46. Santo
Chapter 46
Santo
I debated bringing Vasilisa here today. The meeting will be about her father and the surveillance found from his estate, but I don’t want her away from me.
Not even for a moment.
She looks up at me, that sweet smile lighting her face as we reach the conference room doors. I hold the door open, reeling in the jealousy that claws at my throat when she rushes excitedly to her ‘brothers.’
I know it was necessary to have them guard her, but the bond she’s formed with them still twists something dark inside me. I shove it down, reminding myself she’s mine—over and over—because every time she smiles at them, it feels like a brand against my skin.
I guide her to a seat at the head of the table, but as I sit, I pull her onto my lap. It’s not just a statement—it’s a warning . She is mine, and that will never change. She stiffens for a moment, a blush appearing faintly across her nose before she lets out a soft, almost inaudible giggle.
My gaze sweeps the room, sharp and unyielding. “Keep your eyes off my wife,” I order, my voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “Unless you want to lose them.”
The subtle shift of gazes around the room is immediate, except for Vaska, who barely lifts a brow in response.
“Santo,” Vasilisa murmurs, a gentle admonishment in her voice as she places a hand softly against my chest. Her touch is light but grounding, a tether pulling me from the edge. I breathe her in, pressing my forehead into the crook of her neck.
The fire inside me cools into something quieter, softer. Her warm, familiar scent wraps around me, calming the beast clawing at my chest. As if sensing it, she adjusts against me, relaxing into my hold.
“Alright, let’s get this started,” I mutter against her skin, my voice softer. But as I shift my attention to the room, my tone sharpens once more. “I’m sure you’re all aware why we are here,” I begin, my voice echoing off the conference room walls. “It’s about Miroslav Popov and what we found from his estate.”
I glance at Vasilisa, wide-eyed with curiosity and worry. Without thinking, I grab a snack cake out of the inside of my breast pocket, open it, and hand it to her. Her once-worried eyes shift to excitement as she grabs it from my hand. The noise of the wrapper crinkling between her fingers fills the room, and it’s a welcome distraction from the heavy subject we’re about to discuss. She takes a small bite, carefully chewing as she waits for me to continue. I rub my thumb along her thigh absently, grounding myself in her presence.
“Vaska. Report.”
Beside me, Vaska spins his knife between his fingers, the blade flashing under the lights. Controlled. Precise. His calm, calculating gaze meets mine before he finally nods, rising to his feet.
“We pulled surveillance from the Popov’s estate, as ordered,” he begins, his tone sharp and to the point, the knife still moving as he speaks. “Luca and I found several instances of Arsen Sarkisian being on the property. Multiple visits. Multiple conversations.”
The second Sarkisian’s name leaves his mouth, the room shifts—a crack of tension snapping through the air. I feel Vasilisa tense against me, her fingers tightening around my arm, gripping like she needs an anchor. She knows what that means, even if the full details aren’t clear yet.
Vaska flips the knife once more, catching it cleanly by the handle—casual, practiced, like he already knows the answer before he even speaks. “The problem is, we don’t have audio of the meetings yet. The surveillance was cut, but there’s an underlay of audio we’re trying to extract now. It’ll take some time to pull the files, but once we do, we’ll know exactly what they were discussing.”
I nod, satisfied with the explanation but not entirely relieved. Sarkisian has been a ghost for years. Seeing him at Miroslav’s estate isn’t just business—it’s leverage. It’s secrets. It’s a ticking fucking time bomb.
“Work the audio. Find out exactly what was said. Fast.” My voice is ice. “Sarkisian isn’t someone we can afford to lose track of.”
Vaska nods, pocketing the knife as he sits back down, the tension in the room still thick, hanging over us like smoke.
Vasilisa crinkles the empty wrapper in her hand and shifts slightly on my lap, her eyes filled with concern. I can see the worry creeping in, her mind no doubt running through every possible scenario.
“Anything else we need to know?” My tone is brisk, I want this meeting to end and get Vasilisa back home.
“There’s one more thing,” Luca cuts in, his voice tight. His usual easy smirk is nowhere to be seen—just a grim set to his jaw, the weight of whatever he’s about to say pressing into his shoulders.
“The transfers of money,” Luca begins sliding over a document my way. “He transfers quarterly to an offshore account that is his and monthly to Sarkisian’s account, but one deposit twelve years ago was much larger than any other deposit.”
Twelve years ago. The same year my mother was murdered. The same year Sarkisian vanished. This isn’t a coincidence—it’s a link. One that chills me to the fucking bone. “Elaborate.”
