Page 28 of Carved in Ruin

I hit my head with my hands, desperate for the pain to stop, for the confusion to go away. “I trusted you. How could I have trusted you?”

He grabs my wrists, stopping me from hitting myself. “Stop it,” he barks.

I shake my head.” You came out of nowhere and flipped my life upside down. I opened my heart to you. I talked to you about us, about love. I thought… I thought I was finally getting to you.” My voice cracks, my tears spilling faster. “And then you go and ask for my sister’s hand? For what? To hurt me? To punish me for something I didn’t even understand back then? I was nine,Rafael. I didn’t know what I was doing—what my father made me do. Who even are you? I don’t recognize you anymore.”

He explodes. “Shut up!” His shout rattles the walls.

“Who am I? Who the fuck are you?” His words come out in a growl. “You’ve been circling me like some innocent dove, acting as if you didn’t betray me. Acting as if you didn’t kill my father. As if you didn’t force me to take on the weight of an entire Bratva at fucking thirteen!”

He removes my hands from his collar. “What were you doing at thirteen, huh? Tell me!” His anger is blazing. “At fourteen? At fifteen? At sixteen? At seventeen? You were living your perfect little life. Jetting off to Paris, to Milan, attending university, flaunting yourself like the queen of the world—all while I was drowning in the hell your father left me in!”

He pauses, breath ragged. “While I was drowning with the weight of the person I was becoming. The person the Bratva needed. I was learning how to kill, how to lead, how to keep the wolves from tearing us apart. You? You lived like nothing of it ever happened, pretending to be some innocent mafia princess victim.”

The tears won’t stop coming.

“You don’t get to cry about this, Mila. You don’t get to act like the victim. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. He ignores what I said.

“What do you plan for us?” I brave to ask.

He tilts his head, his lips drawn into a blood curling smirk. “I’m going to destroy everything your father built. Every last piece of it. As for your sister?” He pretends to think it over. “I don’t know what will hurt you more—me hating her or loving her.”

I swallow hard. “Which one do you plan to do?”

“The one that breaks you the most. Ineedto hurt you, Mila. Don’t you get it?” His laugh is cold. “I gave you a little taste, andyou came running after me. Chasing me, begging for more. No matter how much I hurt you, how deep I cut, you’ll always come back.”

We just stare at each other after that. His words break me. They break me because they make me feel small. Rafael doesn’t break eye contact. His gaze is intense, as if he’s waiting for me to move, to react, to do something that could change whatever this is between us.

Then, slowly, he plasters his body to mine.

His hand comes to the side of my face, his fingers brushing my jawline before his lips find mine. It’s desperate, hungry, and I feel myself giving in for just a second—just a second—to the kiss. It’s like everything inside me wants to remember what this felt like, wants to feel him again, even though I know I shouldn’t.

But then, reality slams into me. His betrayal. My guilt. The fire. My sister.

I break it, and push him away, hard. “Never again, Rafael. Never again.”

He looks at me like he can’t understand what just happened, like the kiss was all he ever wanted and now it’s gone, just like that.

I unlock the door, but before I step out, I turn back to him one last time.

“Your future bride is waiting for you at that table,” I say. “Don’t fixate on her sister, because today… she’s finally given up on you.”

I whisper, almost to myself, “And on herself.”

Then, without another word, I walk out.

Fourteen

The Flames

Mila was thrilled, so thrilled that her heart raced. It was her first big girl duty. Her father had told her he would be very proud of her, and she wanted to make him proud. She wanted to show him she could be just like Rafael. Rafael was a big boy, and now, she would be a big girl too. He was counting, his voice muffled through the walls. They were playing hide and seek: “One… two…”

Her tiny fingers gripped the spray bottle tightly in her pocket. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone yet. She had to do this for her father. He had told her this would make the mansion “smell nice” and “feel cozy” for when Rafael came back downstairs. She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he had said it was important, and she didn’t want to let him down.

Rafael’s voice echoed faintly, “Three… four…”

She moved quietly through the hallway, taking out the bottle, unscrewing the cap with careful hands. The liquid inside looked like water, but it smelled funny. Her father had shown her how to spray it once before, just a little squirt.

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