Page 6 of Ruins
“And what exactly do you get, Angelo?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the smoke and tension.
Angelo flushes, his easygoing facade cracking. He sits forward abruptly, hands slicing through the air as he fires off rapid Italian, reminding our father that he was supposed towaitbefore telling me.
They launch into their usual argument, voices rising and falling, colliding in a tangle of frustration and unspoken resentment. I don’t bother stepping in. Let them argue. Let them exhaust themselves in their back-and-forth.
Their voices fade into the background as I refocus on the folder in front of me. I flip through the details, every line meticulously typed out like a résumé—like a fucking sales pitch—for a girl who doesn’t yet realize the weight of the life she’s being sold into.
Vasilisa Popov.
Twenty years old.
One younger sister.
Likes dogs, lilies, music, and baking.
I skim over the trivial list. None of it matters. She could collect stamps for all I care.
But as my eyes drift lower, the next paragraph pulls me up short.
Her father owns NovaRael—the largest tech and surveillance company in the city.
“There it is.”
My father’s voice slices through the noise, shushing Angelo with a raised hand. His grin stretches wider as he gestures toward the page in my grip.
“You see that, Santo? Her father only has daughters. He’s stepping down, and when he does, Vasilisa will inherit the company—one she knows nothing about. She’ll need someone to handle things for her.”
His eyes gleam with satisfaction as he leans back, steepling his fingers. “And who better than her husband?”
I let the weight of the proposition sink in.
NovaRael. A tech empire. Access to every cutting-edge surveillance system that could rival—or dismantle—my own.
ZUES.
I built ZUES from nothing. It’s more than a company; it’s the foundation of my power within Cosa Nostra. But merging NovaRael with ZUES? That would shift everything.
The possibilities spread before me like a map of untapped territory.
And all I have to do is marry the girl.
A spoiled tech heiress—sheltered, naïve. Easy to manipulate.
I could throw money her way, keep her comfortable, while building something far greater for myself.
I snap the folder shut, setting it carefully on the desk. The click of my ring against the wood is the only sound as Angelo and my father turn their attention to me.
“I’ll do it,” I say finally, my voice steady, cool. “No lavish ceremony. Just papers signed.”
My father’s expression softens at my agreement, but I can already see the stipulation forming in his mind. He doesn’t waste time voicing it.
“We need a ceremony and reception to bring the families together,” he says, measured but firm. “It can be small.”
I nod once. A public display is necessary. Our world runs on perception—alliances must be seen to hold weight.
Beside me, Angelo’s shoulders relax slightly, but I catch the flicker of tension he hides behind his mask of composure.
Our father offers a quick smile, sensing the shift in the room.
