Page 153 of Ruins
“All of us except Luca,” Nico interjects with a somber tone.
Confused, I turn to look at Luca who subtly shakes his head, seeming to warn me not to protest their sudden departure. My brothers quickly bid me goodbye with hugs and forehead kisses before exiting, leaving me alone with Luca in a tense silence.
I try to break the uncomfortable atmosphere by asking, “Is everything okay?” but my voice betrays my worry.
“Nothing bad has happened,” Luca assures me with a confident tone, but it does little to ease my concern.
The day continues as normal, except for the absence of four of my closest friends. As evening approaches, I slide in to bed clutching Santo’s note in my hand. I miss him. The memories I have of him are hazy and distant, but it doesn’t stop my hand from trailing down my body and touching myself to the thought of him as I have for the past month now, eager and hungry for release, hoping he watches me come with his name on my lips.
Chapter 31
Santo
Thepastcouplemonthshave been grueling. Long days trying to crack the code to find out what deal Miroslav made with our enemies and even longer nights interrogating pieces of shits for a name other than Kaya. It’s consumed everything—my time, my energy, and, worst of all, time I could have withher.
Kaya has finally decided to meet with Angelo and me tonight, another night away from my wife. The thought of Vasilisa, alone in that house surrounded by guards, tightens something in my chest.
I used to keep her close in other ways—watching her on surveillance when I couldn’t physically be with her, but even that has fallen by the wayside. It wasn’t just about seeing her. It was aboutmemorizingher. The way she moves when she thinks no one is watching, the way she tilts her head when she reads, the way her fingers linger at her lips when she’s lost in thought. I haven’t been able to devour every detail of her, to trace the small moments that make her her—and the loss of that, ofher, feels like starving. Now, I only hear about her through Luca’s texts, brief updates that don’t do her justice.
Every night, I carry her sleeping form upstairs, her body warm and pliant against mine, but it’s not enough. For the past month, she hasn’t even been on the couch. Instead, she’s already asleep in her room, the door closed, the space between us stretching further. I haven’t held her in weeks, and the ache of it is constant, gnawing at me in the quiet moments I can’t ignore.
I send her flowers. I even left her a note a while back, a pathetic attempt to bridge the distance, but she hasn’t called or texted. I don’t blame her. The phone works both ways, and I’ve failed her as much as she’s silent now. Despite Luca’s assurances that she’s fine, I know better. I’m sure she’s angry—she has every right to be. And that anger, that growing silence, terrifies me more than any enemy we’re about to face.
I sigh, sinking back into the passenger seat of Angelo’s SUV as we head into enemy territory. The weight of everything presses down on me—Miroslav, Kaya, the war—and underneath it all, her.Always her.The thought of Vasilisa waiting for me, feeling abandoned, is a wound I can’t seem to heal. She’s a light,thelight in this dark, ruthless world, and yet I’m the one extinguishing it.
Angelo glances at me briefly, his brow furrowing. “You good?”
I nod, brushing off his concern. But the truth is, I haven’t been good in months. Not without her.
We're arriving alone as far as Kaya is aware, but in truth Maksim called in his snipers to be around the perimeter in case this goes left. Maksim received word from the Irish kingpin that the Turkish may not be the ones in control of the deal with Miroslav, so we are going to Gabriel Kaya to find out if these stories match up.
The road leading to Kaya's estate is as dark as the fog surrounding it. The cobblestone pathway grows more uneven the closer we get; the perfect metaphor for our shaky meeting with him.
Entering the compound, the guards at the gate are tense, their stiff postures revealing more than their stony expressions.
Inside, Gabriel Kaya is everything you'd expect from a ruthless mob boss: tall, imposing, and every inch a predator, just like us. His cold eyes trace over Angelo.
“Amato’s,” he greets coolly, his voice edged like a blade. His focus stays on Angelo, but I feel his attention on me just the same. He drapes himself across the couch in a casual display of dominance, his posture relaxed, but not careless. A predator playing at ease. He gestures to the couch opposite him.
We don’t sit.
No pleasantries. No wasted breath. Angelo’s voice is a sharp command. “We don’t appreciate your men encroaching on Korsakov’s territory, let alone attempting to take our women.”
Gabriel exhales a humorless chuckle, slow and calculated. “And I don’t appreciate pieces of my men arriving at my doorstep in gift boxes. Yet here we are.”
Angelo’s expression doesn’t shift. “You’re ordering an unprovoked attack.”
Gabriel leans forward, his mouth curving into something resembling amusement. “If I wanted to strike a blow, I’d go for the jugular. Your sister? That's small time, a warning shot.” His gaze flicks to me, calculated, deliberate. “Yourwife would be the kill.”
A cold, quiet rage settles in my chest. My muscles coil with the instinct to move—to strike before another word can leave his mouth. But Angelo is faster. His arm slams across my chest, a silent warning. I don’t push against it, but I don’t relax either. My fingers twitch at my side, itching to rip Gabriel apart.
Angelo’s voice remains steady, but the steel beneath it is unyielding. “Are you saying you can't control your men and they're going rogue?”
“I’m saying my men are being targeted, taken, their families threatened to do bidding for others,” Gabriel counters, his jaw clenching.
“Bullshit.” The word leaves my lips before I can stop it.
Gabriel’s laugh is cold, slicing through the room like ice. “Believe what you want, but Korsakov is a liability. He’s made enemies beyond just me.”
