47. Vasilisa
Chapter 47
Vasilisa
T he rest of the month slips through my fingers like sand—fast, warm, impossible to hold onto. One moment, it’s the start of the week, and the next, I’m tangled in Santo’s world, wrapped in him. We paint side by side, mixing colors until our hands are stained and our laughter echoes off the walls. We challenge each other in the kitchen, arguing over spice measurements, stealing tastes off each other’s fingers. We push each other harder in workouts, sweat-slick and breathless, fighting for dominance in a game neither of us wants to win.
Santo promises an orgasm for every set of lunges I complete, and let’s just say, my legs are stronger than ever.
“Dea, shoes off, it’s time to stretch,” Santo murmurs, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I glance up just in time to see him set the heavy weights down like they weigh nothing. His arms flex, his defined abs glisten, and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. His storm-gray eyes flick to mine, warmth softening their usual storm. His lips curve into that small, rare smile—the one that makes my pulse trip over itself.
I discard my shoes as he reaches for me. His hands finding their place like they belong there, like they always will. With effortless strength, he guides me onto the mat, easing me onto my back before stretching out my legs.
“Remember to breathe,” he instructs, his fingers kneading into the muscles of my calves as he bends my knee, pressing it toward my chest. His touch is warm, firm, commanding, and a shiver of pleasure races down my spine.
His eyes lock onto mine, and my breath catches. He smirks—dark, knowing —before lifting my other leg, guiding it over his shoulder as he leans forward, pressing me deeper into the mat. The stretch sends a slow, sweet ache through my limbs, but all I can focus on is the way the distance between us is disappearing.
I meet his gaze, caught in the storm of his hunger—raw, unrelenting. Tiny specks in his irises flicker like lightning in a dark sky, and when a low growl rumbles from his chest, I smirk at the needy, possessive sound.
“Are we still only stretching, Santo?” I tease, my voice low, breathless.
His smirk widens into something wicked. “Just part of the exercise regimen,” he murmurs against my lips, pressing forward and capturing them in a deep, demanding kiss. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, a silent command—one I obey without hesitation.
Our tongues tangle, the kiss turning hungry, consuming. He lets my leg slide down, his hands trailing up my thighs, fingers tangling in the hem of my shorts. He pulls back slightly, amusement twinkling in his gaze as his lips ghost over my jaw.
His kisses descend—slow, deliberate, tracing heat down my throat, along my collarbone. His hands flex against my thighs, his touch possessive, claiming. The thin fabric of my sports bra does nothing to dull the sensation of his mouth as he pays special attention to each sensitive peak, drawing a gasp from my lips.
One of his hands slides lower, cupping me through my shorts. He pauses, his smirk brushing against my skin. “Are you bare under these, Dea?”
I bite my lip, relishing the way his voice wraps around me—dark, sinful, filled with promise. “I might be,” I reply coyly, my voice trembling just slightly under the weight of his gaze.
His fingers stroke along the hem of my shorts, teasing. “Well… let’s find out.” His voice is pure gravel, pure Santo.
My heartbeat stutters as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, tracing slow, torturous lines against the sensitive skin beneath. A gasp escapes me, and he chuckles, the sound rich with satisfaction.
“Naughty Dea,” he whispers into my ear, amusement laced with dark hunger.
His fingers toy with the waistband, then hook into it. A beat of stillness—just long enough to make me ache. And then, agonizingly slow, he peels my shorts off, his knuckles grazing my thighs as he slides them down my legs.
He tosses them aside, his gaze dragging over every inch of my exposed skin.
“Legs up, show me what belongs to me.” His voice is pure possession.
I obey, bending my knees and parting my legs, my pulse pounding with anticipation.
His gaze darkens to something primal, reverent, his lips parting just slightly. A growl escapes him, low and raw, full of everything he doesn’t say out loud. His hand runs up my thighs to my hips and lift them slightly.
His thumb grazes over my clit lightly, causing me to gasp and squirm beneath him. “I can never get enough of you, Dea,” he breathes out, admiration seeping through every syllable.
A soft moan escapes my lips as he dips two fingers inside me, slowly curling them.
“Santo,” I whimper out his name, the sound echoing in the spacious room.
