50. Santo
Chapter 50
Santo
I was almost home when I needed to see my wife.
One day apart was too much. Far too much.
Spending a month with her, having her in my arms, in my space, mine ; only to be separated for even a single day feels unbearable. I miss her terribly.
Vasilisa reminds me of before. Of a time when rebuilding computers, making honor roll, and losing myself in books were my biggest worries. She’s my light. The one thing that keeps the shadows at bay—the shadows that come with the blood on my hands.
But then I pulled up the security footage and I watched as my sister tried to destroy my light.
I raced home, phone in hand, my pulse hammering as I stormed through the doors. I made it to the library just in time to hear Elena tell my wife that her ring was cursed.
That ring.
The same ring that haunted me for years. The one that sat on my mother’s hand; lifeless, in a box. The one that buried itself into my nightmares, a reminder of how we lost her. The one worn by two women in my family who lost their lives to the darkness of our world, but now, it’s on the hand of the woman I would sacrifice my life to protect. That ring no longer carries death. It’s not a curse. It’s something else entirely.
A harbinger of redemption.
And my sister is trying to sully all my hopes.
I stand in the doorway as Elena leaves, my jaw clenched, my breath controlled, but barely.
The moment the door shuts, my eyes lock onto Vasilisa. She’s sitting alone on the chaise longue, looking so much smaller than usual. Her expressive eyes, the ones that always shine so brilliantly, are now filled with something else. Doubt? Fear?
I can’t tell. The emotions swirl so quickly across her face, I can’t keep up.
“Vasilisa,” I start, but she lifts a hand, stopping me.
“This ring,” she says, pointing to her left hand. “Was it?”
I know exactly what she’s asking. And I won’t lie to her.
“It was.”
“Oh, Santo…” she exhales, her body deflating. She shakes her head, her expression solemn. “That’s incredibly morbid.”
I grimace, holding my hands up in surrender. “I know. I know it is. But hear me out.”
I stride over, settling next to her, taking her hand in mine.
“This ring belonged to two incredibly strong women who loved fiercely and sacrificed everything for their family. They were victims, yes. But they were so much more than that.”
She looks up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She’s listening.
I press forward, my voice low, earnest. “It’s not a curse, Vasilisa. I thought it was—I let it haunt me for years. I didn’t even look at it again until I found out about our arrangement.”
Her brows furrow, pain creeping into her voice. “But why?” she interrupts, her voice breaking. “Why give it to me?”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for an answer buried in the depths of my gaze.
I don’t hesitate. “Because I lost the only woman in this world who had hope for my life to be more than what it is. I lost her while she wore this ring.”
Her breath hitches. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, but she says nothing. She just waits.
My hand tightens softly around hers. “And it wasn’t until I saw you that hope returned.
She blinks, her lips parting. “You… you see me as your hope?” Her voice stammers, breath catching at the end.
I nod slowly, bringing her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.
“You, Vasilisa,” I affirm, my voice steady, “ are my hope. You’re the one who chases away every inch of my darkness and leaves nothing but your light. And I want to bathe in it.”
Her eyes widen, her body trembling under our shared warmth.
I brush my thumb over her ring, locking my gaze with hers. “This ring… it’s meant to be a symbol of my redemption. Because you will never face what the women before you have. I will never allow you to be in danger.”
She stares at me for a long moment, tears glistening in her eyes. And for a second, I think she’ll nod. Accept it. Let my words be enough. But instead, her lips part, and her voice soft, but edged with steel, cuts through the silence.
“Santo… I trust that you’ll protect me. That you’ll keep me safe. But do you have any trust in me?”
Her question strikes like a blow I didn’t see coming.
My brows furrow, confusion and guilt twisting in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
She sits up straighter, her shoulders squaring, the flicker of fire returning to her voice. “I’m talking about the fact that you don’t even let me have basic things like social media. Or that you gave me a new phone, but wiped all my friends’ numbers. That you make me feel like… like I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she presses on, her words spilling out faster now. “Elena asked me about my socials today. She wanted to share hers, and I had to tell her I don’t have any because you took them away. She wanted to know why I don’t go to campus, and I had to explain how you think it’s too dangerous for me to leave the house. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? How it made me feel?”
