Page 43 of Ruins
It’snotgood.
None of this is good.
And yet— “Join me for dinner tonight.”
The words are out before I can think them through, before I can measure or weigh or anticipate.
Another pause. I almost expect hesitation, resistance.
“I’d love to.”
I exhale.
I shouldn’t feel satisfaction. I shouldn’t feel anything.
“I’ll send a car in fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen?” Her voice is quiet, like she’s already calculating, already adjusting.
“Do you need more time?”
I can almost hear her smile. “No, I can be ready.”
The ease of her acceptance settles something in me, even as it unravels everything else.
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”
I end the call, already texting Marco to pick her up.
Then I dial Vincenzo, my restaurant manager. “Shut down La Serenata for the night. Only one reservation... for two”
“Understood, Mr. Amato.”
I open my desk drawer, fingers automatically reaching for the small velvet box. It was meant to be delivered through Miroslav or Luca.
That plan no longer sits right with me.
Tonight, I’ll give it to her myself.
I slip it into my breast pocket, straighten my jacket, and head for the door—before I can talk myself out of this.
Chapter 10
Santo
Walkingintotherestaurant,I take in the space with a single sweep of my gaze. Immaculate, as it should be. Vincenzo runs a tight ship—spotless floors, polished silverware, crisp white tablecloths. The faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, a soft contrast to the usual aroma of seared steak and aged wine.
He leads me to a perfectly set table—chilled drinks, mouthwatering appetizers, lighting dimmed just enough to cast everything in a warm, intimate glow. A romantic touch. One I hadn’t asked for, but knowing Vincenzo, not an accident. The man deserves a raise.
He greets me with his usual ease, taking my jacket. I stop him, reaching into the pocket and pulling out the box before letting him fold the fabric over his arm. His eyes flick to it, and a smirk tugs at his lips.
“I heard about the arrangement,” he says, amusement laced in his voice. “Didn’t think you’d go so far as to properly ask her.”
“I’m not,” I reply flatly. “I’m giving it to her to formalize the arrangement. Nothing more.”
His smirk falters slightly, but he doesn’t push. Smart man.
“We won’t be long,” I say, shifting the conversation. “I won’t keep you late—I know Arturo and the baby are waiting.”
