folder shut, my frustration boiling over. “Is she always this close with her guard?” I grit out.
Luca removes his feet from my desk and studies me. “I thought this was just an arrangement.”
“It is, but I don’t want my future wife still entangled with other men after our marriage,” I state firmly.
Luca nods in understanding. “From what I’ve observed, she only goes for his hand when her mother is around. She seems comfortable around him, and they may have formed some sort of attachment due to them being close in age, but there is no evidence of any physical relationship between them.”
“What else is in here?” I ask, gesturing to the folder.
“The photos hacked from her cellphone and taken from her socials, as well as contact information and text transcripts she has. As you can see, the texts with Pietro primarily consist of him asking for her location, with no personal topics discussed between them.”
I open the folder again and take in the photos, all of them are selfies or photos of Vasilisa and who I assume is her sister, the others are photos of her and that Jude . I flip through the text transcripts, noting Luca’s claims that the messages with Pietro are harmless. But my attention is drawn to the texts between Vasilisa and Jude, specifically the final one where he asks about her arranged marriage. Her response is a simple confirmation.
A small sense of satisfaction fills me as I close the folder and set it on my desk. A photo slips out, fluttering to the ground. I retrieve it, flipping it over—
And pause.
Vasilisa. A soft yellow dress. Sunlight framing her golden hair. She’s smiling—bright, open, untouched by the world I live in.
Something unfamiliar settles in my chest. I don’t know what to call it. But I do know one thing.
She is stunning.
Luca clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts. “Anything else, boss?” he asks, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he glances from my face to the photo in my hand.
“I want her phone. I need you to deliver her a new one that doesn't have access to her socials or the photos of her and the mayor’s son. The only contacts she needs to keep are familial, add my number and yours.”
I wave a hand dismissing him.
He chuckles knowingly before leaving without another word. I’m left alone with Vasilisa’s photo in my hand, wondering what she thinks of this whole arrangement. My work phone buzzes on the desk, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Mr. Amato, I have a list of potential candidates for the secretary position,” Sandra’s voice rings out through the speaker.
“Thank you Sandra, please email me the list.”
“Of course, sir,” she responds before hanging up.
I make a mental note to schedule interviews for a later date. Tonight, I have a meeting with Angelo at Exile, perhaps Maksim will be there, and I can ask him about this former guard of Vasilisa’s. Despite the innocent texts I’ve seen, Cassandra had mentioned the way he looks at Vasilisa. If Maksim is there, I’ll make sure to arrange a meeting with Pietro to clear up any misunderstandings about who Vasilisa now belongs to. I can’t explain this sudden need to assert my ownership over her, but as her future husband, I expect a certain level of respect when it comes to what’s mine.
***
Exile is busy most Friday evenings, but tonight seems especially bustling. I sit in VIP, high above the dance floor, with Angelo and Maksim. The two of them are three drinks in, the bottle service girls draped across them like ornaments. Their laughter blends with the bass thumping below, drowning out any actual conversation we came here to have.
My patience wearing thin, I finally speak up. “Do you think you could dismiss the girls so we can get down to business?” I ask, my tone flat but sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Maksim smirks, tipping his glass toward me lazily. “Why don’t you lighten Santo up, Ana? He’s about to be a married man. Show him a good time.”
Before I can react, the redhead slides onto my lap, her perfume so thick it clings to the back of my throat.
I stand abruptly, catching her waist to steady her. “No.”
Maksim and Angelo’s laughter follows me as I descend into the crowd, weaving through bodies moving to the pulse of the music. Their sweat and perfume mix in the air, but I filter it out as I approach the bar.
“Santo!” The bartender greets me before I can speak, pouring whiskey without waiting for an order.
“Busy night?” I ask, glancing at the dance floor.
“Busier than usual.” He gestures toward the entrance, and my gaze follows instinctively.
Then, she walks in.
Vasilisa glides into the club, and suddenly, everything around her fades. Golden hair bouncing with each step, framing her delicate features in soft, loose waves. And that dress… midnight blue, clinging to her like it was made for her, dipping low in a sharp, daring V that catches my breath. It hugs her slender frame, tracing every subtle curve, clinging in ways that shouldn’t affect me, but the way it catches the light makes it hard to look away.
It’s the kind of dress that turns heads. The kind that invites attention, lingering stares, and thoughts that men shouldn’t have about my future wife. A slow, unfamiliar heat curls in my chest. Possessiveness, sharp and sudden.
