Page 15 of Carved in Ruin

Mila shrieked with laughter. “I’m winning!”

“Yeah, sure. You’re winning.”

But then, as she tried to dodge him and turn, her foot caught on a rock hidden in the grass, and she tumbled forward. Her knees scraped the rough ground, and her palms stung from the fall. Tears welled up in her eyes, and before she could even thinkto get up, Rafael was already there, helping her gently to sit on the edge of the fountain.

Her knees were bleeding. Her breaths came in jagged gasps as she tried to wipe her snotty nose with her sleeve.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafael murmured. His small hands reached for the cool water in the fountain, gently splashing it onto her scraped knees.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

“It hurts,” she whimpered.

Rafael leaned down, kissing the spot where her knee was bleeding. It was quick, almost shy. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” She says with a blush.

“Mila! Rafael!” Danica’s voice was full of warmth as she approached with two juice boxes and a tin of cookies in hand. Her long hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she smiled brightly as she knelt down beside them. “You two should be careful running around like that, you’ll both end up covered in bruises,” she teased, brushing a few stray strands from Mila’s face.

Rafael nodded, but his gaze stayed on the ground. He never had a mother. His mother had died during childbirth. But Danica—Mila’s mother—she always made him feel like he was one of her own.

She handed the juice boxes to them both. “Drink up, you’ve worked up a sweat,” Danica said, smiling at Rafael as she passed him the juice box. “Cookies?”

Mila eagerly grabbed a cookie from the tin, holding it out to Rafael with a grin. “Do you want one?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took it. “Thanks.”

Danica smiled softly at them both, watching the kids with affection.

“Come on, you two. Let’s get you cleaned up and off to play again,” Danica ordered, and the kids followed her. They were always together. Always.

Nine

Dinner with the Devil

Mila

Ihaven’t seen Rafael since last time. But we’ve been texting. Just a few words here and there—brief, never deep. I practically had to force him to give me his number, but that’s fine by me. I’m determined to have him back, in whatever way I can. He can try to keep his distance; I’ll just close it.

Sitting on the bed, I chew on my lip, tapping my fingers against my thigh. I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t even hear Layla come in.

She zeroes in on me right away. “Okay, what’s up? You have to tell me.”

I try to brush it off, crossing my arms. “What do you mean, ‘what’s up’? There’s nothing.”

She raises a brow, crossing her own arms right back at me. “You’re an awful liar. Spill.”

I huff, defeated. She can read me like an open book. “Fine. I need to…sneak out.”

Layla’s mouth practically falls open, and she stands there, frozen. “Close your mouth,” I mutter, “flies will get in there.”

Recovering, she crawls onto the bed, eyes wide as saucers. “You, Miss Goody Two-Shoes Mila, want to disobey Father and sneak out?”

I roll my eyes, but her expression is almost comical.

“I need to see Rafael.”

Layla’s head snaps up, her eyes going even wider, any more and they will pop out of her head. “Rafael? ThePakhanof the Russian mafia, Rafael? The Rafael that even Father trembles when he sees?”

---