Page 61 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

She swallows hard, but I see the crack in her composure. The guilt she tries so damn hard to hide.

"I was there, Vincent," she murmurs. "I saw?—"

"I know what you saw," I interrupt. "But you didn’t pull the trigger. You didn’t put me in that situation." I hold her gaze, making sure she hears every word. "That was my choice. My consequences. Not yours."

Her lips part like she wants to argue, but I don’t let her.

"You didn’t get me shot, Willow. That wasn’t on you." My voice softens, but there’s no mistaking the intention behind it. "Stop punishing yourself for a situation that you had no control over."

Her throat bobs, and for a moment, I think she’s going to listen. That maybe, just maybe, she’ll let it go. But then she lets out a shaky breath, blinking hard like she’s trying to shove the emotions back down.

"You almost died," she whispers, voice thick. "And I?—"

I reach for her hand before she can pull away, my grip firm but careful. "But I didn’t."

Her fingers tremble beneath mine.

"I’m right here," I remind her. "And I don’t want your guilt. I just want you."

Her fingers tighten just slightly before she pulls away. "You need to sit down before your legs give out."

And just like that, she’s shifting back into caretaker mode, avoiding the question, avoiding what’s hanging thick in the air between us.

I reach for her wrist before she can step away completely, my fingers wrapping around her pulse point. Her breath hitches, her eyes flickering to mine. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and damn it, I feel that small movement like a punch to the gut. "You should rest," she whispers, deflecting again.

I lean in just a little, my voice dropping. "You should stop running from me."

Her breath shudders, but she doesn’t deny it, or step away. And for now, that’s enough.

23

CAST

I sit in the dark.Upstairs, Ricardo’s wife soothes the baby to sleep, unaware I’m listening.

I don’t move. Just breathe. Slow. Steady.

My knife rests against my thigh, warm from my grip—not out of need, just habit.

According to Damien, Ricardo’s daughter is a competitive gymnast, training until seven. No detours, no wasted time. No friends. She carries her high school’s winning streak yet keeps to herself. Focused. Disciplined.

Perfect on paper. Predictable.

I like predictable.

So how does a girl like that become a killer?

Ricardo wouldn’t have introduced her to this life unless it was life or death. My father would’ve protected Valentina, her mother, and Joseph with his last breath.

So why is she what she is now?

I tip my head back, lips curving at the silence. My grip shifts on the knife, thumb tracing its ridges. The street outside is empty. The quiet stretches long and thin.

I remember the first lesson my father gave me toward becoming the man I am now. My father, Ricardo and I stood in front of a woman. She was holding her six month old child. The woman wasn’t scared and she didn’t show my father the respect many others had— a respect that I didn’t know stemmed from fear.

The memory plays out in my mind like an old film—grainy, imperfect, but sharp in the places that matter.

I was young, too young to understand everything, but old enough to know that nothing about that night would be forgotten. The air smelled of jasmine, my mother’s perfume clinging to her skin even as she stood before my father, her back straight, her chin lifted and a baby girl in her arms. A queen in her final moments.

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