Page 2 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

Her crimson nails tap against the tablet, the screen’s glow reflecting in her sharp eyes.

“7 a.m., call with the European connection—they want a better percentage on the arms deal, but I’d hold firm. 10 a.m., security walkthrough at the docks—there’s chatter about a raid, and new protocols need your approval.”

She shifts slightly, silk blouse dipping lower, cleavage on full display.

“Noon, lunch with Senator Ortega—he wants campaign funding but is offering access to new transport routes. 2 p.m., meeting with Zona Rosa.” She glances up, lips curving into that ever-present coy smile.

“4 p.m., drop-off at the vineyard—ensuring distribution lines are smooth. 6 p.m., dinner with the Luna family—pushing for an alliance, though their leverage is unclear.”

A pause. A scroll.

“9 p.m., inspection at the south warehouse. Someone’s skimming inventory. I assume you’ll want to handle it personally.” Her gaze lifts, locking on mine with a flicker of amusement. “Busy day, even for you, Señor Castillo. Shall I reschedule anything?”

I smirk, leaning back in the seat, the cigarette dangling between my fingers. “No. Leave it as is.”

She leans forward slightly as she scrolls through the list, her toned legs crossing to show off her completely unprofessional mini skirt. My jaw tightens, but I keep my face neutral.

“And Mr.Beaumont is waiting in your estate office for your arrival. Do you need anything else from me, Señor Castillo?” she asks, her voice dropping an octave as she leans just a little closer. Her eyes flick down briefly—subtle but intentional—before meeting mine again.

Her question hangs in the air, thick with implication. I let the silence stretch, studying her. She’s good at tempting me, and one day I might let myself, but not tonight.

I hired her because she reminds me of Willow. The resemblance isn’t exact—Willow was softer, her beauty effortless,unintentional. Valeria, on the other hand, is polished, every detail of her appearance carefully curated to attract attention. But the similarity is enough to twist the knife deeper every time I look at her. I am a masochist, through and through.

The car comes to a stop outside the gates of the estate. The driver’s voice crackles through the intercom, but my focus is on Valeria, who’s still sitting next to me, her body language carefully composed.

“No,” I say finally, my voice cold. “That’ll be all, Valeria.”

She straightens, smoothing her skirt with a practiced hand. “Of course,” she replies with a passive expression; however, now there’s a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, or maybe frustration.

I exhale a steady cloud of smoke. “Take her home,” I order the driver, Jamil, without sparing her another glance.

“Yes, sir,” Jamil responds, his voice steady as always.

Valeria doesn't flinch at my words. She simply nods, her expression a little too composed, her smile a touch too practiced.

“Señor Castillo,” she murmurs, the words dripping with a sweetness that feels a little too forced. I turn toward the door, opening my side swiftly. “Goodnight,” she adds.

I finish the cigarette, the last of the smoke curling around my fingers as I flick it away, grinding it out under my heel. The cold air bites at my skin as I move toward the estate, my thoughts drift—unbidden— to Vincent, knowing he is waiting for me in my office.

Vincent hasn’t been the same since Willow left. I’ve kept him busy as my right-hand man in the Cartel, but even that doesn’thelp. He was always the steady one, unshaken even when everything fell apart—but now, there’s a bitterness in him, a darkness that lingers. The Beaumonts push him to marry and take over the estate, but he brushes them off, claiming he needs to sow his wild oats when really, he’s just waiting for Willow to come back—if she ever does.

Damien isn’t much better. His anger simmers beneath the surface, only eased by the blood of the pedophiles, murderers, and enemies I give him to kill. He usually hides his emotions, but lately, every word from his mouth feels like a blade. It all ties back to Willow—the way she left without a word, leaving a wound in all of us. He even put hockey on hold after that first brutal year, claiming he couldn’t focus with Cartel business, but I know the truth. They gave him two years to figure his shit out before they pull his scholarship. Two years that are almost up.

I push open the door to my office, stepping into the dimly lit room. My eyes immediately land on Vincent, sitting there in the leather chair, looking as worn out as I feel. His posture is rigid, but the lines around his eyes betray exhaustion.

He lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. They’re dull, lifeless, and it pisses me off more than I want to admit. I drop into the chair behind my desk, the leather creaking under my weight, and light another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating my face.

“What the hell are you doing here at this hour?” I ask, exhaling a stream of smoke.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back in the chair, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His silence grates on me, and I slam my hand down on the desk, the sound echoing in the room.

“Talk, Vincent,” I snap. “I don’t have time for this silent bullshit.”

He flinches, barely, but it’s enough for me to notice. “It’s about Willow,” he says, and just hearing her name makes my chest tighten.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk, my jaw tightening and the ash from the cigarette drooping onto the desk. “Of course it is,” I mutter. “It’s always about her, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the old Vincent—the man who wouldn’t back down from anyone, not even me. “Don’t act like she doesn’t matter to you,” he says, his voice sharper now. “We both know that’s a lie.”

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