His eyes stay on mine, dark and dilated, tracking every flicker of pleasure that crosses my face. His thumb continues to make lazy circles around my clit, and I can feel myself winding tighter and tighter. He pulls his fingers out of me just a bit, leaving me whimpering.
“Patience, Dea,” Santo says, his voice filled with wicked delight. He withdraws completely, causing me to groan in protest. However, my complaint is quickly extinguished when his mouth replaces his fingers.
The sensation of his tongue against me is overwhelming. I hook my arms around my legs and pull them tighter against my chest, giving him complete access. His lips close around me and he sucks, drawing a sharp gasp from me. Then his tongue is flicking back and forth, pressing into me, swirling around my clit. I can barely hold back my cries of pleasure.
“Let it out Dea,” he murmurs against my skin. His fingers replace his mouth briefly, thrusting in a dizzying rhythm that has me clenching around him.
I’m teetering on the brink, my eyes squeezing shut as his tongue stays on my clit as his fingers continuing their relentless pace. I tremble beneath him, every nerve alight. I’m right there, teetering on the edge.
“Santo, please ,” I manage to gasp out his name once again, begging without words for that final push.
There’s a low chuckle against my skin that sends vibrations through me. “As you wish,” he murmurs against me, and then he’s intensifying everything. His tongue presses hard against my clit while his fingers curl inside me one more time, hitting that spot that makes me see stars.
The wave of pleasure slams into me—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. I gasp, his name breaking from my lips in a desperate, wrecked cry. Santo doesn’t stop – won’t stop – until I’m trembling, helpless beneath him, ruined by his touch.
Santo looms over me, his dark eyes burning with satisfaction and something deeper, something barely leashed. His arousal is insistent, his thick length pressed against my skin, but he doesn’t move. he waits, watching, letting me feel just how much he’s holding back.
“You’re beautiful when you come unravel for me,” he whispers huskily in my ear.
I can only look at him in post orgasmic bliss before slowly dropping my legs and pulling him down towards me to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. His taste is intoxicating and combining it with the lingering essence of myself on him sends another shudder through me.
“That should be enough stretching for now,” Santo murmurs against my lips.
***
Santo had work to do after a quick shower, disappearing into his home office. I told myself I wouldn’t bother him—I’d be patient, understanding . But patience isn’t my strength, especially when I know exactly how he looks behind that desk, sleeves rolled up, head slightly bowed, all sharp focus and control.
I try to distract myself, painting yet another memory of us together, but I’m restless. Two hours pass. My brush slows, my thoughts drifting. He’s in there, buried in responsibilities, and I know I should leave him be. But I don’t want to.
Finally, I give in.
I press my finger to the lock and enter his office. Santo looks up instantly, his expression shifting—realization, regret.
“I didn’t forget about you, Mia Dea,” he murmurs, his voice filled with the weight of the apology. He runs a hand through his hair, a small sigh escaping him. “I just... lost track of time.”
I stride toward him, his legs parting automatically to make space for me between them. The warmth of his body pulls me in, an unspoken promise that no matter what’s weighing on him, he’s still mine. My hands find his chest, fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my touch.
“Did you get the audio?” I ask softly.
“Not yet.” Santo’s voice is low, controlled—but the tightness in his jaw tells me he’s barely holding back frustration. His hands find my waist, grounding himself in me. “They intercepted more of our shipments. Again .”
I barely react to the words themselves—I know the war he’s fighting, the endless strategy. But I see the weight it’s putting on him, the pressure building behind his eyes.
“Do you have to go?” I whisper, hoping against hope. “Are you needed?”
“No, Dea. Nothing is more important than you.”
His voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes me feel like he’s carrying the weight of the world for us both. “But...” He hesitates, running his hand gently along my cheek. “I’ve been reviewing the surveillance footage from Sarkisian’s visits with your father.”
I stiffen slightly at the mention of my father, guilt already creeping in. “Did you find anything worse than... than him being a traitor?”
Santo sighs, his hand still on my cheek, thumb brushing against my skin. “Unfortunately, yes.”
I blink, my mind scrambling to keep up. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His grip tightens on my waist, almost bracing me. “We caught Sarkisian leaving your father’s office an hour before you arrived with—” Santo stops, his expression flickering with something darker. He doesn’t want to say the name. But I already know.
