49. Vasilisa
Chapter 49
Vasilisa
M y eyes flutter open to Santo’s soft kisses, gentle and lingering, turning into us making love; he’s reverent with me as if he were saying goodbye.
Even though it’s only for the day, I hate him leaving.
He showers while I soak in the bath, letting the warm water engulf me, easing the ache of his absence before he’s even gone. My gaze never strays from my husband. I watch as he shaves, as he effortlessly styles his hair, each movement practiced and confident.
In the mirror, his smirk finds me—lust-filled, knowing. He strides to me, leans in pressing a slow, teasing kiss to my lips before stepping away. I watch, admiring the ripple of muscle beneath his tattooed back, the way the towel hangs low on his hips, a perfect temptation.
Reluctantly, I leave the comfort of the bath, wrapping myself in a towel as I pad toward the closet to get ready for my day with Elena, she’s effortlessly chic—I need to look like I belong at her side.
I slip into a navy blue button-down, the crisp fabric soft against my skin, tucking it loosely into my fitted black jeans. A pair of sleek, black-heeled loafers complete the look—simple, sophisticated, polished.
For makeup, I keep it subtle, adding just a swipe of gloss over my lip stain for a touch of shine. My hair, I sweep into a loose updo, making sure my delicate pearl earrings are visible, a soft contrast to the sharp lines of my outfit.
After last night, with Santo so tense, I want to make a good impression. I want Elena to see me as more than just his wife—I want her to like me.
I grab my purse and stride toward the door, ready to leave, but I barely make it two steps before stopping short. Santo stands in our sitting room, brows furrowed, a gun in his hand.
My gun.
“What is this?” he asks, his voice edged with both surprise and concern.
I blink, still trying to process. “A gun?”
“Yes, but why do you have it?”
“What?” I stammer, my brain scrambling.
He exhales, jaw tightening. “I found this in a box. In your window nook.” He lifts the box where I had tucked the gun Angelo had given me, his fingers resting against the lid. “Why do you have it?”
I hesitate, eyes flicking between the gun and his face. Think, Vasilisa.
“Oh. Why were you in my window nook?” I counter, trying to shift the focus away from me.
His gaze sharpens. “Vasilisa.”
I sigh, knowing I’ve lost this battle. “Angelo gave it to me,” I admit, stepping toward him as he slides the gun back into the box.
“Why would he give you a gun?” Santo asks, his expression stern, his grip tightening slightly around the box.
I shift under his gaze, feeling small but refusing to shrink. “He taught me how to use one,” I admit sheepishly. “Said it would be good for me to protect myself.”
Santo exhales sharply, shaking his head. He’s clearly not thrilled. “I’d feel safer if you didn’t have one… but it’s not a bad idea.” He reaches for my hands, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles over my skin.
“You always have a gun around me, Santo,” I chuckle, nodding toward his waist where I know he keeps one concealed.
“True,” he concedes, his smirk soft but laced with something deeper. “But seeing one in your hands just feels wrong. ” He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to my knuckles.
Then, suddenly, something clicks in his expression. His eyes narrow.
“Is that what you and Angelo have been doing this whole time?” His voice drops slightly, tinged with realization. “Learning how to use a gun?”
“Yes… that and sparring.” I hesitate, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “Are you angry?”
His brows lift in mild surprise before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m not angry, Vasilisa,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Just… surprised.”
“But why?” I press on refusing to let this drop. “Isn’t it better that I can protect myself? Especially given… well, your line of work.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want you involved in,” Santo replies sharply, his eyes flaring with anger. “This is my world, Vasilisa, not yours. You should be far away from danger.”
“But I’m part of this world too, I was born into it,” I argue. “Whether we like it or not.”
We stand in silence for a moment, both too stubborn to back down from our respective stances. But then Santo sighs again, his shoulders dropping in defeat.
“Okay,” he eventually concedes. “You’re right. It’s good that you know how to use one.”
“Thank you,” I breathe out in relief.
“But I promise you one thing,” Santo adds seriously, his grip tightening around my hands. “As long as I’m around, you will never have to use it.”
I nod, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. “I know.”
He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my hair. “I love you, Dea,” he mumbles.
“I love you too, Santo,” I reply softly.
Santo pulls back and presses a soft kiss to my lips, “Romeo is on his way,” he reminds. “Elena is already waiting for you downstairs.”
“Got it,” I acknowledge taking one last look at him before I rush out of the room to join Elena.
