Page 162 of Ruins
“What?” I snap, rage simmering beneath my skin as I lift myself off the bed, already missing the heat of her body.
“It’s Maksim,” Luca responds apologetically from the other side of the door.
Vasilisa sits up, her breath still uneven, her skin flushed, and pulls her robe tightly around herself—modest, despite what we were just about to do. The contrast nearly drives me insane.
“You have to go,” she whispers urgently, voice laced with disappointment she’s trying to hide.
I smirk at her shyness, reaching out to tug at the robe’s loose knot, just enough to reveal the soft skin she’s trying to shield from me. “He knows you’re in here, you don’t have to whisper.”
She blushes, flustered, and I can’t resist. I cradle her face, my thumbs brushing against her heated cheeks, and kiss her again—slow, deep, lingering. Savoring.
“We’re married,” I murmur against her lips, smirking. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
She nods, still red-faced, and I brush my fingers over her jaw before pulling away to grab my phone. The second I answer, Maksim’s voice pulls me back into the world I despise.
“Two of my men were sent back to me maimed at my doorstep. I need Scythe.”
The name is enough to snap me out of this haze of heat and silk and her. Reality slams back into me. Scythe. Not Santo. Not her husband. The other part of me. The killer.
I glance at my wife—my wife—her soft, gorgeous face watching me with quiet concern, a worry she won’t voice but I can see. My chest tightens. She deserves better.
Better than me.
“On the way,” I say gruffly, ending the call.
Vasilisa straightens, searching my face, holding in whatever she wants to say. Her fingers twitch in her lap. She wants to reach for me, tell me to stay.
She won’t.
“I’ll send Romeo and Nico back to join Luca to guard you, okay?” I offer, knowing it won’t be enough.
She inhales deeply, then nods, putting on a brave face. “Okay.”
But I see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.
It’s like a goddamn knife to the ribs.
I force myself to move, to change quickly, but I feel her gaze on me—watching every movement, every muscle. I catch the way she bites her bottom lip, eyes dark, needy, and it takes everything in me not to abandon my phone, my gun, Maksim, the whole fucking world, and crawl back into bed with her.
Instead, I lean down, palm the side of her face, and kiss her hard, deep—enough to bruise. Enough to remind her.
Reluctantly, I leave her.
Again.
Chapter 32
Vasilisa
Idon’trememberwhenIdrifted off, but the sharp bang of the front door slamming downstairs yanks me from sleep like a bucket of ice water. My heart slams against my ribs, my mind foggy yet instantly alert. The weight of last night presses against my skin, the ghost of Santo’s touch lingering in places that still throb with warmth.
Santo.
He’s home.
I barely take a breath before I’m up, tightening my robe around me as I hurry down the stairs, my pulse a frenzied beat in my ears. The anticipation—of his presence, his voice, his hands—drives me forward too fast. I miscalculate the last step, my footing slipping out from under me. A startled gasp escapes me just as strong arms catch me, steadying me before I can fall.
Spicy tobacco and mint flood my senses, a scent so achingly familiar that my stomach knots with unease.