“The deposit, it’s sizable,” Luca starts, wringing his hands together. “It’s not like an average business transaction. This amount is enough for a bribe… small war… ransom,” Luca shrugs and Vasilisa stiffens. I glance at her. She’s staring at the wall, unseeing, body trembling like she’s fighting against something rising inside her. I barely get the chance to speak before Nico cuts in.
Nico exhales sharply. “It’s almost as if he was buying something.” He pauses. Then, quieter, graver. “Or someone.”
Vasilisa’s breath hitches. Her eyes go wide. This is too much for her.
“Find out exactly what that money was for. No delays. No excuses.”
Luca nods as he gathers the documents. Vaska remains silent, his dark gaze on my wife.
“You’re all dismissed.” My voice is final, but my eyes stay locked on Vaska as his linger on Vasilisa.
The men begin to file out, but Vaska remains. Once the door closes, I speak, my voice sharp. “What do you know?”
Vaska finally drags his gaze from my wife. Then, with quiet certainty, he speaks; “She hasn’t told you?”
The words hang in the air, sharp as a blade against my throat. A tear slips from Vasilisa’s eye, carving a silent path down her cheek.
“Please, Vaska,” she whispers, voice shaking.
Her broken plea shreds through me, and the silence stretches until I can’t stand it.
His eyes soften. “Vasi, you still can’t speak of it?” he asks gently, his tone filled with something I can only describe as brotherly affection.
My eyes narrow, locking onto Vaska.
“Speak of what?” I snap, my irritation rising like wildfire.
She turns to me, her eyes spilling over with tears. “Of the ransom, Santo,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
The word slams into me like a hammer to my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs. I go still, my muscles locking, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. The room blurs, fades—but that word stays.
Loud. Sharp. Inescapable
Vaska’s voice cuts through the fog. “Twelve years ago… Vasilisa was kidnapped.”
The room tilts, the walls pressing in. The silence is suffocating, the air thick with something heavy—something wrong. Vasilisa’s grip on my arm tightens, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I don’t move. I can’t.
“We assumed it was the Turkish,” Vaska continues. “Miroslav chose to pay the ransom even though Korsakov had a plan to get her back…” he trails off and shakes his head. “I guess now we know why he paid. If he let us go for her we would have discovered it wasn’t Kaya who took Vasilisa and that he was working with Sarkisian.”
My mind reels, the shock too fresh to process. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture that was far from comforting. I look at Vasilisa and she drops her gaze, her eyes red and lips trembling.
“Where did they take you?” I ask, my voice barely over a whisper as I address Vasilisa.
She shakes her head slightly, the memory obviously still too painful for her. “I... don’t remember, I was eight,” she whispers. I pull her close.
“That’s all for now, Vaska. Get me the audio as soon as it’s ready.”
Vaska nods giving Vasilisa an apologetic look as he leaves. As soon as the door clicks close. Vasilisa crumbles. A sob breaks free from her throat as she clings to me, her body trembling violently. Something inside me fractures; I can’t stand seeing her like this. I can only hold her tighter in an attempt to soothe her with the sound of my heart echoing within my chest, but it does little to assuage the horror that clearly haunts her.
“I’m sorry...I should’ve told you sooner,” she mutters through choked sobs. But I shake my head, my fingers threading through her soft hair.
“It’s not your fault. You were just a child, Dea,” I reassure her, despite the knot of anger and despair tightening in my stomach. The thought of her being taken, hurt, and frightened is unbearable. The pieces are finally falling into place, forming a grotesque puzzle.
I see it—them touching her, their filthy hands on my angel, and something dark and uncontrollable unfurls inside me. My fists clench, nails biting deep into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging in my veins. The air is too thick, the weight of what almost happened suffocating.
I want to kill them. Slowly.
“I’ll make them pay for what they did to you.” The words snarl from my throat, not just a promise—a death sentence.
It’s too late, but I’ll hunt them anyway. I’ll rip them apart piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but dust, screams, and regret
She pulls back from me slightly just enough to look into my eyes. Her own clear pools shimmer from the tears spilling over. “They didn’t… they didn’t hurt me like that, Santo.” Her voice shakes, but there’s strength in it, unwavering.
“I was lucky.” Her breath catches. “But there were others. Women. Girls. They weren’t as lucky.”
These words do nothing to extinguish the fire burning in me - the desire for revenge on those who dared lay their hands on what is mine. I tighten my hold on Vasilisa as if it would erase the past horrors she had to face alone. “That will never happen to you again.”
“I love you, Santo,” she whispers into my chest, her fingers tracing patterns over my heart. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“Shh...,” I cut her off, pressing a kiss on her head, breathing her in. I don’t care what it cost—blood, fire, or ruin. She’s mine. As long as she’s safe, the rest of this city can burn. I’d do anything for her.
