Chapter 16 Santino #2
Empty. The word whispers through my mind unbidden. Too empty. The silence presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating in a way it never was before.
I pour myself a drink even though it's barely three in the afternoon, even though I have a rule about not drinking during business hours. The scotch burns going down, but it doesn't fill the hollow feeling in my chest.
My phone stays silent on the counter, its dark screen mocking me.
Maybe she’s coming back? I decide to wait and see.
By evening, I'm restless in a way I can't shake, moving through my apartment like a caged animal. Angry at her for leaving without explanation. Confused by her silence. Frustrated by my own reaction to both.
Still no response from Liana. Not a single word, not even to tell me to fuck off.
I could go to her house right now and demand to know what's going on, force her to explain this silence.
But that would make me look weak. Emotional.
Like I care too much about her silence, like her absence matters more than it should.
It would prove that she got to me, that her little game is working exactly as she planned.
Which it isn't. I don't care about the silence.
I'm just frustrated by the game she's playing. That's all this is—frustration with her manipulative tactics, nothing more.
Carlo texts around eight o'clock, the message lighting up my phone with a welcome distraction.
Carlo: Poker game tonight. Same place. You in?
I should say no. Should stay home and figure out what's happening with Liana. But staying in this too-quiet apartment is driving me insane, and maybe some distance will give me perspective.
Instead, I text back immediately: I'm in.
Fuck it. If she wants to ignore me, I'll do the same. Two can play this game.
The poker room is exactly as I remember it from last week—same mahogany table polished to a mirror shine, same leather chairs, same understated luxury that speaks of old money and older connections. The familiar setting should be comforting, but I feel on edge in a way I can't quite shake.
Dmitri and Alexei Volkov are already there when I arrive, positioned on one side of the table like matching bookends. Carlo is shuffling cards, and two other men whose names I can't remember and don't particularly care about round out the group.
"Marcello!" Dmitri greets me with that overly familiar smile of his. "Good to see you, my friend. How's married life treating you?"
"I'm not married yet," I correct him, taking my usual seat.
"But close, no?" He grins wider, showing too many teeth. "What is it now, three weeks?"
"Something like that." I don't want to talk about this, don't want to discuss my upcoming wedding or anything related to it.
"Where's your girl?" Alexei asks, making a show of looking around the room like she might be hiding in the corners. "I was hoping she'd make another appearance."
"She's not here," I say flatly.
"We can see that." Alexei leans back in his chair, studying me with those cold eyes. "Shame. She made the last game much more interesting."
"She's busy," I say curtly, my tone making it clear the subject is closed.
"Busy with what?" He's still watching me too carefully.
"That's none of your concern."
Carlo deals the cards. "Let's play, gentlemen. That's what we're here for."
We settle into the familiar rhythm of the game. This is what I'm good at—the cold calculation, the careful analysis, the ability to keep emotion out of decision-making.
Instead, I'm thinking about Liana. About her empty spot in my closet, like a missing tooth my tongue can't stop probing. About the silence from her phone that's louder than any of her chatter.
"You're distracted," Dmitri observes after I fold what should have been a winning hand, leaving money on the table I could have easily taken.
"I'm fine." The lie tastes bitter.
"You're thinking about her," Alexei says with certainty. "The girl."
"She's not a girl. She's my soon-to-be wife."
"Not yet she's not." Dmitri grins at me like we're sharing a joke. "You still have what, three weeks until the wedding? Anything could happen in three weeks."
"Nothing's going to happen." I pick up my cards, trying to focus on them instead of his knowing smirk.
"No?" Alexei leans forward, his elbows on the table. "You seem tense, my friend. Trouble in paradise?"
"There's no trouble." Another lie, and we both know it.
"Then where is she?" He's watching me too carefully, the way a predator watches prey. "Usually women like that—beautiful, young, eager to please—they're attached to their men. Can't stay away, always need to be close. But yours? She's not here tonight."
"She's busy," I repeat, the words automatic now.
"With what?" He won't let it go, pushing at this weak spot he's identified.
"Her charity work. Her family. Her life." I can hear the irritation creeping into my voice now. "She doesn't need to be by my side every single second."
"Of course not." Alexei picks up his cards, examining them. "But I've been thinking about her since last week."
My hand tightens on my cards, crumpling them slightly. "Have you now."
"Since she was here. That dress she wore." He looks up, meeting my eyes. "The way she sat in your lap. She's very beautiful, your Liana. A woman like that is fire and enjoyable to tame."