She’s supposed to be mine.
No one else should be looking.
She chats animatedly with the brunette she walked in with, her face lights up with a bright smile that is impossible to ignore. Pietro follows closely, a silent shadow at her side. My eyes narrow. I thought he was her sister’s guard now.
I take a slow sip of whiskey, but the taste barely registers.
Without thinking, I head back to the booth, sinking into the seat next to Maksim. My eyes never stray far from her.
She’s found a table to sit at directly in my eye line, she wears a neon blue band on her wrist indicating she’s underage to drink. Despite that, Pietro brings them both drinks as the two women continue to talk. She laughs and the air around me fades away, her beauty triples the brighter her smile is.
My focus solely on her.
I wonder what was said that evoked that laugh and I want it to happen again.
“So, I send the girls away just for you to sit here in silence while you watch your girl?” Maksim teases beside me breaking me from my thoughts.
My girl .
I remove my gaze from Vasilisa and shift my attention to Maksim and Angelo. “I didn’t expect her to be here.”
“She’s not supposed to be,” Maksim says passing a sharp look in Vasilisa’s direction, I notice then that Pietro is staring up at Maksim. “She should be at home preparing for her upcoming nuptials, but you know women these days. I’ll allow her to have the night.”
Angelo watches her too, and something about the way his eyes linger makes me tense.
“She’s even more beautiful in person,” Angelo comments, his tone light but observant.
My grip tightens on the glass.
“She’s my favorite cousin,” Maksim says with pride. “She’s built for this life.”
“Built for it?” I murmur, eyes fixed on her.
Maksim leans back, tipping his drink toward the ceiling, finishing it before answering. “She’ll be the perfect wife. Knows how to keep quiet and stand by her man. She respects the business, understands what it means to belong to it. She’ll be whatever you need her to be.”
His words leave a bitter taste behind.
I expected a wife with no strings—a woman content with luxuries, happy to stay out of my affairs. Not someone Maksim crafted to be a mirror of this life.
Angelo lifts his glass. “Lucky man.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
But I can’t stop watching her.
She’s now dancing with her friend, their bodies swaying in sync with the pulsating beat.
Maksim chuckles at my response. “Don’t be modest Santo,” he retorts.
“My cousin is a good woman. She has a kind temperament and she’s smart, You’ll get along well.”
I scoff at his words, nursing my drink as I watch her. Vasilisa sways, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. There’s nothing rehearsed about the way she carries herself. Confidence. The kind that feels rare. It pulls at me, making it harder to look away.
She stops suddenly, scanning the club. Her gaze locks with mine from across the room.
Everything else fades.
Recognition flickers in her eyes, widening just slightly as realization sets in. She knows who I am. And she doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
For a fleeting moment, I see something in her expression—curiosity, uncertainty. We hold each other’s gaze for longer than necessary.
Longer than I should allow.
Then she turns, the spell breaking as if it never happened.
I swivel my attention back to Maksim and Angelo and lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Pietro Ivanov,” I say, not bothering to mask the edge in my voice.
Maksim’s brow lifts. “What about him?”
“Will he be an issue when it comes to Vasilisa?”
Maksim chuckles, “No need to be jealous Santo, he’s a family friend and uninterested in Vasilisa.”
“As far as you know.”
The amusement flickers in Maksim’s eyes before fading. His expression hardens slightly. “He knows better. He owes me, and he’s more useful alive than dead. There’s no need to concern yourself.”
I nod, setting the thought aside.
For now.
“Fine, let’s get back to business.”
As the night wears on, we delve into deep discussions about our next strategic moves in acquiring valuable territory. I’m tasked with spearheading the campaign to acquire buildings owned by the wealthy Beaumont brothers. One of them happens to be my biggest competition, but I agree to set up a meeting at their enterprise. Maksim shares his struggles with dealing with the Turkish mob, who have been encroaching on his territory and selling knock-off versions of his highly coveted drugs. Angelo offers his men to aid Maksim’s in locating, capturing, and interrogating one of the interlopers in hopes of obtaining information on their source. But even as the conversation shifts, I feel her presence.
When I rise to leave, Vasilisa’s gaze finds me again. This time, she smiles.
It’s subtle—small and soft—but it unsettles me more than I expect.
I walk out into the night, the image of her lingering longer than I’d like.