28. Santo
Chapter 28
Santo
M y brilliant, enigmatic wife is also a spitfire .
She has a sweet tooth and a sharp tongue—a fiery attitude she seems to reserve only for me .
What Romeo knows, but my wife does not, is that each SUV I provide my men come with GPS tracking. What neither of them know is that each one also comes with a listening device.
And so, I heard her.
I heard the anger in her voice. The defiance.
I knew I upset her last night. And again today , but when I saw him standing there, in her bedroom, I saw red.
Romeo knows his place. He respects it. But that knowledge did nothing to curb the wildfire jealousy that burned through me, fierce and relentless.
I wanted to rip him from that room. From her presence. I wanted to remind him—to remind her —that she is mine .
But then, I listened.
Hearing her fight for herself, demand her freedom, refuse to be controlled… it sparked something in me.
Admiration, maybe.
Or maybe it was something deeper. A realization .
My wife is far stronger than I ever gave her credit for.
Now that Vasilisa is home, now that she’s safe, I push those thoughts aside and leave my office, making my way to the conference room where Maksim and Angelo are waiting.
After last night’s interrogation, strategy must be discussed.
Because now that we know our enemies have made a deal with Miroslav…
We have a problem.
Maksim and Angelo stand at opposite ends of the table, voices low but sharp, their disagreement simmering just below the surface.
A heated debate.
A war of egos and tempers.
And it’s only a matter of time before it boils over.
“There’s no way Kaya isn’t part of this! His men tried to take your sister, then turned around and came for mine,” Maksim growls, his voice thick with frustration.
“Kaya wants to meet, and I think we should take it,” Angelo counters smoothly, too confidently.
Maksim scoffs. “It’s a trap, and you fucking know it.”
“Not if it’s on our turf.”
“He’s been after my territory for years. Now he comes for my family, and you want me to give him more access to my territory? Fuck no.” Maksim’s words drip with venom as his glare sharpens on Angelo.
“I’m telling you, I’m right about this.”
Maksim laughs, but it’s humorless, unhinged. “I’ve been doing this shit for almost a decade while you’ve been at the helm for—what? A fucking month?”
Angelo’s jaw ticks. His eyes go dark.
“Watch yourself, Korsakov,” he warns, voice low, dangerous.
“You’re overstepping, Amato,” Maksim fires back, stepping in close.
Tension crackles like a live wire between them.
I exhale sharply, stepping between them before this pissing contest turns into a bloodbath.
“ We ,” I say, my voice cutting, gesturing between Angelo and myself, “can set up a meeting with Kaya on our territory if necessary.” My eyes lock onto Maksim’s, unyielding. “You can utilize my men for intel on every enemy we have. Now cut the shit and get the fuck out of my building. I have work to do.”
Maksim clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring, but after a tense beat, he gives me a stiff nod and storms out, slamming the door behind him.
Silence settles for a moment.
I arch a brow at Angelo, unimpressed. “I leave for one moment, and you blow him the fuck up?”
Angelo shakes his head, unbothered. “Better we meet with Kaya without him anyway. He’s too hotheaded.”
I laugh. “Unlike you?”
Angelo smirks, chuckling. “Fair enough, brother.” He claps me on the back. “Dinner at Serenata’s tonight?”
Before I can answer, my phone rings.
One of the guards at my estate.
I answer immediately, my stomach tightening.
“Is she okay?”
Angelo watches me closely, the slightest crease forming between his brows.
The guard’s voice is clipped. “She knows , boss.”
My spine locks.
“Knows what?” My voice is sharp, a blade edged with irritation as tension coils tight in my chest.
“Mrs. Amato knows about Scythe ,” the guard responds.
The words land like a damn grenade.
How the fuck—
“How the hell did she find that out?” My pulse spikes, anger roaring to life, clawing its way up my throat.
“She overheard—”
“She shouldn’t have overheard anything because no one should be fucking talking about it!” I snap, cutting him off, my rage spilling over in sharp, venomous bursts.
“Yes, boss.”
I exhale, trying—and failing—to steady myself. Angelo watches me silently, his presence a quiet weight in the room.
A nuisance.
I don’t want him here right now.
“Does she know everything?” My voice drops, raw with desperation.