“Vasilisa…” I begin, my voice low, but she cuts me off.
“No,” she says, her voice trembling but steady. “I love you, Santo. I trust you with my life. But if I’m going to trust you, then I need you to trust me too. I’m not some fragile doll you have to keep locked away. I need to be me , not just your wife, not just someone you’re protecting. I need trust.”
I stare at her, the weight of her words settling heavily on my chest. She’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I’ve wrapped her in so many layers of protection that I’ve stripped her of her freedom, her autonomy.
My hand runs down my face as I let out a slow breath, the guilt and frustration clawing at my insides. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I just…” I glance at her, the tears in her eyes cutting deeper than any wound. “I don’t want to lose you. I’ve lost too much already, Vasilisa. I can’t—”
“You won’t lose me,” she interrupts, her voice softer this time. “But you have to trust me, Santo. You have to let me live my life with you, not just as a footnote in your story.”
I reluctantly nod, “I promise you are not a footnote in my story Dea, you’re the center of it.”
Her lips part, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she nods.
A moment passes before she exhales softly, like she’s been carrying the weight of this moment for far too long.
“Okay,” she murmurs, not just in acceptance, but in understanding.
For a moment, the room is silent, the weight of her words still hanging between us. My chest feels heavy, like I’ve been cracked open in a way I wasn’t prepared for. But as her hand rests lightly on mine, that heaviness shifts, replaced by something softer.
She looks down at the ring on her finger, her voice quieter now. “And the ring? You really see this as redemption?”
I take her hand in both of mine, holding it gently. “I do. Because it means I’ve found what I needed. It means I have hope again. You’ll have your freedom, but nothing and no one will ever harm you, Vasilisa. I won’t allow it.”
Her lips tremble, and this time when the tears fall, they carry something brighter than pain. Slowly, she nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Santo,” she whispers, leaning toward me, her arms sliding around my neck. “I’ll wear it proudly.”
Her hold on me tightens, and I let myself sink into the moment, her light chasing away the shadows that have followed me for far too long.
I press a lingering kiss to her temple before murmuring, “I have something for you.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “But first,” I continue, “you have to allow me to take you to dinner.”
Her brows lift slightly, amusement flickering in her expression. “ Allow you?” she echoes, tilting her head.
I smirk. “Yes, allow me, Dea. This is me wanting to spoil my wife.”
Her lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “In that case… I accept.”
***
The ride through the city is quiet, a rare moment of peace as I take Vasilisa to a small Russian bistro. The second we pull up in front of the quaint establishment, her eyes light up, a spark of recognition dancing in their depths.
She leans forward, taking in the warm glow of the windows, the hand-painted Cyrillic sign above the entrance, the scent of butter, herbs, and fresh bread drifting through the night air.
“Is this...?” she starts, trailing off, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Thought you might like a taste of home.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, and for a moment, I see something unguarded in her expression—something raw, grateful. Then, she smiles. Not just any smile. That smile. The one that tightens my chest, makes my world feel right.
“Thank you, Santo,” she says softly.
Inside, the bistro is cozy, intimate. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, the scent of dill and slow-cooked meats filling the space. A waitress greets us in Russian, and the moment Vasilisa responds, something shifts.
She comes alive.
I watch, captivated, as she effortlessly slips into her native tongue, her words fluid and bright. The waitress laughs, nodding along, and Vasilisa’s laughter follows—soft, warm, like music filling the room.
I don’t understand a word they’re saying.
I hate that.
I want to.
I want to know what she’s saying, what makes her smile like that, what makes her eyes shine so brightly. I want to exist fully in her world, not just as her husband, but as someone who understands every part of her.
I sit there, silent, listening. Memorizing.
And in that moment, I decide—I’m going to learn Russian.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
When the food arrives, Vasilisa wastes no time, picking up a forkful of pelmeni dumplings and taking a bite. The second she does, her eyes flutter shut, a soft moan of delight escaping her lips.