“Jude.”
Santo nods once.
A strange coldness creeps up my spine. “Okay…?” My voice is hesitant, waiting for the part I don’t know. “What aren’t you saying?”
His jaw clenches, and then finally—he says it.
“Jude was also on the surveillance. In your father’s office. The same day.”
The room spins.
My pulse quickens. “No,” I say, shaking my head, stepping back. “That’s not possible. Jude never came to my home. Not once. He always... he would pick me up at the gate and drop me off there.”
Santo gives me a look, one filled with apology and pain, as if he doesn’t want to break my heart but has no choice. “I don’t have audio yet,” he says softly, “but once I do, we’ll know what was discussed.”
I can’t help but ask, my voice trembling, “And then... what? You’re going to kill my father?”
His answer is immediate. “I won’t,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “But Maksim...”
I nod, knowing what that means. “Maksim will.”
The reality hits me harder than I expected. The betrayal, the lies... they seem to be closing in on me from all sides. I know what has to happen. I take a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “With Maksim, betrayal is punishable by death.” I feel the weight of those words settle between us.
Santo pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me tightly as if he can protect me from all the darkness swirling around us. He lifts me onto his lap, and I let myself sink into him, my body trembling from the truth that’s unraveling around me. He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering as he breathes me in.
“No matter what happens, Dea,” he whispers against my skin, “you will be safe.”
I close my eyes, letting his words soothe me, even though I know the storm hasn’t passed. “I know,” I whisper back. “I’m safe with you.”
For a moment, we just hold each other, finding comfort in the silence. My thoughts begin to drift—away from my father, away from Jude—and for just a second, it’s only us. Santo’s voice pulls me back to reality.
“Oh,” he murmurs, “you got a letter from Mimi.” He reaches into his desk and hands me the envelope.
I perk up instantly, taking it eagerly, my fingers tracing the letters of my sister’s name. “About time,” I tease, though the ache of missing her is still there.
Santo’s phone vibrates, breaking the moment completely. He retrieves it, his expression hardening at the name on the screen. A video call.
Angelo.
I move to get up, ready to slip out of the room. But before I can, Santo grips my wrist.
“No, I don’t want to be on camera,” I whine. He ignores me.
He presses accept. I groan, dropping to the floor and crawling under his desk for privacy.
“Little brother,” Angelo’s voice fills the space. I hear Santo’s low chuckle as he glances down, his amused gaze locking with mine.
“Have you landed yet?” Santo asks, ignoring the small talk.
I ignore them both. Instead, my fingers trail along the bottom of his desk, stopping at the familiar carving of our initials.
I love that he kept this desk, that he carved his name next to mine. People see Santo as intimidating, ruthless, untouchable—but I know better. Deep down, he’s still the little boy who believes in happily ever after.
“We don’t need a new one, we just got that one last year,” Santo says, frustration laced in his voice.
A slow smile spreads across my lips. I know exactly how to relieve his frustration.
My hands slide up his thighs, teasing at the button of his pants. Santo immediately grabs my wrist, stopping me.
I look up, glaring. He doesn’t say a word—he can’t, not with Angelo still on the call.
But then, his smirk deepens.
With one deliberate movement, he unbuttons his pants, dragging the zipper down.
The act alone sends heat pooling between my thighs. He slides the chair in closer and I pull his cock out of his underwear and grasp it. I’ll never get over how large Santo is – the heavy weight of his cock against my palm, burning hot and pulsing with need as I stroke.
“I’m going to need you to meet me sometime time tomorrow,” I hear Angelo say as I wrap my lips around the head of Santo’s cock.
“Sure,” Santo chokes out.
“You good?” Angelo asks.
“Yeah,” Santo replies as I slowly slide his cock down my throat.
Angelo chuckles, “Tell Tiny I said hi.. unless she’s busy.”
I pull back abruptly, a blush creeping up my neck at being caught in the act. Santo stifles a grunt of protest, trying to keep his cool in the face of his brother’s laughter.
“Will do,” Santo replies, his voice just a fraction too tight. He exhales slowly, fighting to keep control, but when he looks down at me— still hidden beneath his desk, lips glistening, eyes full of need— a smirk finally tugs at his lips.