I find Elena in the living room lounging in an armchair, her presence effortless and cool. Behind her stands Riot, posture perfect, his frame filling out the tailored designer shirt like he was born to wear it. With sharp, chiseled features and tanned skin, he looks more like a runway model than a bodyguard. Even his perfectly styled hair adds to the illusion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was here to sweep Elena onto a red carpet instead of protecting her.
“Good morning,” I greet, “You look chic,” I gesture toward her outfit; ripped jeans, ankle boots and a simple white tank that somehow looks expensive on her. With a bold red lip and her wavy ponytail she looks perfectly put together.
“You look lovely,” she responds standing to embrace me.
I hug her back, catching Riot’s gaze over her shoulder. He gives a brief nod in acknowledgement.
As I release Elena, I turn to see Santo entering the room flanked by Luca and Romeo.
Santo slides an arm around my waist, his presence grounding me as he addresses his sister. “Behave today, Elena.”
Elena rolls her eyes. “I always behave.”
Santo ignores her sarcasm. “Have you gone to see dad?”
“Yes, I saw him early this morning,” she says casually. “He’s glad I’m home, unlike you.”
Santo exhales, clearly used to her jabs. “I’m glad you’re back little sister, I just—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waves him off, “Don’t get your wife into any trouble. Got it.”
Santo sighs deeply, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight. Luca has my card, buy whatever you want.”
With that, he turns and strides out. The sound of the front door closing barely fades before Elena lets out a dramatic sigh.
“He’s so annoying.”
I frown at her, and she quickly gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry he’s my older brother, so he’s annoying to me . I’m sure he’s great to you. “ She waves her hand dismissively before shifting her attention to Luca “How have you been Cousin?”
Luca, arms crossed, replies “Fine.”
Elena smirks. “Still angry at me for that little prank?”
I glance between them, sensing the tension immediately. “What prank?” I interject.
Luca shakes his head once, jaw tight, and I drop it. The tension is palpable, and I don’t know what it is about Elena, but her homecoming definitely doesn’t seem welcome.
“Still stirring shit up Elena?” Romeo’s sharp smile cuts through the moment.
Elena glares at him, but ignores the jab. Instead she lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway,” she drags the word out, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s go girly.”
Without waiting for a response, she tugs me along, leading us toward the door. The guys follow silent, but ever-present.
The sleek black SUV purrs to life as Luca slides into the driver’s seat, his stern face reflected in the mirror. Riot takes the front passenger seat, while Elena and I settle comfortably in the middle, with Romeo in the back.
The tension is thick enough to choke on, but if Elena notices, she doesn’t show it.
“Could you turn the radio on, Riot?” she asks, flashing him a sweet smile.
Riot gives a silent nod, reaching for the dial. A cheerful pop song filters through the speakers, breaking the heavy silence. Elena bobs her head beside me, her wavy ponytail swishing in rhythm with the music.
I glance at her before hesitantly asking, “So… where are we going?”
Elena doesn’t turn to look at me. Her gaze stays fixed on the passing scenery. “A day of shopping, followed by a quick lunch, and maybe a movie if we have time.”
Her voice is light, almost careless, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. Beneath the easygoing tone, something is off.
“Isn’t it dangerous for us to be out?” I ask, my voice trailing off before I can finish the thought—but Elena understands.
She waves a hand dismissively. “We have enough security around us.” Finally, she turns to look at me, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You worry too much.”
I nod silently, the unease still there, but I push it down. I want to bond with her. “Where do you go to school?”
“California,” she answers smoothly, her smile practiced, avoiding the actual name of the university.
“Do you go to school?” she asks in return.
I shift slightly. “I’m currently deferring, but yes.”
Elena hums. “Oh, yeah. I guess an arranged marriage would hinder you, wouldn’t it?” It’s not really a question—more of a statement.
I shrug, feeling a flicker of embarrassment.
“Vasilisa isn’t hindered from anything,” Romeo interjects, his voice firm. “She’ll be going back to school, but right now she’s fulfilling the obligation she has to her family—and ours.”
Elena raises her hands in mock surrender. “No need to be a hero, Romeo. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Well, it sounds like you lost all your couth in California,” he retorts.
Elena huffs, turning back toward the window, and the tension in the car thickens once more. My stomach knots, and I find myself wishing I had just stayed home.
