13. Vasilisa
Chapter 13
Vasilisa
T he rest of the week flies by, and I haven’t heard from Santo since the night he sent me home. All he left me with was a simple text—
‘Glad you’re home safe.’
After that, nothing. No calls. No messages. Just silence.
I even tried reaching out, sent him a good morning text with a selfie, something light, something that might make him smile. But it was left unread.
The distance between us stretches like an empty, endless sea.
Every time my phone lights up, my stomach twists. Hope flutters, only to collapse under the weight of disappointment when it’s never him.
He’s turning into a ghost before he’s even mine.
He had been so tender, so careful with me, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself believe. I let myself hope. But the more I think about it, the more distressing it becomes, like thorny vines coiling around my heart, squeezing tighter with every passing second.
Now, standing in front of the mirror in my bridal gown for the final fitting, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The lace is delicate, the embroidery perfect. The veil catches the light just right.
And yet, my reflection looks hollow. Like a bride on a music box—beautiful, elegant, and trapped behind the glass.
She’s beautiful, yes. But sad. Afraid.
I don’t feel like a dutiful daughter securing an alliance for my family and the Bratva. I feel na?ve. Hoodwinked. Foolish. Falling for him in a matter of days, like a child still believing in fairy tales and dreams.
Cassandra circles me, beaming. She gushes about how stunning I look in the off-shoulder lace gown, how it hugs my waist before flowing into a cloud of ivory tulle. But all I can think about is how I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter—adorned and prepared for a fate that now brings me no joy.
“He’s smitten with you, I see,” Cassandra says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I blink, confused.
She smiles knowingly and lifts my left hand. “His mother’s ring.”
“Oh… yeah.” I gently pull my hand back, cradling it in the other. “He gave it to me at dinner with her book—for formalities.”
Cassandra’s eyes widen. “What book?”
“Vita Nuova.”
I say it softly, my gaze dropping to the ring as it glitters under the boutique’s lights, casting fractured reflections against my skin.
“Vasilisa!” Cassandra all but shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders. Before she can say another word, the door swings open, and my mother and Mimi step inside, dressed for the wedding.
“You look phenomenal, Vasi!” Mimi exclaims, eyes bright with excitement. “Like a real princess! Can you picture it? With the flowers in your hair?”
“What flowers?” my mother asks, her tone clipped with thinly veiled disapproval.
“We’re weaving in small white roses,” Cassandra says, fussing over my gown. “She’s going to be breathtaking.”
“Is that necessary?” my mother counters, her voice a delicate dagger.
Cassandra’s expression hardens as she glances at her. “It’s what Santo requested.”
My heart stutters. Santo requested it.
The sound of his name coils around me, unexpected and suffocating in the best and worst way. My mother, stiff and poised, presses her lips into a thin line before giving a curt nod. She steps onto the podium, letting an attendant work on the final touches of her dress.
Cassandra doesn’t wait. She takes my hand, guiding me off the platform and through the boutique to the dressing room. Once the door clicks shut behind us, she studies me through the mirror, arms crossed.
“What’s going on with you?”
“I’m fine,” I say, meeting Cassandra’s gaze in the mirror.
She narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “Liar. What’s wrong?”
I hesitate, glancing away. “Why did you say that earlier? About him being smitten? And why were you so excited about the book?”
She gives me a look like I should already know the answer. “Vasilisa, he gave you his mother’s ring and her favorite book.”
I frown, confusion knitting my brows. “What does that mean?”
Cassandra huffs, rolling her eyes. “He never gives away his mother’s things. Ever. He treasures them—they’re his last mementos of her.”
The weight of her words crashes into me. My knees buckle, and I sink onto the velvet bench, a lump rising in my throat.
“She passed away?” My voice is barely audible.
Cassandra nods solemnly.
My hand presses over my heart, feeling it break for Santo. My mother and I aren’t particularly close, but losing her… it would wound me. I can’t imagine what it’s done to him.
“So,” Cassandra sits beside me, giving me a pointed look, “if he gave you those things, he sees something in you. Otherwise, he would never part with them.”
I swallow hard. “But… he’s been distant lately.” The words feel fragile as they leave me.
She chuckles, shrugging. “He’s second-in-command now. He has businesses to run, both legal and otherwise.” She smirks. “It comes with the territory.”
I take a sigh of relief. Cassandra gives my hand a comforting squeeze before standing up from the bench, but says nothing as she clips in my veil behind me in silence. Her face is expressionless in the mirror’s reflection as she folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head assessing me.
“You’ll learn to navigate his world,” she says finally. “It may seem daunting now, but it’s always been part of your world. You’re just in the thick of it now.”
I nod, feeling lighter. Squaring my shoulders, I inhale deeply, pushing aside the uncertainty. Whatever comes next, I will face it.
For my family. For the Bratva.
