Page 184 of Ruins
Without mypermission.
The betrayal cuts through me, jagged and merciless, and before I can stop myself, my fingers are dialing again.
This time, he answers.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I—not at first.
I force the words out, my voice dangerously low, barely contained. “Where. Is. My. Wife?”
There’s no hesitation. No guilt. Only that cool, fucking infuriating calm.
“We’re at Exile. Charity event.” A pause. Then, smoothly, “Get your shit together and get here.”
The call disconnects before I can respond.
I stare at the phone in my hand, my pulse hammering, my blood still boiling—
But one thing is certain.
I’m not taking orders fromAngelo.
I’mnotgoing to Exile.
I’m going home.
And when she walks through that door, she’s going to face her husband.
Chapter 36
Vasilisa
Exileinthedaylightis vastly different from its nighttime counterpart. The club transforms under the sun, its dark, electric energy stripped away to reveal elegance beneath. Large windows let in natural light, illuminating polished floors and carefully curated decor. The strobe lights and shadows are gone, replaced by a refined, sophisticated atmosphere. Tables are arranged for the charity auction—bidding on trips, artwork, and rare collectibles, all to support public schools. Maksim hosts this event once a year, though with everything happening, I half-expected him to postpone it.
Angelo returns to my side, tucking his phone away. His face is neutral, but something in his eyes is off—troubled.
“Everything okay?”
He flashes an easy smile. “Yeah, Tiny, all good. Why don’t you go say hi to your cousin? Bid on whatever you want, I got it if you win.” He nods toward a table where Katya is inspecting a painting, her lips pursed in thought.
I smooth out my dress and prepare myself. I love my cousin, but Katya has always made it clear that we arenotequals. We’re only a year apart, yet she carries herself like she’s worlds ahead of me. She’s effortlessly put together, her rose-pink dress shimmering under the lights, her posture impeccable.
As I approach, she turns, and to my surprise, a wide smile spreads across her face. She glides toward me with practiced grace, looping her arm through mine as we move through the room.
“Mrs. Amato,” she drawls, her tone teasing, “how’s married life treating you?” Her dark blue eyes sparkle as her brows rise and fall.
“It’s treating me well,” I lie with a small smile.
“Where’s that husband of yours?” She scans the room until her gaze lands on Angelo, deep in conversation with Maksim. “I thought you married the other one.”
“I did. Santo had to work, so Angelo brought me.”
Katya rolls her eyes. “That’s all these men do.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “How have you been? Are you alright?” My voice softens at the memory of her near-abduction.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Please. If I locked myself away every time my life was threatened, I’d be a hermit.” She chuckles, utterly unfazed. I envy her—her fearlessness, the way she stands unshaken. Meanwhile, all I seem to do is worry. About Santo, about my pseudo-brothers, about Mishka. The weight of it is constant.