Despite the tension in the car, the day passes surprisingly quickly. While trying on clothes, Elena lights up, effortlessly discussing fashion. This is where she thrives—where she excels. She helps me pick out a few outfits, explaining how they’ll elongate my short stature, her enthusiasm undeniable.
It feels good to be out, to step away from the weight of war, if only for a little while. This small slice of normalcy is a welcome relief.
As the late afternoon sun filters through the windows, we return to the estate. Lunch is quiet, the conversation minimal, mostly just filling the silence with idle chatter.
Shortly after, we retreat to the library. The guys leave us alone, giving us space to spend time together. I sit before an easel, focused on yet another portrait of my husband, my brush moving instinctively across the canvas.
But I can feel her eyes on me.
Across the room, Elena lounges in the plush chair Riot carried up from the living room, her legs draped over the sides. She doesn’t speak, just watches, her gaze impassive as it bores into me.
“What?” I finally break the silence, shifting under her intense stare. It feels like she’s trying to see through me, unraveling my thoughts, scrutinizing every detail.
“Do you have social media?” she asks. “I was thinking it’d be fun to tag you in something—maybe a picture from trying on outfits.”
The question catches me off guard, and I feel my cheeks heat. I don’t face her, keeping my eyes on the canvas as I answer.
“No, I don’t have social media anymore.”
Her brows knit together. “Why not? I’ve seen plenty of girls in our world with social media accounts—designer gowns, luxury vacations. You’d be perfect for that. Plus, you could post your art.”
I let out a nervous laugh, avoiding her gaze. “Well… it’s not exactly by choice.” My fingers tighten around the paintbrush. “Santo got me a new phone before we got married, but it doesn’t have access to social media. I think it’s his way of protecting me.”
Elena’s mouth falls open slightly before she snaps it shut. “He doesn’t allow you to have social media? Are you serious?”
I stiffen. “It’s not like that,” I rush to explain, but my voice wavers with uncertainty. “I mean, I think he just… wants to keep me safe. Things can get dangerous, and he worries.”
Elena doesn’t look convinced, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What about school? You said you were going back to campus. Is that true, or did he shut that down too?”
The question hits a nerve. Frustration and embarrassment bubble up, tangled together.
“I asked him about it,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “He said I could… but he’s not really comfortable with the idea. I might just stick to online classes for now.”
Elena’s eyes flash with something between disbelief and concern. She opens her mouth, then shuts it again, exhaling a slow sigh.
“Were you forced into this?” Her voice is softer now, laced with real concern.
I freeze for a moment, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” I turn to finally face her fully.
Elena holds my gaze, her brows furrowed. “I mean, I know it was an arranged marriage… but were you forced? Are you truly happy?”
A strange sense of relief washes over me. She’s not scrutinizing me. She’s worried about me.
I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head. “Yes, I’m happy. And I love Santo. Whether our marriage was arranged or not… it’s a good match.”
Elena studies my face for a moment, her eyes analyzing every expression before she rises from the chair.
“Is that just what you tell yourself?” she asks slowly. “Or do you really believe it?”
My heart races at her question, but I hold her gaze steadily.
“I believe it,” I answer firmly. “Santo is a wonderful husband, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
For a brief moment, something like surprise flashes in Elena’s eyes before it’s quickly replaced by a genuine smile.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says sincerely. “I only ask because I dread the day when Angelo decides to ship me off to marry some stranger. How did you handle it?”
A wave of empathy and understanding washes over me, and I answer honestly.
“I always knew my marriage would be arranged, but I wanted to have hope that it would grow into love.”
Elena nods in understanding, her long strides taking her back to her chair with a heavy huff. I can feel the weight of her thoughts as she sits down.
“Yours did,” she states with a small smile.
“It did,” I reply, offering her a genuine smile. “And if Angelo were to arrange a marriage for you, I have no doubt he’d choose someone who would treat you with love and respect.”
Elena lets out a heavy sigh. “My brother… did he let you in?”
Confused, I set down my brush and look at her closely. “Let me in how ?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, we just stare at each other, as if weighing something unspoken. Finally, we both say it at the same time.
“Scythe.”
Elena’s eyes widen in surprise. “He told you about that?”
I nod. “I know it’s a part of him, I understand and respect that.”
Elena lets out a slow breath, as if she’s been holding something in. “That’s not an easy thing to accept.”
She pushes up from her chair, walking toward the bookshelf, her fingers trailing along the spines before stopping on a large lilac-colored one. She pulls it free, turning it over in her hands as she strides back to the chaise, motioning for me to join her.
