Page 18 of Ruins
He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine.
Not in anarrangedmarriage.
“Jude mentioned what?” My father’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
I tear my eyes away from the photo, my pulse quickening as I try to find the right words. “He mentioned… me possibly moving to Seattle.”
The second the words leave my mouth, my father’s expression hardens.
“Well, that’s certainly not going to happen.” His voice is firm, absolute. A decision that was never mine to make. “You can take your folder now and go. Everything you need to know is in there.”
I barely hear him. My fingers tighten around the edges of the folder as I scan the name printed on the page.
Santo Amato.
Cosa Nostra.
Not Jude. Not a politician.
But something worse. Somethingfar moredangerous.
This isn’t just an arranged marriage. This is a power move—an alliance between two of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world.
My stomach turns.
I wasn’t ready tobelongto Jude, but at least I knew him. Knew his selfishness, his ambition. His hunger for power was predictable.
Santo Amato, though?
He could be anyone.
And the unknown is far more terrifying than the familiar.
“Wait,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The walls feel like they’re closing in around me. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
My father doesn’t even blink. “There is no waiting, Vasilisa. Maksim has arranged this, and you will do it.”
I linger, hoping for something—a moment of hesitation, a shred of warmth. A sign that thismattersto him beyond the business of it.
But there’s nothing.
Just the dismissive wave of his hand, as if marrying me off is no different than finalizing a deal.
Like I’m anasset.A transaction.
I swallow hard and rise from my chair, clutching the folder like it might ground me. Without another word, I leave the office, my heels clicking against the marble as I make my way up the stairs.
I hold the tears back until I reach my room.
Then, the second the door closes behind me, I let them fall.
Ihatethis.
I know my duty. I know what’s expected of me. But that doesn’t make it easier.
I toss my clutch onto the dresser and collapse onto my bed, my fingers still gripping the folder like it holds the answers to a future Ineverwanted.
With a shaky breath, I open it again.
