Page 44 of Carved in Ruin

“Did I say you were excused?” His voice booms across the room.

I stop and look at him, dead in the eyes. “I don’t care.”

“You fucking—”

The venom in his tone is cut short by another voice, one that I have come to know too well.

“You better not finish that fucking sentence,” Rafael hisses. He steps into the dining room, his presence swallowing the space whole. His eyes are locked on my father, unyielding, unrelenting. “Unless you want your tongue laid out on that table in front of you.”

Father flinches. He pretends he wasn’t startled. Rafael looks amused, his lips twitching into a crooked smile. He saunters toward the table, his boots heavy against the floor, and pulls out a chair. Turning it backward, he straddles it, resting his arms across the top. His eyes land on me first, scorching, before he shifts his focus to my father.

“You just let yourself into my home?” father sneers.

Rafael chuckles as he twists his neck, the sound of it cracking making me flinch. “Your home?” he muses. “You and I bothknow there’s nothing here I can’t get. Nothing here that isn’t already mine.” His gaze flicks back to me.

“Any guards you bring in? Already on my payroll. Fire them, rehire them—it doesn’t matter. They answer to me.” Rafael leans back slightly, his eyes sweeping the room with calculated disdain. “And this mansion of yours? It’s not really to my taste, but maybe I’ll buy it off you. Lord knows you need the money.”

I shift in my seat, my stomach knotting. Layla reaches under the table and grabs my hand.

“Fuck you,” my father snaps, slamming his fist against the table.

Rafael doesn’t even blink. He just tilts his head and glances at the offending hand. “How’s that hand, Milos?” he asks, deceptively calm. “You want the same thing to happen to the other?”

My father freezes, the color draining from his face. His anger vibrates through him, barely restrained, but he doesn’t answer.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the faint ticking of the clock. Then my father, ever incapable of holding his tongue, spits, “You know what, Rafael? Every time I see your face, I’m reminded that my decision all those years ago was exactly what needed to be done. Too bad you didn’t die as well. Your father was a man who thought the world owed him everything, as though he had the right to control it all. I couldn’t let him keep climbing higher, couldn’t let him steal the throne that was meant for someone else. You’re no different from the man I put down. ”

The air is sucked from the room. Layla’s grip on my hand tightens painfully, and I can barely hear over the blood roaring in my ears. It hits me suddenly—my father’s actions, his hatred. He was jealous of Rafael’s father, scared of his power. And now, standing in front of Rafael, I realize he’s just like him. Ifanything, he’s more dangerous. The fear my father had all those years ago? It’s alive again.

Rafael stands slowly, the scrape of the chair against the floor sounding like a death knell. His eyes burn with something unholy.

I can’t move, can’t breathe. He grabs my father by the collar and hauls him from his seat. The first punch is loud, wet, and my father’s scream is muffled by the second. Then the third. And the fourth.

The sight of Rafael tearing my father apart doesn’t spark fear in me. A twisted, broken part of me finds satisfaction in it. Revenge, not just for him, but for me. For the things my father made me do. The things I never had the courage to confront him about.

Blood pools on the floor, bright and vivid, and I think,this is what justice feels like.

Rafael doesn’t stop until my father is barely conscious, bloodied and gasping. When he’s satisfied, or as close as Rafael ever gets to that, he grabs my father by the collar again and hauls him upright, shoving him back into his chair like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.

“Sit,” Rafael growls, devoid of mercy.

My father slumps into place, staring past Rafael at the wall, his chest heaving. But Rafael’s not done. “Look around, Milos. Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You’re destroyed. Not me. Not the Bratva.You.” He straightens. “The only reason you even touched the Bratva was because you hid behind a little girl.”

My father’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t react. His hands tremble against the table, and his gaze stays fixed somewhere in the distance.

“You’re weak,” Rafael continues. “Spineless. A fucking parasite.”

Rafael walks to the sideboard like he owns the place, grabbing another bottle of whiskey. He unscrews the cap and pours himself a glass.

The room clings to his next words, every molecule in the air charged. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice a quiet hiss. “But I’m feeling…particularly kindtoday.”

Father’s lips part, but no sound comes out. Rafael swirls the whiskey in his glass, takes a sip, savoring it, before adding, “I may even be able to stop your… subsequent arrest.”

The word hangs in the air like a death sentence.

“Arrest?” my father croaks. “Arrest?” He looks around frantically, his panic bubbling over. His breathing turns erratic.

I bite my lip, tasting blood. I know the “but” coming next. I canfeelit.

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