As she opens it, I realize it’s an album. The first page reveals a photo of two young boys and a woman who bears a striking resemblance to an older version of Elena.
“When she was... murdered,” Elena begins hesitantly, her voice softer now. “I was young. My memories are nothing compared to what my brothers have.”
I reach for her hand, squeezing gently. She meets my gaze, offering a sad smile.
“She was truly beautiful. You resemble her greatly,” I tell her honestly.
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she whispers, “Thank you... I remember what Santo was like before.”
“Before?” I prompt, curiosity sparking.
She flips the page. A young Santo sits at a table, a toaster completely dismantled in front of him.
“He liked to take things apart, to see what made them work. He was always tinkering,” she murmurs, sliding her hand over another photo. This one shows Santo, nose buried in a book, reading beside their mother.
“If he wasn’t tinkering, he was lost in the pages of a book.”
“I can relate to that,” I murmur, taking in the fragments of memories captured in the photographs.
Elena’s voice drops to something almost wistful. “He didn’t want to be who he is now. He had other dreams.”
I glance at her, drawn in by this rare glimpse into his past. “What kind of dreams?”
She exhales slowly. “He wanted to own his own business—like he does with ZEUS. But if he had a choice, he would have stayed in California, gone to university, and left Cosa Nostra behind.”
My breath catches. “I don’t have that choice,” I admit quietly.
Elena’s smile is rueful. “Neither do I.”
She flips through more pages filled with photos of Santo, Angelo, their mother, and baby Elena.
I reach out, brushing my fingertips over a picture of Santo, smiling brightly at the camera. Before I can linger, Elena’s fingers skim over my ring.
I look up, catching the shadows lurking behind her eyes. My stomach tightens. I quickly withdraw my hand, but before I can say anything, she murmurs, “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I assure her. “I know it’s your mother’s.”
Her expression flickers. “You know the story then?”
Before I can answer, she shakes her head. “Never mind.” She shuts the book abruptly.
“No, please tell me,” I urge before she can get up.
Elena hesitates, a shadow passing over her face. For a moment, I think she might refuse—but then, she exhales and begins.
“My grandmother, Regina, and my grandfather, Antonio, were arranged,” she says quietly. “Antonio felt blessed to be paired with Regina, and he wanted to give her a ring fit for a queen—since that’s what Regina means.”
She lets out a soft chuckle, the sound light, but tinged with sadness.
“So, he used his connections to acquire the biggest diamond he could find and proposed.”
I glance down at the ring, my fingers brushing over the cool surface of the diamond. A generational heirloom. A symbol of devotion.
But when I lift my gaze, Elena isn’t looking at it with admiration. Her eyes linger on it with something closer to sadness. Distance.
A realization settles in my chest. “Oh,” I murmur. “Did you want it?”
Elena’s eyes widen in surprise. “No, never!” she exclaims, her voice sharp, almost too quick.
Confused, I study her expression. “Why not?”
She grimaces, her shoulders tensing before she finally explains.
“My grandmother was shot while wearing that ring. The bullet was meant for my grandfather.”
I stiffen.
Her voice softens, but the weight of her words lingers in the space between us. “And then my mother…” Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish. The unspoken truth is enough.
A chill runs down my spine. “Do you think the ring is bad luck?”
Elena exhales, shrugging helplessly. “Or even cursed.”
Her gaze flickers to mine, uncertain. “I don’t know why Santo would give it to you… when it was returned to him with her .”
The unsaid words hang heavy in the air between us. Understanding crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I connect the dots—Lucia Amato was sent back to her sons in pieces. And this ring… I gasp, my breath catching in my throat.
Next to me, Elena bites her bottom lip, eyes flicking to mine, nervously.
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” she asks, anxiety lacing her voice.
Flabbergasted, I glance around the room, my gaze landing on the cameras, their dark lenses watching. Recording. My stomach twists.
“As if he doesn’t already know,” I reply bitterly, gesturing toward them.
Elena follows my gaze, and the moment her eyes land on the cameras, she curses under her breath.
As if on cue, Santo enters the library. His expression is dark, his brow furrowed, his presence suffocating.
“Out,” he commands, his gaze locked onto Elena.
She rolls her eyes but turns to me, mouthing a silent apology before exhaling a resigned sigh. She gets up, leaving without another word.
The door closes behind her, leaving me alone with Santo.