Page 137 of Ruins
Beside me, Amelia is still rolling out dough, completely unaware of the shift in my body language.
I exhale slowly, setting the apple down.
Then, careful not to draw attention, I slip toward the hallway—toward Romeo’s voice.
The closer I get, the clearer their conversation becomes.
“Scythe was ruthless,” Romeo says, his tone heavy with something that borders on admiration.
A shadow of unease slithers through me. Scythe? The name is foreign, but the reverence in their voices is undeniable.
“I’ve heard he’s an artist with his craft,” the other guard responds with a dark chuckle.
My stomach turns. An artist?
Romeo hums in agreement. “It was an art form,” he says, almost eagerly. “His methods of torture are unparalleled—like he relishes causing pain.”
A sharp chill runs through me, a cold, slicing dread sinking into my bones.
Torture.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into my palms as their words swirl like poison in my mind.
“Did he really cut out their tongues?”
Before I can stop myself, a soft, startled gasp escapes my lips.
Both men turn sharply, their conversation halting as their eyes snap to me.
Romeo’s face drains of color. “Mrs. Amato,” he says quickly, stepping forward, his voice tight with panic. “Do you need something?”
I step back instinctively, my breath shaky as I try to collect myself. “No,” I reply, though my voice betrays me.
The second guard hastily excuses himself, already pulling out his phone as he disappears down the hall.
Romeo remains frozen, his jaw tensing, his guilty expression only making the knot in my stomach tighten.
I know the Bratva’s ways—violence, blood, ruthlessness—but this? The way Romeo spoke of Scythe…
It felt different.
Reverent.
Joyful.
A sick feeling rises in my throat.
Is that how Santo feels, too? Does he share the same dark satisfaction when taking a life? Does he enjoy it?
Can I handle it if he does…
My thoughts spiral, sharp and dangerous, as I turn on my heel, retreating back to the kitchen—to the only place I still feel grounded.
Amelia glances up as I enter, her warm smile faltering when she notices my expression—and Romeo lingering in the doorway. “There you are,” she says lightly, but her tone shifts as her gaze narrows on Romeo. “What did you do?”
Romeo stiffens beside me. “Nothing,” he replies, his voice defensive but too quiet.
I don’t hesitate. “Who is Scythe?”
