40. Vasilisa
Chapter 40
Vasilisa
“T here. Perfect,” Santo boasts, stepping back to admire his work as he hangs the final canvas in the living room.
After what had been the best experience of my life, Santo had gotten the idea to display the rest of my paintings, inspired by the one he’d been admiring above our bed. An hour later, every piece of my art is proudly on display throughout the house. My heart soars—I’ve never had the chance to showcase my work anywhere before, let alone in a home of my own.
I giggle at the thought of the guards walking past all these portraits. “I didn’t think you’d want so many paintings of yourself around the house.”
“How could I not when you make me look this good?” he teases, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
The warmth of his gesture settles deep inside me, and emotion wells in my chest. “It means a lot that you did this for me.” My voice trembles, the weight of the moment pressing on me.
Santo cups my face, his thumb stroking away the tears before they can fall. “Mia Dea,” he murmurs, reverence in his tone. “Your art is a part of you . I want you in every corner of this house.”
His words mean more than I can express. A confession rests on the tip of my tongue—I feel so much for him, too much, and I want to say it. But before I can, his phone rings, slicing through the quiet of our day. My stomach twists, dread pooling in my chest. Not yet. We’re supposed to have a month.
He presses a gentle kiss to my lips, as if reading my mind, soothing me before he pulls out his phone.
I hear a muffled masculine voice on the other end.
Santo’s expression hardens. “Alright, what do you plan on doing?” His voice shifts, cold and sharp, edged with authority. “I can resend them, but there weren’t any extra details—just a date, time, and location.”
Tension tightens the air between us as he listens in silence. Then, his jaw clenches. “Yeah, I’ll do it now.”
My heart shatters. Now . That means he has to go.
He ends the call and pockets his phone, turning to me with an apologetic look. But it’s too late—the dam breaks. Tears blur my vision and spill freely down my cheeks.
Santo’s face twists in horror, almost comical if I weren’t so devastated. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, crouching to eye level, his lips pressing warm, featherlight kisses along my tear-streaked cheeks.
“Dea,” he whispers, soothing. “Why are you crying?”
Through shaky breaths, I try to explain—how my heart aches at the thought of him leaving me so soon. But instead of a sympathetic response, he lets out a low chuckle.
I blink at him, caught off guard.
Straightening, he takes my hand and leads me toward his office.
“I’m not leaving, Dea,” he says, amusement laced in his voice. “I’m just sending an email.”
Relief floods through me, but I can’t stop the sniffles as I wipe my tears. I follow him down the hall, only to pause at the threshold of his office.
He unlocks the sensor with his thumb pushing the door open. But I don’t move. I drop his hand, hesitating.
Santo turns, his brows furrowing. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting,” I say softly.
His gaze softens in an instant.
“Telling you you couldn’t come in here was a mistake.” His voice is firm, resolute. “You’re my wife. There’s nothing in this house you don’t have a right to.”
Pulling out his phone, he opens an app and takes my hand, pressing my thumb to the door handle. It beeps. Just like the elevator, I now have access.
To him. To everything.
Santo’s home office mirrors the one at NovaRael, but instead of a sleek glass desk, this one is solid wood—warm, familiar. I trail my fingers across the grain, the texture grounding me.
“Is this…?” I start to ask, feeling him move in behind me, his presence a steady heat.
“It is,” he confirms, his hands covering mine on the desk, his body pressing flush against my back.
I turn to face him, searching his unreadable gaze. “When did you do this? I thought you got rid of it.”
“After you left the office, I called my men. Had them track it down and bring it here.”
My breath hitches. “Santo…”
Moving around the desk, I crouch beneath it, my heart stuttering when I see what’s carved into the wood. Right where I used to hide as a child—my initials. And beside them, his.
I peek up at him from across the desk. “You put your initials here too?”
He smirks, shrugging like it’s nothing, but there’s a knowing warmth in his eyes. “You did say the wood was magical when two lovers carved their initials in it.” His gaze locks onto mine, steady. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me forever.”
A smile breaks across my face as I run into his arms, letting him lift me into a soft kiss. Santo sinks into his chair, settling me onto his lap. “I still have that email to send. Give me a second, Dea.”
His monitor flickers on as he navigates through files. I rest my head on his shoulder, arms draped around his neck, content just being here, feeling him.
I watch as he sends a file over to Maksim—the QUEEN file.
“You opened it?”
He nods, typing out a quick message before hitting send. “We did, but it’s incomplete. Still, it helps.”