“No, she only knows what Scythe does, not who he is,” he answers carefully.
The smallest relief flickers through me before rage snuffs it out.
“I suggest you remove yourself from my property immediately—and whoever else was involved in this little slip-up. Don’t even think about coming back,” I seethe, fury bleeding through every word.
“But boss—”
Angelo snatches my phone and presses speaker.
“I don’t give a fuck what happened or why,” he interrupts, voice cutting through the tension like a whip. “All I know is that I don’t need this shit right now. Anyone involved, get your asses to my penthouse and wait for me there.”
Before I can respond, he ends the call and tosses my phone back at me.
I catch it, barely restraining the urge to throw it at his head.
“I was handling that,” I snap.
Angelo shrugs, unbothered. “You can’t just fire my men.”
“They work for me ,” I remind him, my voice cold, razor-sharp.
“And you work for me, little brother,” he counters smoothly, his tone pointed, deliberate.
The air crackles between us.
I hate when he pulls rank.
“Get the hell out of my building!” I snarl, my control slipping fast.
Angelo watches me for a beat, his eyes assessing, calculating—before he chuckles. A slow, amused sound, like he enjoys pushing me to the edge just to see if I’ll jump.
He says nothing else. Just leaves, doors clicking shut behind him.
Red-hot rage simmers beneath my skin as I storm toward the window, my fingers digging into the frame as I stare out at the city skyline.
I inhale deeply. Exhale.
Rein it in.
The last thing I need right now is a war with Angelo. We can’t afford to be at each other’s throats when we should be planning our meeting with Kaya.
But Vasilisa knowing about Scythe?
It shatters my focus. Distracts me in ways I can’t afford.
She’s not supposed to know.
And if she keeps digging—
Fuck.
The curse barely leaves my lips before I sense rather than hear Marcus stride into the conference room. There’s weight to his presence, a thick tension hanging over him.
“Mr. Amato,” he starts tentatively.
Not now.
Not fucking now.
“What?” I snap, not bothering to turn around.
“The QUEEN file—”
“What about it?” My voice lashes out, an icy whip, cutting him off before he can waste my time.
Marcus hesitates.
“We’re in.”
My interest piques, the storm in my head clearing just enough for me to turn toward him. He looks uneasy. I sigh, already irritated.
“What’s the problem?”
“We got in, but…” Marcus swallows. “The documents started self-destructing as soon as we breached. We managed to salvage half, but it’s in code.”
I roll my jaw. Of course, it is.
“How long to crack it?”
“Maybe three months, give or take.”
I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose, a sharp throb forming between my temples. “We don’t have months. Can you do it in weeks ?”
“With more help, maybe, but-”
“Make it happen.” My patience snaps, my voice razor-sharp. “Use whoever you need.” I stride past him, dismissing the conversation before he can keep wasting my time.
I need to get my head together.
These distractions aren’t helping. As I storm back toward my office, I pass Evie and tell her to clear my schedule.
She stiffens. “Mr. Amato, what about your meeting with—”
“Clear it,” I snap.
She falters. “But—”
“I said clear it,” I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She stutters out a quick agreement as I shove open my office door and slam it behind me.
I need a minute to think.
Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I slump into my leather chair, the city skyline stretching before me in the cold, indifferent night. The amber liquid swirls in my glass, untouched, my mind fracturing under the weight of everything.
Vasilisa knows about Scythe.
The QUEEN file will take months to crack.
We have a war on the horizon.
The problems keep stacking up.
And I feel my control slipping through my fingers.
Rubbing my temples, I try to prioritize.
First—Angelo. Our disagreement has to wait. We can’t afford to be divided when we need to set up a meeting with Kaya.
Next—Vasilisa. That has to be handled delicately. Her face flickers in my mind, soft and sweet—but afraid . Of me .
I grit my teeth.
I can’t let that happen. I won’t .
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the quiet.
I inhale sharply, biting down the fresh irritation as I snatch it up without checking to see who it is.
“What?”
“Santo…”
The voice is hesitant. Shaky.
My stomach drops.
I recognize it instantly.
Silvio. My father’s advisor.
No.
My grip on the phone tightens. “What happened?”
