Page 54 of Dark Promise

In the world we live in, Nikolai is bound by his father’s shadow, by a legacy steeped in blood and betrayal. And I’m bound by the weight of my family, the expectations, the endless lines we’re all taught never to cross.

The scarf shimmers in the dim light, its inky blackness a stark contrast against the soft gold of the gift box. It’s just a piece of silk, yet it feels like a lifeline. Or a chain. I can’t decide which.

And beneath all the ache and longing, fear curls its way into my thoughts. Every package that arrives reminds me that Nikolai is taking a risk, even if he thinks he’s being careful. If Mikhail knew—if he even suspected—what would he do to Nikolai? To me? My family? Nikolai’s father isn’t just dangerous; he’s merciless. And that knowledge chills me as much as the memory of Nikolai’s touch warms me.

A tear slips down my cheek, silent and unbidden, and I swipe it away quickly, as though hiding it from myself. How did I get here? How did he become this to me—a man I can’t have, yet can’t seem to let go of? A man whose absence feels more suffocating than the weight of his presence ever could?

I shake my head, as if the movement might dislodge the thoughts spiraling in my mind. But they stay.Hestays.

And for the first time, I don’t know how to move forward. Because the path I want to take leads straight to him. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to walk away.

19

Sabina

If there’sone day of the year that the Russos make a point to all gather in the same room—or by the same pool—for an extended amount of time, it’s Christmas Day. Or “the feast,” as my father used to call it. It starts at noon at the big house, beginning with brunch and presents by the infinity pool, and ends with a lavish turkey dinner with all the accompaniments—gravy, stuffing, candied yams, mashed potatoes. Caramelized brussels sprouts with pancetta. Osso Buco. A whole baked Branzino. We eat until we’re stuffed. Then there’s dessert: affogato al café, cannoli and sfogliatelle—Dante’s favorites—and zabaglione—Leo’s favorite. Platters of pizzelle, biscotti, and amaretti are passed around the table, little bites of nostalgia and sweetness.

Tonight, the dinner table has been set up in the cabana draped with sheer white curtains, the fabric stirring gently in the evening breeze. Lanterns hang from the overhead beams, their warm glow casting flickering patterns across the shimmering pool nearby. At the center of the dark walnut table is a long, low arrangement of succulents and desert flowers, interspersed with tealights in delicate glass orbs. A string of tiny white lights windsthrough the arrangement, their twinkle adding to the festive glow.

Around the cabana, subtle touches of Christmas blend with the desert’s elegance: miniature pine trees in silver pots, garlands of greenery laced with crimson berries and golden ribbons, and a wreath adorned with succulents and tiny ornaments hanging on the main beam.

It’s the perfect Russo mix—opulent, understated, and impossible to replicate.

The infinity pool stretches out like liquid glass, its sleek edge blurring into the night. At the deep end, a waterfall cascades gently, the sound soft and soothing. At the shallow end, four submerged loungers sit like islands waiting for someone to drift away into relaxation. On one side of the pool is a line of palm trees, separated by beds of desert flowers that thrive even in the winter months.

My family sits around the table, laughing and joking, their voices rising and falling like music. My gaze moves across each of them in turn, taking in the people I’ve known all my life but who somehow still manage to surprise me.

Damian, his dark hair neatly combed but with just enough disarray to make it look unintentional. The sharp slashes of his brows shadow his dark eyes, and the three-day scruff lining his jaw is artfully maintained. Tattoos peek out from the open collar of his crisp white shirt, curling up the sides of his neck and decorating the backs of his hands. He looks every bit the brooding enforcer, but the way he glances at Alina softens his edges.

Alina, his fiancée, sits beside him, her long, pale-gold hair cascading over her shoulders like spun silk. Her blue eyes sparkle as she smiles at something Damian says. She’s dressed in an understated but elegant red dress that perfectly complements her stunning figure, all curves and legs for days. Damian leansin, murmuring something just for her, and she laughs softly, her hand brushing his.

Next to Alina is Cassio, his thick, wavy blond hair catching the warm glow of the lanterns. His light blue eyes twinkle with amusement, the natural curl at the corners of his mouth giving him an air of constant good humor. But despite his relaxed aura, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw mark him unmistakably as a Russo. He’s the family’s charmer, always ready with a joke or an easy grin, but there’s steel beneath the surface—a side of him that only comes out when it’s needed.

Across from Cassio is Dante. His light brown hair is styled neatly, and his green eyes, striking even in the dim light, hold a quiet intensity. His features are so symmetrical, so flawless, they almost seem unreal. As the others talk and laugh, Dante sits with a faint smirk, his gaze shifting between them as though cataloging every moment. He’s opted for sparkling water instead of wine. I’m glad to see it. There was a period of time after Papa’s death when he blamed himself and drank way to much in order to deaden the guilt.

Luca is next to me, tall and broad. He’s an honorary Russo, and I can’t actually remember a Christmas he didn’t spend with our family.

At the head of the table, of course, is Leo. He’s the center of gravity, the one everyone orbits around. His imposing presence is undeniable, but there’s a warmth to him tonight as he watches Nicole, seated to his right. She’s glowing, her fingers laced with his as she chats animatedly with Damian. The sparkle of her engagement ring catches the light with every gesture, a reminder of how far they’ve come as a couple—and how much she’s been through to earn her place here.

Nicole’s younger sister, Sofia is here too, her wavy dark hair worn loose around her shoulders, her full lips turned up in asmile as Luca teases her, bending his head because even seated, he towers over her.

And me? I feel like a ghost. Here, but not really. Loved, but somehow distant.

I glance down at my phone as it vibrates softly, the sound almost drowned out by the gentle cascade of the waterfall. My heart tightens as I swipe the screen, only to see a message from Nadia confirming her flight for the morning of New Year’s Eve. Relief mingles with disappointment—again.

Each time my phone buzzes, I think it might be him. And each time, it isn’t.

“Sabina,” Leo’s gruff voice cuts through my thoughts. I look up to see him standing, dessert spoon in hand, clinking it lightly against his glass. The chatter around the table quiets instantly.

“I have an announcement to make,” he says, his gaze sweeping over us.

Dante groans dramatically. “Business? Now?”

“Not business,” Leo corrects, his expression softening as he glances at Nicole. “News.”

Nicole stands, her hand still resting in Leo’s. “As you all know, we’re planning to have our wedding next summer. That’s still the plan, but there’s something else—something big—that we wanted you to know first.”

“You’re getting another cat,” Cassio teases, grinning.

---