"Watch yourself." The words come out low and dangerous.
"I'm just making an observation about an attractive woman."
"Observe something else."
"Touchy." Dmitri exchanges a meaningful glance with his brother across the table. "He's very possessive of the girl he's not even married to yet."
"I'm protective," I correct, though the distinction feels meaningless even as I make it. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Alexei sets down his cards, giving me his full attention. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you're not entirely sure she's yours."
"She's mine." The certainty in my voice surprises even me.
"For three more weeks, you're just engaged.
Only then she becomes your wife." He smiles, and there's something predatory in it.
"But right now? She's just your fiancée.
And if things don't work out between you.
.." He shrugs, the gesture deliberately casual.
"I'd be very interested in pursuing her myself. "
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. I can feel the other players shifting uncomfortably, sensing the danger in the air.
"Interested?" I repeat slowly.
"Very interested." He's still smiling, enjoying this too much. "She's intelligent, beautiful, clearly well-bred. That body—Christ, that body. And the way she moved in your lap last week? I've been thinking about that for days."
I stand before I fully register the decision to move. My chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound that cuts through the room.
"Santino." Carlo's voice is careful, the tone he uses when he's trying to defuse a situation before it explodes. "Sit down."
"Did he just say what I think he said?" I'm looking at Alexei, but I'm asking Carlo.
"I said I'm interested in your girl," Alexei clarifies, completely unfazed by my reaction. "If you're having second thoughts about the arrangement. If you decide you don't want her after all. I'd be happy to step in and take her off your hands."
I'm across the table before I can stop myself, before rational thought can interfere with instinct. My hand is fisted in his expensive shirt, pulling him half out of his chair until his face is inches from mine.
"Say one more word about her," I tell him very quietly, very calmly, in the voice I use right before I do violence. "One more fucking word about Liana, and I'll put a bullet in your head."
The room goes completely silent, leaving just my breathing and his.
Dmitri stands slowly, his chair scraping back. "Santino. Let him go."
"Not until he apologizes." My grip on his shirt tightens.
"For what? Stating an interest in a beautiful woman?" Alexei's smile doesn't waver even now, even with my fist in his collar. "She's not your wife yet. Until that wedding happens, she's fair game."
"She's not fair game. She's mine." The possessiveness in my voice should alarm me, but it doesn't.
"Prove it," he challenges, his eyes glinting.
I pull my fist back, ready to drive it into his smug face. Carlo catches my arm before I can follow through.
"Not here," Carlo says firmly, his grip on my arm like iron. "Not now. Think about what you're doing, Santino."
I'm thinking about breaking Alexei's face. I'm thinking about making him regret every word he just said. That's what I'm thinking about.
But Carlo is right, and the rational part of my brain knows it. This is neutral territory, a business arrangement between families. I can't start a war over—
Over what, exactly? Over a woman who won't answer my calls? Who removed all traces of herself from my apartment? Who's playing games I don't understand and can't seem to win?
I release Alexei's shirt and step back, forcing my hands to unclench.
"This game is over," I announce to the room.
"Over? Again?" Dmitri raises his eyebrows in theatrical surprise. "We just started."
"I said it's over." I grab my jacket from the back of my chair. "I'll see you gentlemen another time."
"What about your girl?" Alexei calls after me as I head for the door. "If you change your mind about marrying her—"
I don't turn around. If I turn around, I will kill him, and damn the consequences.
I'm in my car before I fully calm down. The adrenaline is still coursing through my system, making my heart race and my vision sharp.
He talked about her like she was available. Like she was his to consider, his to pursue. Like she wasn't mine. The possessiveness over her is overwhelming and undeniable.
She is mine. The certainty of it resonates in my bones.
I pull out my phone and call her again, not caring that it's late, not caring that she ignored me all day. Straight to voicemail this time. She turned off her phone completely.
Me: We need to talk. Call me.
The message delivers but doesn't show as read. She won't see it until she turns her phone back on.
I start the car and head home. The apartment is still empty. Still silent. I pour a drink and stand at the window.
My phone buzzes. Finally.
But it's not Liana. It's Bruno.
Bruno: Boss, we have a problem. The Benedetti situation.
Me: Handle it. I'll deal with it tomorrow.
I toss the phone on the couch in frustration. And I stand there, drinking scotch in my too-quiet apartment, wondering when exactly I stopped being in control of this situation.
Or if I ever was.