The call with Angelo finally ends after another couple of minutes, during which I can’t help but return to my previous task. It’s such a turn on to hide under his desk while he carries on an important business conversation acting as if my mouth isn’t full of his cock.
Once the call ends, Santo puts his phone away and lets out a deep sigh of contentment. His hand reaches under the desk to push through my hair, a gentle caress that makes me look up at him in reverence. His eyes are lidded and dark with lust.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Dea,” he groans, fingers tightening in my hair as I pick up pace again before releasing him with a pop.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” I tease him with a grin before sliding my mouth over him again. He gasps above me, a sexy shudder making his body tremble.
“Fuck…” he groans, one hand still in my hair while the other grips the armrest of his chair.
He’s teetering on the edge, his thighs tense beneath my palm, breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls. A sharp knock comes suddenly at the door.
Santo goes rigid. We both freeze.
“Boss?” a familiar voice calls from outside the office – it’s Luca.
Santo takes a shaky breath before responding though gritted teeth “Yes?”
“I have news.”
“Just a moment Luca,” Santo grits out, his patience razor-thin. His gaze locks onto mine, pupils blown wide with hunger. Instead of speaking, he simply tilts his chin down- an unspoken order.
Placing his hands on either side of my face, he guides my mouth back to his throbbing cock. I nod in silent consent, knowing he intends to use my mouth to find release.
I relax my jaw, tilting my head back as he pushes inside. The taste of salt and heat floods my tongue, the scent of his desire wrapping around me, intoxicating, inescapable . A choked sound escapes me as he thrusts deeper, but he only tightens his grip, holding me still as he takes what he needs. My fingers dig into his thighs, feeling the sharp flex of muscle beneath my palms. I breathe through my nose, keeping my lips tight around him, letting him use me as he pleases.
“Look at me.” Santo’s voice is rough, almost guttural. I do, lifting my gaze as he watches me—completely wrecked, yet completely in control. His movements turn erratic, his breath coming faster, sharper, until finally, with a ragged groan, he shatters. I do my best to swallow it all down, feeling a sense of satisfaction in pleasing him. As he slowly pulls out, a warm trail escapes, sliding down my chin. I catch it with a finger, licking it up deliberately, meeting his gaze as I do. Santo’s jaw flexes, his nostrils flaring—his hunger barely sated.
“You’re fucking perfect.” Santo exhales, his voice still hoarse. His gaze drags over me, dark and heavy with promise. “As soon as Luca’s gone, you’re mine.”
Santo exhales deeply, raggedly, running a hand through his hair before adjusting his clothes, tucking himself back in. He straightens his tie, pulling himself together piece by piece. “He has the worst fucking timing,” he mutters, grabbing his phone to unlock the door
“Come in,” he calls out after a moment, his voice back to its usual confident, commanding tone.
As I hear the office door open, I remain hidden under the desk, my heart pounding with adrenaline and excitement at our little secret.
“We have the audio, Beaumont forwarded it to you, and Sarkisian is in the city,” Luca announces. I hear something light hit the desk.
“The city?” Santo’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing sharply. He flips through papers, his movements quick, impatient.
“Yes. He’s not even trying to hide.” Luca’s tone is grim, certain. “We need to send Katya and Vasilisa to a safe house. Immediately.”
“Excuse me?!” I blurt, shoving against the desk to stand—only to slam my head on the way up. Santo pulls his chair back as I scramble to get out from under the desk rubbing the top of my head.
Luca stares, his expression flickering between horrified and deeply, deeply regretful. “What the hell were you—“ His face scrunches. “You know what? Forget I asked.”
Santo chuckles and my anger rises.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“This isn’t up for debate,” Luca says, his voice hard as steel, his frown deepening. “You have to leave. End of story.”
“The hell I do!” I snap back, my fists clenched at my sides.
Santo’s hands firmly catch my waist, lifting me onto his lap before I can lash out again. His grip is steady, unmovable, keeping me close. “I won’t decide anything without your say, Dea. But you need to breathe.”
I inhale sharply, my arms crossing tightly over my chest, my nails digging into my sleeves. My eyes burn into Luca, my whole body rigid with frustration—but the slow circles Santo traces on my reddened knees start to unravel me, little by little.