A beat of silence. Then—
“There’s been an attack… your father.”
The world narrows.
A single, razor-sharp thought slices through the noise in my mind.
My father.
“How bad?” My voice is even, too controlled.
“He’s alive, but… it’s bad.”
I don’t hesitate.
I grab my coat, whiskey forgotten, problems forgotten—because in this moment, there is only one priority.
Cosa Nostra needs me.
And I need to be clear-headed—now more than ever.
***
My head reels. The doctor’s words echo in my mind, looping endlessly.
Four gunshot wounds.
My father is alive—barely. Hours of surgery, a medically induced coma, and now he’s hanging by a thread. His recovery is a gamble at best, a slow death at worst.
Angelo has locked down the hospital with our best men, stretching our resources thin. Maksim didn’t hesitate to offer reinforcements, even pulling brigadiers from Nevada who will fly in overnight. I called our Capo in Chicago, who is sending soldiers as well. Even Luca was here before me, waiting like the true comrade he is.
All hands on deck for Marcello Amato.
My father ruled with iron and respect, and now the men of Cosa Nostra are rallying to go to war for him.
By the time I make it home, exhaustion weighs heavy in my bones. The living room is dark, the silence pressing in like a vice.
There’s no light under the door to the master bedroom, and for a moment, I let myself believe she’s asleep.
That I’ll have a night of solitude, that I won’t have to face her.
But then I see it.
A soft glow seeping from beneath the guest room door, shattering the illusion.
I stop in front of it, sighing deeply.
Tonight has been a fucking minefield —Romeo in her bedroom, her reckless junk-food joyride, the shadow of Scythe looming like a noose tightening around my neck. I don’t have the strength to deal with any of it. Not now.
I steel myself, prepared to send her to her own room with the last sliver of patience I have left.
But the second I open the door—
She’s on me.
Her arms wrap around my neck, her body colliding into mine, light but insistent.
I barely catch her before I stagger back a step, unprepared for the sheer force of her presence.
She’s so light against me, but she feels like everything.
Her face buries into the curve of my neck, breath warm, delicate, soothing—a stark contrast to the war raging in my head.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” she whispers, her voice muffled against my skin.
The words sink in, igniting something deep, something aching in my chest.
I freeze.
Caught completely off guard.
But then—instinct.
My arms tighten around her, pressing her closer.
She doesn’t let go.
Her legs wrap around my waist, clinging to me like she’s holding the weight of the world at bay.
And for a moment— just a fucking moment —it’s like everything else disappears.
The chaos. The pain. The exhaustion dragging me under.
All that’s left is her.
My hands glide down the silk of her robe, a grounding sensation against the storm inside me. Her scent—soft and sweet, a mixture of her cashmere perfume and something inherently her—fills my senses. I inhale deeply, trying to memorize it, to bottle this moment of solace I didn’t know I needed.
And just as I think I might drown in her, might finally surrender to the need for her, she lets go— leaving me gasping, reaching for a warmth that’s already slipping through my fingers.
Her legs slide down, and I reluctantly release her, the loss of her hitting me like a blow.
She steps back but doesn’t break away completely, her hands trailing down my arms before clasping mine.
And then she looks at me.
Really looks at me.
And damn it, those eyes—they pull at every single thread holding me together.
“I just wanted to make sure you were in one piece,” she says softly, her voice steady but filled with something fragile. Something real.
I can’t speak.
How do I tell her that I’ve never felt more undone than I do now? That the only reason I’m in one piece is because of her?
“I’m alright,” I say finally, my voice low and rough. “I wasn’t there when it happened.”
She nods, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay.”
Her hands slip from mine.
And as she brushes past me, the absence of her touch is almost unbearable.
“Good night, Santo,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper—like she’s afraid to say more.
I watch her leave.
Her robe sways softly behind her, and it takes everything in me not to reach out, not to call her back.
The door closes quietly behind her, but the ache she leaves in her wake is deafening.
The room feels emptier than before, the weight of her absence pressing down on me.
She brought me peace, however fleeting—
And now, she’s taken it with her.
I let out a slow breath, the lingering warmth of her touch still burning on my skin, and one thought settles in my chest, heavy and unshakable; she’s everything I need and I don’t know how to deserve her.