Page 235 of Ruins
“Find out exactly what that money was for. No delays. No excuses.”
Luca nods as he gathers the documents. Vaska remains silent, his dark gaze on my wife.
“You’re all dismissed.” My voice is final, but my eyes stay locked on Vaska as his linger on Vasilisa.
The men begin to file out, but Vaska remains. Once the door closes, I speak, my voice sharp. “What do you know?”
Vaska finally drags his gaze from my wife. Then, with quiet certainty, he speaks; “She hasn’t told you?”
The words hang in the air, sharp as a blade against my throat. A tear slips from Vasilisa’s eye, carving a silent path down her cheek.
“Please, Vaska,” she whispers, voice shaking.
Her broken plea shreds through me, and the silence stretches until I can’t stand it.
His eyes soften. “Vasi, you still can’t speak of it?” he asks gently, his tone filled with something I can only describe as brotherly affection.
My eyes narrow, locking onto Vaska.
“Speak of what?” I snap, my irritation rising like wildfire.
She turns to me, her eyes spilling over with tears. “Of the ransom, Santo,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
The word slams into me like a hammer to my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs. I go still, my muscles locking, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. The room blurs, fades—but that word stays.
Loud. Sharp. Inescapable
Vaska’s voice cuts through the fog. “Twelve years ago… Vasilisa was kidnapped.”
The room tilts, the walls pressing in. The silence is suffocating, the air thick with something heavy—something wrong. Vasilisa’s grip on my arm tightens, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I don’t move. I can’t.
“We assumed it was the Turkish,” Vaska continues. “Miroslav chose to pay the ransom even though Korsakov had a plan to get her back…” he trails off and shakes his head. “I guess now we know why he paid. If he let us go for her we would have discovered it wasn’t Kaya who took Vasilisa and that he was working with Sarkisian.”
My mind reels, the shock too fresh to process. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture that was far from comforting. I look at Vasilisa and she drops her gaze, her eyes red and lips trembling.
“Where did they take you?” I ask, my voice barely over a whisper as I address Vasilisa.
She shakes her head slightly, the memory obviously still too painful for her. “I... don’t remember, I was eight,” she whispers. I pull her close.
“That’s all for now, Vaska. Get me the audio as soon as it’s ready.”
Vaska nods giving Vasilisa an apologetic look as he leaves. As soon as the door clicks close. Vasilisa crumbles. A sob breaks free from her throat as she clings to me, her body trembling violently. Something inside me fractures; I can’t stand seeing her like this. I can only hold her tighter in an attempt to soothe her with the sound of my heart echoing within my chest, but it does little to assuage the horror that clearly haunts her.
“I’m sorry...I should’ve told you sooner,” she mutters through choked sobs. But I shake my head, my fingers threading through her soft hair.
“It’s not your fault. You were just a child, Dea,” I reassure her, despite the knot of anger and despair tightening in my stomach. The thought of her being taken, hurt, and frightened is unbearable. The pieces are finally falling into place, forming a grotesque puzzle.
I see it—them touching her, their filthy hands on my angel, and something dark and uncontrollable unfurls inside me. My fists clench, nails biting deep into my palms, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging in my veins. The air is too thick, the weight of what almost happened suffocating.
I want to kill them.Slowly.
“I’ll make them pay for what they did to you.” The words snarl from my throat, not just a promise—a death sentence.
It’s too late, but I’ll hunt them anyway. I’ll rip them apart piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but dust, screams, and regret
She pulls back from me slightly just enough to look into my eyes. Her own clear pools shimmer from the tears spilling over. “They didn’t… they didn’t hurt me like that, Santo.” Her voice shakes, but there’s strength in it, unwavering.
“I was lucky.” Her breath catches. “But there were others. Women. Girls. They weren’t as lucky.”
