Page 252 of Ruins
Elena lets out a slow breath, as if she’s been holding something in. “That’s not an easy thing to accept.”
She pushes up from her chair, walking toward the bookshelf, her fingers trailing along the spines before stopping on a large lilac-colored one. She pulls it free, turning it over in her hands as she strides back to the chaise, motioning for me to join her.
As she opens it, I realize it’s an album. The first page reveals a photo of two young boys and a woman who bears a striking resemblance to an older version of Elena.
“When she was... murdered,” Elena begins hesitantly, her voice softer now. “I was young. My memories are nothing compared to what my brothers have.”
I reach for her hand, squeezing gently. She meets my gaze, offering a sad smile.
“She was truly beautiful. You resemble her greatly,” I tell her honestly.
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she whispers, “Thank you... I remember what Santo was like before.”
“Before?” I prompt, curiosity sparking.
She flips the page. A young Santo sits at a table, a toaster completely dismantled in front of him.
“He liked to take things apart, to see what made them work. He was always tinkering,” she murmurs, sliding her hand over another photo. This one shows Santo, nose buried in a book, reading beside their mother.
“If he wasn’t tinkering, he was lost in the pages of a book.”
“I can relate to that,” I murmur, taking in the fragments of memories captured in the photographs.
Elena’s voice drops to something almost wistful. “He didn’t want to be who he is now. He had other dreams.”
I glance at her, drawn in by this rare glimpse into his past. “What kind of dreams?”
She exhales slowly. “He wanted to own his own business—like he does with ZEUS. But if he had a choice, he would have stayed in California, gone to university, and left Cosa Nostra behind.”
My breath catches. “I don’t have that choice,” I admit quietly.
Elena’s smile is rueful. “Neither do I.”
She flips through more pages filled with photos of Santo, Angelo, their mother, and baby Elena.
I reach out, brushing my fingertips over a picture of Santo, smiling brightly at the camera. Before I can linger, Elena’s fingers skim over my ring.
I look up, catching the shadows lurking behind her eyes. My stomach tightens. I quickly withdraw my hand, but before I can say anything, she murmurs, “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I assure her. “I know it’s your mother’s.”
Her expression flickers. “You know the story then?”
Before I can answer, she shakes her head. “Never mind.” She shuts the book abruptly.
“No, please tell me,” I urge before she can get up.
Elena hesitates, a shadow passing over her face. For a moment, I think she might refuse—but then, she exhales and begins.
“My grandmother, Regina, and my grandfather, Antonio, were arranged,” she says quietly. “Antonio felt blessed to be paired with Regina, and he wanted to give her a ring fit for a queen—since that’s what Regina means.”
She lets out a soft chuckle, the sound light, but tinged with sadness.
“So, he used his connections to acquire the biggest diamond he could find and proposed.”
I glance down at the ring, my fingers brushing over the cool surface of the diamond. A generational heirloom. A symbol of devotion.
But when I lift my gaze, Elena isn’t looking at it with admiration. Her eyes linger on it with something closer to sadness. Distance.
