Page 45 of Vow of Silence

“Any specific plans today, Nastasya?” Marcus matches my stride, half a step behind me to my right.

“An audience with my father, first. Do you know where he is?” I reach the entrance and turn to face him, poised and refined—exactly as the matron drilled into me.

“I believe he’s outside, on the range.”

Better believe our estate has its own shooting range. “Thank you.” Papa insists everyone practice daily to keep their skills tight and flawless.

At least, he does if you have a dick between your legs.

I turn sharply toward the rear of the house and head for the double doors that lead outside. Unlike the De Santis residence, we haven’t lived here for several generations. However, the house is still old, the Civil War era, if I remember correctly. Everything is built with grandeur in mind. High ceilings that seem as out of reach as the heavens, narrow and darkened corridors that serve no purpose other than to ferry bodies from one expansive room to another.

My heels are muted on the thick Persian runner, sunlight a slap in the face when I reach the glass-walled conservatorythat extends the entire rear of the house. My heels click across the slate pavers, Marcus ducking around me to open one of the French doors that lead to the garden first.

I hear Papa’s frustration before I lay eyes on him.

Round after round echoes across the property, indistinguishable while I was inside, thanks to the reinforced glass and insulated walls. From the depth of the boom each time he fires, I’d say he has his Desert Eagle.Not in a good mood, then.Not that it dissuades me.

Perhaps I should have brought my gun down, too? Shown him that I’m equally as mad.

“Papa!” I wait until he pauses his firing to load another clip.

Dmitry hears me first, sliding his hearing protection down to his thick neck. “Miss Stasya.”

My father only notices when his favorite spy turns away from the table displaying Papa’s cache. He drops his weapon to his side and crooks an eyebrow as though to ask,“What?”

Lest he be interrupted…“We need to talk.” I gesture to the black mounds covering his ears.

He reluctantly drops them to his neck, the same as Dmitry. “Can this wait, my love? I’m a little busy.”

“No.” I boldly move forward and reach out to remove the earmuffs from Papa. “It can’t.” He watches me while I set the barriers down on the table. “I’d like to discuss it now.”

His gaze flicks to meet Dmitry’s, and he sighs. “I need everything cleaned before I head out,” he instructs the taller man. “I want to take a couple with me.”

My attention shifts to the display of weapons on the table. “Where are you going?”

“Business.” Papa sets the Desert Eagle with the other guns, tugging his handkerchief out to wipe his hands. “What is it, Nastasya?”

“I need to leave the property.”

He snorts in disdain. “What the fuck for?”

“I’ve taken a week away from my charity duties. I need to be present with my team.” There’s only so much a person can do via email and video call. Sometimes, you need the influence physical presence brings.

“Your hobby can wait.” Papa folds his arms, tipping his head to one side while he studies me. “You want anything else?”

“Yeah.” I match his stance. “My free will. Have you seen it anywhere?”

The curl to my father’s lip spells trouble. “You won’t need to work once you’re married. What does it matter if the business folds?”

Flames lick at the sides of my neck, rage a roaring ocean in my ears. “I may not need to, but Iwantto.” My work is who I am; I don’t know how to function without it.

Papa shakes his head tightly, rolling icy eyes back into his head. “You’re as dramatic as your mother was.” My father gives me his profile while he looks toward the house as though he’s mentally over this conversation already. “The world won’t miss your little parties.”

I tug the full flesh of my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down, using the pain as a distraction while I calm my breaths. He’s never once told me he’s proud of what I achieved. When I started my legal studies, I knew they’d take years to complete. During that time, I found myself at countless parties, galas, or events run by the big boys club of the city. Men with power and influence who seemed content only to use it for themselves.

So, I did what any woman would—I found a solution.

I took my natural skill as a socialite raised amongst the powerful and influential, and I turned their eyes toward the people and causes that truly needed help. I could have made a decent side hustle as an event planner for bored housewives and spoilt daughters. But why limit my potential when organizingfundraisers and showcases for non-profits brought so much more joy?

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