“That’s what Maksim called about?”
Santo’s fingers brush my cheek, his expression shifting. “Partly.” He studies me for a moment, hesitating. “He also told me something else. And I need to share it with you… but I don’t want to see those beautiful eyes fill with tears again.”
A chill runs through me. My arms fall from around his neck. “Tell me.”
His face darkens, his voice careful, measured. “Maksim found your mother.”
The world stills. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, deafening. Santo watches me, his dark gaze unreadable, waiting.
“Is he going to kill her?” The words leave me before I can stop them. I don’t want to know the answer. But I do . Her betrayal to the Bratva won’t go unanswered.
Santo exhales. “I don’t have all the details yet. He’s going to question her first.” His grip on me tightens slightly. “Maksim said he’d explain everything later.”
I try to form words, but nothing comes out. My mind is a storm—anger, fear, confusion, all crashing into each other.
Santo’s gaze sharpens, his brow furrowing. Then his touch is on me again, knuckles grazing my cheek. “You’re shaking.”
I barely register it until he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me like a shield against the world. I breathe him in, trying to anchor myself in his warmth, but the fear is there, coiling tight in my chest.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper, voice barely audible. “What if I’m next?” I can’t fathom Maksim hurting me, but I know what betrayal means. Even by proxy, the Bratva doesn’t forgive.
Santo stills. Then, his voice drops—low, lethal. “That will never happen.” His grip tightens, his hold turning possessive. “You’re innocent. And you’re mine .”
There’s a promise in his words, one that comes with unrelenting violence. The kind of vow that means nothing in this world will touch me—not while he’s breathing.
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, but the knot in my stomach refuses to unravel.
His fingers stroke through my hair as he murmurs, “No one is going to come after you, Dea. Not while I breathe.” His voice is unwavering, absolute. “Your parents’ sins won’t fall on you. I swear it.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. And though the fear lingers, one thing remains undeniable his promise holds a truth that resonates deeply within me — he will keep me safe.
***
Santo takes me back to the lake, an easel and canvas in tow so I can paint the bluebells as I watch them sway in the breeze. He sets up a picnic, just like the ones he had when he was younger with his mother, a quiet homage to memories that shaped him. The day is spent wrapped in each other’s company, lost in stories of our childhoods—his days at Stanford, my classes and my monthly café visits with Luna. Between kisses and bites of food, we weave our pasts together, savoring this fragile sliver of peace amid the storm brewing on the horizon.
His stories make me laugh; his kisses make me forget and for a moment, we are not bound to duty or bloodshed; we are simply us, languishing in the sun, in the sanctity of each other.
When he picks up a paintbrush, he smirks. “I am no artist, Vasilisa, but I’m willing to try for you.” His fingers move clumsily over the canvas, creating abstract forms that lack precision but hold warmth—real and raw, just like him. There is a beauty in his attempt, in the way he exists with such quiet, unshakable strength despite all he has endured. When he catches me watching him, the curve of his lips, the one he saves only for me, melts something deep in my chest.
As the sun begins to set, we pack up and drive home. Santo holds my hand, his thumb occasionally brushing over my skin, a silent promise that whatever waits for us beyond this moment, we will face it together.
The house is still and quiet when we arrive. He leads me upstairs, his touch gentle as he helps me get ready for bed. An unspoken agreement lingers between us—tonight, we will not speak of our worries.
Wrapped in his oversized shirt, I slip into bed beside him. His arms encircle me, pulling me close, anchoring me.
“I love you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “I will keep you safe.”
His words settle over me like a lullaby, soothing away the unease that lingers beneath my skin. In his arms, I believe him. Sleep claims me to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
***
When I wake, the bed is cooler beside me. Santo sits at the edge, his back rigid, the glow of his phone illuminating the sharp lines of his face. I shift, and he ends the call, turning toward me.
“Good morning,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep. But when our eyes meet, the weight in his gaze tells me everything.
Bad news is coming.
“What happened?”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Maksim’s flight landed last night.” He hesitates, then delivers the blow. “He brought your mother with him.”
The air leaves my lungs. A cold dread spreads through me, curling around my ribs like ice. My mother, in the hands of Maksim—angry, scornful Maksim—is a nightmare I have feared more than any other.
I push the covers away, my voice urgent despite the tremor beneath it. “You have to go.”
Santo cups my face, shaking his head. “No, I don’t have to go. He didn’t ask for me.”
“But I need you to,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “You need to make sure Mishka doesn’t lose control. Please.”
