Page 149 of Ruins
The sound of retreating footsteps fills the room, and I feel Santo’s presence settle beside me. His nearness radiates heat, a magnetic pull I can’t ignore even though I try.
“I know you’re awake,” he says coolly, his voice cutting through the darkness. My heart plummets, but I remain still, holding my breath.
He chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound that sends a shiver through me. “Fine,” he mutters.
Before I can process his words, I feel his hands—strong, sure—slip under my thighs and back. He lifts me effortlessly, blanket and all, cradling me close to his chest.
I can’t help it; I melt into his warmth, his scent surrounding me like a cocoon. There’s no point in pretending anymore, but I still don’t open my eyes. If this is the only moment I get like this, I’ll savor it. Guilt tugs at me for being the reason he’s still awake, but being in his arms, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I regret nothing.
His steps are measured as he carries me upstairs, each stride deliberate. The soft creak of the hardwood under his feet gives away our destination—mybedroom.
When he reaches the bed, he sets me down gently, as though I might break. The plush mattress cradles me as he adjusts the blanket over me with surprising care. I crack one eye open, just enough to peek through the folds of the blanket.
He doesn’t leave.
Instead, he stands there for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the blanket as if he’s unsure whether to let go. His face is cast in shadow, but his posture tells me everything—shoulders tense, head bowed slightly, like he’s carrying a weight he can’t share.
My chest tightens as I watch him. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel the heaviness in the air, the storm of unspoken emotions swirling around him.
He exhales deeply, running a hand through his dark hair before stepping back. He lingers near the threshold, his hand resting on the frame as he looks back at me. For a moment, I think he knows I’m watching, but he doesn’t say anything.
Finally, he steps out, then I hear the door clicking shut behind him.
I stay impossibly still, my heart racing. Even though he’s gone, the warmth of his touch lingers, but I feel his absence like a cold draft.
I close my eyes, his scent and the memory of his arms wrapping around me still vivid. I try to resist the pull of sleep, afraid I’ll lose the moment entirely, but it’s impossible. Eventually, exhaustion wins, and I drift off, still wrapped in his lingering presence.
***
In the morning Santo’s gone again and as he said there is a new man in place of Alexei.
Nico.
Apparently, he’s Angelo’s right hand, much like Luca is to Santo. Nico is a towering figure; his broad shoulders and muscular frame showcase countless hours at the gym. A deep scar runs down his left eye to his jaw, giving his already intimidating presence an extra edge. He wears a stringer tank that shows off his arms covered in tattoos, paired with rugged cargo pants, he seems ready for anything. He strides into the library with an air of confidence, seamlessly switching spots with Romeo as I continue to paint. Romeo dutifully heads towards the door to guard it, leaving Luca to eye Nico as he walks over to me.
“This is what you do all day? Paint?” His voice is smooth and melodic, though there’s a hint of skepticism in his tone.
I look up from my easel and meet his gaze evenly. “Is that how you speak to someone for the first time?”
He seems taken aback by my response, his brows furrowing in surprise. But I refuse to break eye contact, even when my gaze lands on his scar, I may be intimidated by many things, but I won’t let anyone see it.
“I was trying to make conversation,” he replies, slightly defensive.
“Then perhaps you lack the necessary skills,” I quip back.
Luca lets out a hearty laugh and Nico shoots him a dark look. “I meant no offense, Mrs. Amato.”
I offer him a small smile and correct him, “Call me Vasi or Vasilisa.”
“Vasilisa,” he repeats, testing my name on his tongue. “The Don said you were shy, but it seems like he was wrong.” He smirks at me.
I offer him a curious look before returning my attention to my painting. Nico moves behind me and watches intently as I work. He surprises me with his next words.
“You have talent,” he compliments sincerely.
“Thank you,” I reply, surprised but pleased at his recognition. “Do you paint as well?”
Before Nico can answer, Luca interrupts us with a warning tone. “Don’tlet her rope you into painting!” He points a finger at Nico dramatically.