“Pelmeni is one of my favorites,” she sighs, pure bliss in her voice.
I smirk. “Good to know. I’ll be sure to tell Julian.”
Her eyes snap open. “He could make this?” she asks, practically vibrating with excitement.
“If I ask, yes. He’ll make it happen.”
Her face lights up, and she takes another bite, savoring the moment. “This is quite honestly the best gift ever. Thank you.”
I shake my head, leaning in slightly. “This isn’t the gift.”
She pauses mid-chew, hand covering her mouth as she swallows. “It isn’t?”
I smirk. My girl is adorable.
“Definitely not, Mia Dea. I have more in store for you tonight.”
Her eyes widen slightly, curiosity flickering across her face, but she doesn’t press me for details. Instead, the evening flows naturally—easy conversation, shared laughter, the warmth of something unspoken passing between us.
She finishes her meal with a slice of chocolate pie, the final indulgence that makes her sigh with pure satisfaction.
When we step outside, the city greets us with a cool breeze, alive with golden streetlights and the hum of distant traffic. Vasilisa nestles into her seat as I start the car, her gaze drifting out the window, lost in thought. I glance at her every few moments, admiring the way the city lights play across her features, turning her into a living work of art.
And she has no idea what’s coming next.
Eventually, we reach our destination—a small, private observatory on the outskirts of town, nestled far from the city lights. I purchased it long ago, for nights when I craved solitude, silence, and the infinite clarity of the stars above.
Vasilisa steps out of the car, her head tilting back as she takes in the domed building.
“An observatory?” she questions, curiosity laced in her voice.
I shrug lightly, leading her toward the entrance. “There’s something about looking at the stars that makes everything else seem… smaller somehow.”
The moment we step inside, her breath catches. Above us, the sky unfolds like a masterpiece, the velvety black expanse of night pierced by thousands of shimmering stars. She gasps, her eyes wide with wonder, the reflection of the cosmos dancing in her gaze.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as we stand beneath the endless sky.
“I wanted you to see this,” I murmur, my voice low, intimate. “Because there’s a story I read when I was younger… about a sun god who fell in love with a beautiful goddess. And because he loved her so much, he placed her among the stars so she could shine brightly forever.”
She turns her face toward me, her blue eyes reflecting the starlight.
“Like my magical tree?” she whispers, recounting the fairytale she once told me.
I nod, adjusting the telescope to the exact coordinates I need. “Yes. You see, I used to believe in things like that too.”
I position her in front of the lens, guiding her gently. “Look,” I tell her. “Do you see that star?”
She leans forward, peering through the scope, and nods.
“That one, I had named Vasilisa. ”
She freezes. Her breath shudders as she pulls back, staring up at me in disbelief. “You what?”
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “That way, you can shine brightly forever.”
Her lips part, her expression softening as the weight of my words sinks in.
“Really?” she breathes, wide-eyed and incredulous.
I nod solemnly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Truly. Just like the goddess in the story, you deserve to shine forever, my beautiful Dea.” I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing against her skin.
“You’ve brought light and warmth into my world—just like the sun. And nothing could ever dim it.”
A single tear slips down her cheek, catching the light of the stars. She throws herself into my arms, holding me so tightly it’s as if she’s trying to become a part of me. I feel the tremble in her body, the emotion thick in her silence.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “One more thing,” I say, reaching into my pocket.
She pulls back slightly, wiping at her damp cheeks as I pull out a small velvet box.
Her breath hitches. “You’re spoiling me at this point, Santo!”
I smirk, popping the lid open to reveal a delicate silver necklace, a star-shaped pendant hanging at its center. A blue opal gleams in its heart—the exact shade of her eyes.
“This,” I murmur, “is so you can always carry your star with you.”
She stares at it, stunned, her fingers trembling slightly as she touches the pendant. Then, before I can say anything else, she throws herself into my arms again, burying her face against my neck.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly, protectively, endlessly.
The drive home is quiet, the kind of quiet that’s full of meaning, full of love.