Something flickers in his expression; understanding, resignation. Then, his features soften. “Of course I’ll go. I’ll check on her.”
A shaky breath escapes me as I lean into him. His arms fold around me, his lips pressing to my forehead, his hand rubbing soothing circles along my back as if he can quiet the storm inside me.
By the time I step out of the shower, dressed and still trying to steady my nerves, Santo returns to the room.
“You look far too beautiful for me to be leaving,” he says, his gaze trailing over me, dark and devouring.
I glance down at the simple white dress I had hurried into, nothing remarkable about it, but in his eyes, I might as well be adorned in diamonds.
A half-smile tugs at my lips. “I should be saying the same to you.”
He stands tall, striking in a crisp black button-down that fits snugly over the broad lines of his chest. The sheer presence of him—commanding, effortlessly powerful—steals my breath.
He steps closer, taking my hands in his. “I promise it won’t take long,” he assures me, voice steady, unwavering.
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Please be careful.”
His thumb traces over my knuckles; he lifts our joined hands to press a lingering kiss to them.
“Always,” he murmurs, then flashes me a knowing look. “I have a surprise for you downstairs.”
A mix of excitement and apprehension swirls in my stomach as I follow Santo downstairs. The moment I catch a glimpse of Luna in the living room, all anxiety vanishes. I sprint toward her, and we collide in a squealing embrace, jumping up and down like schoolgirls, utterly unbothered by the stares from Nico, Romeo, and Luca. When I finally pull back, my face aches from smiling so hard.
Luna grabs my hand and gasps as her eyes land on the glimmering ring adorning my finger.
“This is huge!” she exclaims, wide-eyed. “This whole place is huge! Girl, you lucked out.”
Santo clears his throat behind me, and Luna chuckles knowingly. He walks over, his touch possessive yet gentle as he pulls me snugly to his side, his arm wrapping around my waist.
Luna’s gaze flicks between us, sharp with realization. She hums, lips curling into a smirk.
“Damn.” She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Does he have a brother?”
Santo’s smile deepens, amusement flickering in his stormy eyes. I can feel heat creeping up my neck under Luna’s perceptive gaze—she’s always been able to read me like an open book.
Before I can respond, Nico steps forward, his expression serious as he looks at Luna but speaks to Santo.
“You ready to go?”
“I don’t need you to take me, Nico,” Santo responds coolly. “I’m heading there alone. Maksim doesn’t know I’m coming and I need you here with my wife... unless Angelo needs you?”
Nico’s answer is immediate, his gaze flickering to Luna. “No, I’ll stay.”
Santo nods before turning to me. Without warning, his lips crash onto mine in a kiss that steals my breath, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands tighten briefly at my waist before he pulls back, leaving me dazed as he makes his way to the front door.
Luna whistles low under her breath, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Girl, he is delicious.”
I exhale shakily, fingers brushing over my tingling lips. “I know.”
Luna plants her hands on her hips, her expression shifting into something far more pointed. “Okay, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
Uh-oh.
“Why didn’t you tell me you got married off?” Her voice is firm, but there’s a hint of hurt beneath it.
Guilt pools in my stomach. “I’m sorry, Luna. Everything happened so fast, and then Santo changed my phone and erased all my contacts except for family, himself, and Luca,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.
Luna’s eyes widen. “I had to call Pietro!”
A low murmur ripples through the guys standing behind her.
My brows shoot up. “You called Pietro?”
Luna smirks. “Girl, you know I’ve had his number.”
A sharp grunt of annoyance comes from Nico, and Luna immediately shoots him a warning glare. “Pipe down, Beastly.”
I blink, intrigued. “Beastly?”
Luna jerks her chin toward Nico. “Yeah, him. Pretty boy over there,” she nods at Romeo, “and the Italian Stallion,” she winks at Luca, “basically abducted me today.”
Luca lets out an exasperated sigh. “You weren’t abducted.”
“It didn’t happen to you, Rico Suave,” Luna deadpans, shooting him a glare. Luca just shakes his head and walks away, clearly not taking the bait.
Luna turns back to me with an exaggerated eye roll. “Beastly had the nerve to just walk into my apartment and tell me I had to go with them,” she huffs. “If it wasn’t for Pretty Boy over there telling me I was coming to see you, I would’ve kicked their asses.”
Nico chuckles under his breath, and Luna immediately narrows her eyes at him. They lock into a silent battle—a staring contest so charged it makes me wonder if there’s something deeper brewing between them.