Her.
All I need is her.
“Let’s get out of here, get you some real food.” I suggest easing her out of her tears.
She giggles, the sound like the first crack of light after a storm. A small smile lifts her lips, and just like that, my world steadies again.
“Do you have another snack cake in there?” she asks pointing to my chest.
I chuckle, “No, Dea. I said real food, let’s go.”
***
I step into the bathroom, loosening my cuffs as I roll my sleeves up. The moment I cross the threshold, my eyes find her.
Vasilisa sits on the ottoman in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, the soft strokes hypnotic. The golden strands shimmer under the light, falling over her shoulder like silk. She looks peaceful, lost in her own world, and for a second, I just watch.
She’s beautiful—my goddess. But like this, in the quiet intimacy of our space, she’s untouchable.
Mine.
I move toward the sink, reaching for my toothbrush, but something near the mirror catches my attention.
A small, blistered packet.
I freeze.
Slowly, I pick it up, turning it over in my palm. The tiny pills gleam under the bathroom light, unassuming, insignificant. But their purpose is anything but.
“What’s this?” My voice is calm, steady, but there’s an edge beneath it.
Vasilisa doesn’t stop brushing her hair, she barely even glances over as she answers. “The pill.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. I know what it is. That’s not the question. My grip tightens around the packet. “Why are you on it?”
“To prevent children,” she answers so casually I almost crush the packet.
Prevent . Not delay...
“I see.”
She finally glances at me through the mirror, her expression unreadable. “The arrangement contract never mentioned an heir.”
I hold her gaze, my reflection staring back at me in the glass.
“No, it didn’t,” I say carefully. “And I understand that. But…” I trail off, stepping closer, my voice lowering. “Has nothing changed for you?”
A small crease forms between her brows. I see the exact moment the question unsettles her.
“What are you saying?” she asks.
I swallow, choosing my words carefully. Vulnerability doesn’t come easily to me, but for her—I will always try.
“I want them with you, Dea.” The words come out quieter than I expect.
She stills, her brush pausing mid-stroke. Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out, her mind clearly working through what I just said.
“Them?” she repeats, like the idea has never even occurred to her.
“Or one,” I amend. “I don’t care how many. I just… didn’t realize you were actively preventing it.”
She puts the brush down exhaling slowly, then meets my gaze fully. “Well... you weren’t.”
I blink. “What?”
“ You weren’t preventing it,” she says, nodding toward the pill pack in my hand.
The realization unfurls inside me like a slow burn.
I place the packet down on the counter, stepping closer, my body towering over her as I tilt my head, watching her carefully.
“Of course not.” My voice is low, certain. “Why would I wear protection with my wife?”
Her breath hitches, just slightly.
“You’re mine, Dea.”
I’ve always used protection before her. Never even considered going without.
But with Vasilisa? It never even crossed my mind.
She looks down, fingers twisting slightly in the fabric of her robe.
Silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken things.
“Do you want kids, Dea?”
She hesitates.
I catch it immediately.
“Why did you hesitate?”
She lets out a slow breath, shifting slightly on the ottoman. “Because I didn’t know you wanted one.”
I frown, stepping in front of her, tilting her chin up so she has to meet my gaze.
“That shouldn’t be why you hesitate,” I mutter. “This isn’t about what I want. It should be something we both want. If you don’t... then we won’t.”
She watches me, searching my face for something.
Then, softly, “I just don’t want one right now .”
I nod, understanding but… slightly disappointed.
Not because I expect her to be ready, but because for a moment, the thought of her carrying my child— ours —felt right.
Still, I push it down.
“That’s smart,” I say finally. “Not with the war going on.”
She nods quickly, as if relieved to have a tangible reason. But then—her expression shifts.
Lips parting. Hesitating again.
“Actually… it’s not just that.”
I frown, something shifting inside me, tilting my world just slightly off balance.
This is about Scythe. It has to be. That I’m dangerous. That she’s afraid. “Then what is it?”
She exhales, rubbing her temples, as if debating whether to say it aloud.
“I’m just... really scared the babies will be too big.”
I blink. “What?”
She gestures vaguely at me. “Have you seen yourself? What if we make a giant baby? I can’t push that out!”
I stare at her, processing.
Then—a laugh bursts from my chest, unexpected and unrestrained.
“Dea.” I shake my head, still smirking as I cup her chin, tilting her face up to me. “ Nothing bad will happen to you. Even if we do happen to make giant babies.”
She still doesn’t look convinced.
“Santo, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” My thumb strokes her jawline, my voice dropping. “You think I’d ever let anything happen to you?”
She swallows, still searching my eyes. And whatever she finds there… it seems to settle her.
For now.