Vasilisa’s hand stays locked with mine, my thumb brushing her knuckles. With her other hand, she lightly plays with the necklace resting at her throat, turning the star over between her fingertips as if grounding herself in this moment.
I glance at her between turns, catching the soft glow of the pendant against her skin, the peaceful expression on her face.
This night couldn’t have gone any better.
And I can barely contain the boyish excitement stirring in my chest, because there’s still one last surprise waiting for her at home.
I pull into the garage, avoiding the staff as we take the elevator straight to our bedroom. The moment we step inside, Vasilisa kicks off her shoes, stripping off her blouse and jeans.
I smirk, watching her move so freely, so unburdened.
A month ago, she was shy about her body, hesitant under my gaze. But now, she can’t stand a second inside our bedroom with clothes on.
I dim the bedroom lights, and when I turn back to her, I pause.
Her silk red lingerie gleams under the soft glow, hugging her body perfectly. She is a masterpiece to me. Oblivious to my gaze, she reaches up, pulling the pins from her hair, and I watch as golden waves tumble down her bare shoulders.
“Ugh,” she sighs, rubbing her stomach. “I should have thought to bring a snack cake.”
I chuckle, and she immediately narrows her eyes at me.
“What?”
I take a slow step toward her, my voice low, sincere. “You’re just… breathtaking.”
The flush that spreads across her cheeks is everything.
“Breathtaking when I’m dying for a snack cake?” she challenges, a smirk playing at her lips.
I nod, taking another step closer.
Her smirk falters as I advance, a spark of anticipation flashing in her eyes. She backs up slowly, until her spine meets the wall.
I corner her, my hands resting on either side of her, trapping her in place. My gaze trails over her, claiming every inch with just my eyes.
She inhales sharply as I lean in, my fingers ghosting down her arm. She shudders at the contact, her breath hitching.
Her arms snake around my neck, pulling me closer.
“Yes,” I murmur against her lips, our breaths mingling, the heat between us crackling like fire. “Even when you’re dying for a snack cake.”
A soft giggle escapes her, but I swallow it with a kiss.
And just like that, we fall.
The stars we admired minutes ago are now reflected in her eyes, in the way we explore each other like we’re discovering something new; like every touch, every kiss is the first.
The heat rises between us, the air growing heavier, thicker.
I scoop her up, her laughter muffled against my neck as I lay her on the bed. I strip quickly, joining her again, my hands tracing the lines of her body removing the last scraps of fabric between us as I map out every inch of her skin with my lips.
Under the dim bedroom light, her skin glows, shimmering, like the star I named after her.
I kiss her deeply as she parts her legs, and I thrust inside.
Hours later, when our bodies have entwined and unraveled countless times, we lay side by side, our breaths finally steadying.
She turns to face me, her fingers lazily trailing down my chest. Her eyes shine—full of love, full of something unsaid.
I brush a wisp of hair from her face, my voice a whisper in the quiet room.
“I have another surprise.”
Her smile widens as she groans dramatically, covering her face with her hands. “What in the world could it be now , Santo?” she giggles.
I smirk, sitting up as I open the nightstand drawer.
I pull out the stacked papers, setting them on the bed beside her. She blinks at them, confused, before picking them up.
As she reads the front page, her entire body freezes.
Her hand flies to her mouth as she gasps. “Santo!”
She looks at me, then back at the manuscript, eyes wide with pure disbelief. “Is this… the unreleased S. J. Nandez manuscript?”
I nod, watching pride and awe flood her expression.
Her fingers tremble slightly as she holds the pages as if they’re sacred. “Santo, how did you—” Her voice breaks off, her breath shaky.
Then suddenly, she throws herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck, pressing frantic, grateful kisses to my face.
“I’m so happy!” she exclaims, her words muffled between kisses until I can’t help but laugh.
“I called in a favor,” I confess, still grinning. “She was happy to gift it to you, as long as you tell no one.”
Vasilisa immediately sits up, cradling the manuscript to her chest, her expression deadly serious. “I would never.”
I chuckle, pulling her back into me. I kiss those beautiful lips again.
“Read to me.”