45. Vasilisa
Chapter 45
Vasilisa
I steal a glance at Santo his eyes already on me as I paint my newest work of art. His lips tug into a smirk as he lounges on the plush chaise, book in hand. He’s always handsome, but there’s something about seeing him like this—casual, relaxed. His grey shirt clings to his torso, the hem slightly lifted, revealing just a hint of firm muscle beneath. A distraction I do not need right now
“Stop staring at me like that,” I huff, my brush faltering slightly. I try to ignore the heat creeping up my cheeks, but his smirk tells me I’m failing miserably.
“We’ve been over this, Dea. You’re mine. If I want to look at what’s mine, I will.” He smirks, eyes dark with amusement.
“It’s distracting,” I huff, pretending to be annoyed when in reality, I relish his attention.
“I can’t help it if my wife is so beautiful I have to stare,” he responds smoothly, closing his book and rising from the chaise. He moves with purpose, crossing the room and sliding his arms around my waist. His lips find the nape of my neck, warm and deliberate, his breath fanning over my skin.
My heart skips a beat and I melt in to him, but as I do his phone begins to beep.
Santo groans in mild irritation, and sighs before he pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s my alarm to get ready for the meeting I have at NovaRael,” he says annoyed.
“A business meeting?” I ask turning to face him.
“No, it’s—” he cuts himself off and gives me an apologetic look, “It’s about the footage we took from your parents estate and with Angelo in Florida I have to go.”
“He’s in Florida?” I ask remembering the conversations I had with Angelo about the woman he loved.
The corner of Santo’s lip rises, “Yes.”
I hesitate before blurting out, “Is it because she’s there?”
Santo’s eyebrows raise, “You know about Adriana?”
“That’s her name?”
Santo chuckles with a nod, “I think he went there to see her too, but he didn’t tell me the specifics.”
“I wonder if they’ll fall in love again.”
“In love?” Santo scoffs, “As if Angelo could ever fall in love.”
“You have,” I respond quietly, “Haven’t you?”
“Of course, I have,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “I think I’ve made that abundantly clear.”
I give him a coy shrug, “Well, you can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear it every now and then.”
A slow, sly smile spreads on his face. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw before he leans in close, whispering against my ear. “I love you, Dea. That’s why you’re coming with me. I’m not wasting a single second of this time we have together.”
“I am?”
“Of course, like I said, I’m not wasting a second I get with you.”
My heart melts at his words, “Alright, but do I have time to finish this painting?”
Santo looks at the canvas then back at me, his expression unreadable as he shrugs, “You can, but we’ll be late and… Luca, Romeo, Nico… they were all looking forward to seeing you,” he muses as he walks toward the library door.
“They were?” I ask cautiously reading his face for any signs of jealousy.
He nods seriously. “Enzo and Sergei too.”
“They’ll be at the meeting?” I ask excited at the possibility to see my pseudo brothers.
“Yeah,” he says and I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that face for?”
“Wait a second—are you using them to manipulate me into getting ready on time?” I say, crossing my arms.
“They will be there, I have to address Maksim’s men as well,” he smirks, “But yes maybe a little.”
I playfully slap his chest and he grabs my hand placing a kiss on my paint stained knuckles. “I thought you didn’t like me being friends with them,” I question.
“That was before,” he mummers on to my knuckles. He releases my hand and cups my cheek, “Now you’re completely mine,” he notes, his tone deep, certain. “And you know it. Just like I know there will never be anyone else.”
His eyes burn into mine, molten, possessive; branding the words into my soul.
“All yours Santo.”
***
I love NovaRael. Walking these halls, I feel like I’m seven years old again—wide-eyed, full of wonder. But now? Now, I am the most powerful woman here, not because of my name, but because of the man at my side.
Santo Amato, owner of NovaRael. Underboss of Cosa Nostra. My husband.
I never thought I’d crave power, but there’s something intoxicating about it—the way people move aside for us, the way they glance at him with equal parts fear and respect. And all of it, every ounce of that power, is wrapped around the man beside me. The conference room is up ahead, but Santo’s grip on my hand turns us elsewhere.
“Where are we going?” I ask, surprised by the sudden change in direction.
“You’ll see,” he replies, leading me down a long hallway towards a door at the very end.
“But the meeting...”
“We’ll be okay if we’re two minutes late,” he interrupts, stopping in front of the door and turning to face me. “I wanted to show you something first.”
Without another word, he opens the door and ushers me inside. My breath catches as I take in the sight before me. It’s an empty office, with large windows, but there are huge canvases leaning against one wall and an easel standing in the center of the room.
“I know you wanted to finish your painting before we left, and it got me thinking…” He trails off, exhaling softly, running a hand through his hair. I don’t see Santo hesitate often. When he does, it’s usually about something that matters.
“Got you to thinking what?” I ask, eager to hear his response.
“Well... I thought that maybe you would like to come here after your classes since you want to go in person when you return and while I’m working, you could paint. I would have Luca or Romeo pick you up and drop you off here, we could be together and go home together.”
My heart swells, too full of love for this man. He’s giving me more than space to paint; he’s giving me freedom , trust. He’s silencing his jealousy, offering me something I never even asked for, simply because he knows what it means to me. More than anyone ever has.
“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling him into a tight hug that he leans down for. “I love it.”
He laughs softly into my ear. “I thought you might.” His hand slips through my hair and cups the back of my neck gently. “You never have to hide your talent anymore, Dea. I want it everywhere in my world.”
I lean into him, but there’s a flicker in his expression—one I catch even as his arms stay wrapped around me.
“What is it?” I ask, pulling back just enough to search his face.
He studies me for a moment, thumb brushing over my jaw like he’s deciding whether to speak. Finally, he lets out a slow breath.
“NovaRael… it was supposed to be yours.”
I blink. “Mine?”
He nods. “Your father had it in your name. It goes to you, but a proxy can handle it and I was the proxy.” There’s a beat of hesitation. “But I signed the papers taking full ownership before we got married so you wouldn’t know.”
I stare at him, the weight of those words hanging between us. “You-”
“I wanted it,” he admits, his voice low, certain, utterly unapologetic. “NovaRael is power. And I was never going to let anyone else have it.” His thumb pauses at my chin, tilting it just slightly. “But if you told me right now you wanted it, it’s yours.”
My chest tightens. He’s looking at me the way he always does—like he’d tear down empires if I asked.
I smile softly, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “Santo… I don’t want NovaRael. I love it, but I never wanted to own it.”
His brow furrows, not in confusion but in that focused way he gets when he’s trying to understand me better. “But you’re in school for business.”
I nod, feeling the warmth of his hand still resting against the small of my back. “I am, but… I thought maybe I’d open a boutique. Or now that I get to paint, maybe a gallery instead.”
His gaze sharpens, and I can see the shift instantly, the weight of his full attention landing on me like a silent promise.
“Where?”
I blink at him. “It’s just a thought, Santo.”
“Where?” he repeats, cutting me off gently but firmly. His eyes burn with that same possessive focus I’ve come to know too well. “Where would you like it located?”
I laugh under my breath, leaning up to kiss him softly. “I don’t need a gallery right this second.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “That wasn’t the question.”
I shake my head, tucking my face into his chest for a moment, letting the warmth of him ground me. “I love that you’re like this,” I murmur.
His lips press against the top of my head, and his voice drops to that quiet tone that’s only ever for me. “Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping.”
And I know he means it. If I told him I wanted a gallery tomorrow, there would be a team breaking ground by sunrise.
But I don’t need a gallery. I don’t need power. I just need him.