Page 136 of Ruins
Every instinct tells me to tuck and roll out of the car, but I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Through the speakers comes a slow, measured exhale.
And then Santo’s voice is calm, cold, lethal. “That is correct,Mrs. Amato.”
The line goes dead.
Romeo doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.
We drive in silence the rest of the way home.
Once we return, Romeo disappears, leaving me to unpack my stolen happiness, my contraband snacks. Amelia takes one look at my overflowing bag of treats and sweets and bursts into laughter.
“You sure have a sweet tooth, Vasilisa,” she teases, shaking her head.
I grin, but my amusement is laced with defiance.
Because this isn’t just about sugar cravings.
This is about choice.
This is about having something of my own, even if it’s something as small as sweet treats hidden in a pantry.
Together, Amelia and I tuck the stash away, slipping the treats into a large, empty box on the bottom shelf. The box blends in seamlessly, just another forgotten item among the neatly arranged pantry goods.
I step back, arms crossed, satisfied with our handiwork.
“No one has to know.” Amelia winks, dusting her hands off.
I exhale, a genuine smile pulling at my lips. For the first time in hours, I feel a sliver of relief—a reminder that I’m notcompletelyalone in this house.
We settle into a comfortable silence, the kitchen filled with the soft clatter of pots and pans as we work. It’s easy, effortless, and so rare to find a moment of peace here.
But I cling to it anyway.
Amelia kneads dough beside me, smirking as she tosses a glance at the pantry.
“All those treats—you could open your own store.”
I let out a light laugh, twirling a spoon in my hands. “Maybe I’m trying to sweeten up Santo.”
The words are half a joke, half a lie—because I know better. Santo isn’t the type to be softened by something as simple as sugar orkindness.
Amelia lets out a booming laugh, the sound filling the empty kitchen.
“Don’t waste your treats on him.” She tosses me an apple from the fruit bowl. “He wouldn’t know a good snack if it hit him in the face.”
I catch it easily, the cool skin smooth against my fingertips.
“Noted.” I smirk.
But the moment doesn’t last. The warmth, the laughter; it all flickers out as a sound drifts in from the hallway.
A low voice.
Romeo.
My fingers tighten around the apple, my focus sharpening.
