Page 106 of Ruins
I feel at home.
Chapter 22
Santo
Thereflectiveglasswindowsof Beaumont Enterprises gleam against the city skyline, a symbol of wealth built on old money and even older corruption. The Beaumont brothers—Warren, Wesley, and Wilder—have made a name for themselves off their father’s empire, but power is nothing without control. And they don’t have nearly as much of it as they think.
I step into the lobby, where Luca and Romeo are already waiting—the latter leaning against the reception desk, grinning shamelessly as he flirts with the woman behind it.
We head toward the elevators, but before we make it inside, the receptionist calls out for us to stop. I don’t bother stopping. She can threaten to call security, but that’s not a problem. I own them.
The elevator ride is smooth, stopping on the seventeenth floor—Warren’s favorite number. The predictable prick never changes. His predictability is his weakness.
The doors slide open to reveal three security guards waiting. Men that work for me. I give them a brief nod, and they step aside.
We move down the hallway toward the glass conference room. Inside, the Beaumont brothers sit in mid-conversation, laptops open, papers scattered across the sleek glass table. The moment they see me, the tension in the room shifts.
Warren is the first to react.
“What the hell are you doing here, Amato?” he seethes, already bristling.
I smile, slow and sharp, watching his discomfort flicker beneath his anger. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” My voice drips with mockery.
“You’re far from a friend.” Warren sits back, smoothing his Armani lapel. “What do you want?”
Luca and Romeo take opposite stances in the room as I address War directly.
“I want a building,” I say simply. “And I hear you’re not willing to budge.”
Warren sneers.
Beside him, Wesley is already typing away on his laptop. “You want the Parker building,” Wesley states, eyes still on the screen. “East side. Right in the middle of Maksim’s territory.”
“That’s the one,” I smirk, pointing at Wesley. “Gold star for you.” My tone is sarcastic, but my eyes stay serious and alert.
Warren scoffs, crossing his arms. “Not giving it up. Especially after your little alliance with Korsakov. I’m not handing that bastard a damn thing.”
There it is.His real problem.
I tilt my head, faux concern lacing my tone. “Still caught up in your little pissing contest with Maks?” I click my tongue. “Pathetic.”
His jaw clenches. “Yet your brother’s still kissing his ass, even going so far as to give you a bride,” he bites out. “How is she, by the way? Vasilisa, right?”
My blood turns lethal in an instant.
The air in the room thickens. I don’t react. I don’t flinch. I don’t let him see how much that name—her name—twists a knife in my ribs.
I just smile. A dangerous, warning kind of smile. “You don’t ever say her name.”
Warren smirks. Wilder chuckles. Wesley keeps typing.
Then Warren leans forward, eyes glinting. “Would be a shame if something happened to her. Like your—”
Click.
The sound of Luca’s gun cocking cuts through the air.
Wesley’s fingers freeze on the keyboard. Wilder lifts his hands in surrender, his smirk vanishing. Even Warren, for all his bravado, flickers with hesitation.
