Page 134 of Ruins
His answer comes fast—sharp, jealousy coiled into every syllable. “If there isn’t, will you bring him inthereinstead?”
Enough.
I end the call and toss my phone onto the bed, fuming.
The sheer audacity. The idiotic assumptions. The obsession,the lack of trust,the constant surveillance.
I can’t breathe in this house.
Storming toward the door, I yank it open and nearly crash into Romeo.
He blinks at me. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I snap, brushing past him. “I want to go out.”
Romeo hesitates. “Where to?”
I lower my voice, my eyes flicking toward the shadows in the hallway. “Not here, where all the ears are listening. I’ll tell you in the car.”
His hand immediately goes for his phone, but before he can even dial, I snatch it from his grasp and bolt down the stairs.
“Mrs. Amato!” Romeo chases after me, panic rising in his voice. “I need that back, seriously, you can’t—”
I stop abruptly at the front door, spinning on my heel to face him.
My grip on his phone tightens. “Are you going tohurtme to get it back?”
The desperation in his eyes is almost comical. “No! Never! You’re the boss’s wife. He wouldkillme.”
I lift my chin. “Then I’m keeping it.”
Romeo groans in resignation as I stride out of the house. His phone starts ringing—again and again—but I don’t even look at it. I simply power it off and tuck it behind me.
Romeo exhales sharply, rubbing his temples before yanking his keys from his pocket and unlocking the door to the SUV out front.
“You know he’s going to befuriousright?”
I don’t even hesitate.
I slide into the passenger seat, cross my arms, and glare ahead.
“Oh well. I want ice cream.”
I know Santo will have a conniption about Romeo’s phone being off and me leaving the house, but today is worth it.
***
Romeo Romero is far too kind to work for Cosa Nostra. His easy smile and carefree attitude provide a welcome break from the tense atmosphere of our household and Santo’s watchful eye.
It feels good to be out and about, the warm sun on my skin and the fresh breeze in my hair.
After we got vanilla chip ice cream for me and rocky road for him, we climbed into the SUV and I make one final request—to go grocery shopping.
Romeo pauses mid-lick of his cone to study me with curious eyes.
“Julian or Mrs. Keen usually handles the grocery order, you don’t have to do it yourself. Just let them know what you need,” he reminds me, starting the engine while still holding his half-eaten cone.
“But doesn’t Santo have final say in what gets ordered?” I ask.