***
After a long, warm shower I prepare for bed, and pack away the last of my things. The designer outfits Cassandra picked out for me are neatly folded in my suitcase, though she assured me the rest have already been sent to Santo’s estate. My mother packed a few boxes with my books, jewelry, and toiletries, making the transition feel real in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for
Tomorrow is my wedding day.
The thought settles over me like a heavy weight, curling in my stomach as I check my phone. Still nothing. No calls, no messages. The silence from Santo is suffocating, stretching on like an endless void.
I exhale sharply, staring at the neatly folded clothes, the carefully packed books. Everything is in order, just as it should be.
And yet, as I reach for the zipper, my hands hesitate. Just for a second.
Then, before I can think twice, I seal my fate shut.
Placing the suitcase on the ground a sharp knock sounds at my door.
“Need some help, Vasi?”
I turn to see Pietro peeking in, his lopsided grin familiar, comforting.
“No, thank you, Pietro,” I manage a small smile, shaking my head.
He steps inside anyway, his gaze sweeping over the packed boxes and neatly folded clothes before settling on me. “Excited for tomorrow?”
I hesitate. “I’m nervous.” My voice is quiet as I stare at my suitcase, as if it holds the answers I need.
“That’s natural,” he assures me, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his ever-present amusement shining in his eyes. Pietro has always had a way of making everything seem lighter, as if life itself was something to be laughed at. I’ve always envied that about him.
“You’re about to step into a new phase of life.”
“I know.” I bite my lower lip. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”
Pietro nods, pushing off the doorframe and wandering toward a box filled with books. He picks one up, flipping it open, his fingers skimming over the pages like he can read something I can’t.
“Change can be scary,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. Then he lifts his gaze, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
“But you’re not alone, Vasi. You’ve got people who care about you… people who will always have your back.”
I give him a weak smile. “You mean yourself?”
Pietro chuckles, placing the book back in the box. “Well, of course.”
“I know.” My voice wavers as I shift my gaze to my suitcase, uncertainty pressing down on me like a weight I can’t shake.
He must sense it, because he steps closer, gently takes my hand in his and raises it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The tenderness of it sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing through me, burning at the backs of my eyes.
“Hey now,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms. His scent—faint musk and something inherently him—wraps around me like a safety net, so familiar it aches.
And that’s what breaks me.
A quiet sob slips free, muffled against his chest. He holds me tighter, his broad shoulders absorbing the weight of my fear, my doubts, my quiet desperation. I clutch at his shirt, my fingers digging into the fabric as the tears finally spill over.
“I’m scared, Pietro,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, Vasi.” His voice is low, soothing, as he rubs slow circles against my back. “Santo is a good man. He’ll take care of you.”
His words should be a balm, but they only deepen the ache inside me. The world outside is shifting too fast, dragging me along with it, and I feel like I’m losing my grip on everything that once felt solid.
Pietro keeps speaking, his voice a gentle hum in my ear, but I barely hear him over my own thoughts. Santo is a good man. I felt that. Before he stopped speaking to me.
But Pietro...
Pietro has been my constant. My rock. And the thought of losing him—of stepping into this new life without him—feels like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.
“Pietro…” I tilt my head up, blinking through my tears. My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat, making it impossible to speak, but I force the words out anyway.
“Promise me you won’t leave me.”
He stills, surprise flashing in his eyes before he schools his expression. His grip on me tightens.
“I…” He hesitates, but only for a second before nodding. “I promise, Vasi.” His voice is firm, unwavering. “I will always be here for you. Just a call away.”
His promise settles the storm inside me—if only for a fleeting moment.
Swallowing hard, I wipe at my tear-streaked face and take a careful step back, putting distance between us.
“This is just a job to you, isn’t it?” I ask, my breath steadying despite the emotions still churning inside me. “You work for Maks to pay off a debt.”
Pietro’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something—hurt, maybe—crossing his face before he masks it with indifference. “My family’s debt is paid. Maksim is helping me with something more personal.”
Guilt knots in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, shame washing over me. “I didn’t know. I misspoke—I shouldn’t have pried.”
He grips my shoulder gently, reassuring. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” A beat of hesitation passes before he adds, “He’s helping me find someone.”
“Who?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His jaw tightens. “A childhood friend. She ran away… and you know where most runaways end up.” His voice is low, heavy with something haunted, something broken.
A chill settles over me. I know exactly what he means. Maksim doesn’t believe in selling flesh—he’s made that clear. And when he finds women who have been taken, he helps them. If Pietro’s friend is among them, it makes sense why he needs Maksim’s help.
“Thank you for explaining Pietro. I hope you find her,” I say quietly.
His gaze lingers on me before he gives a small nod and exits the room.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I stare at it, my heart twisting with a tangle of emotions I don’t fully understand.
Then, my phone buzzes on the bedside table.
Santo.
I reach for it, my breath catching as I read his message.
‘Sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Simple. Direct. Yet somehow, despite everything—despite the silence, the uncertainty, the storm raging inside me—his words ease something in me.
Exhaling softly, I switch off the light and slip beneath the covers.
Tomorrow, everything changes.